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Pearl Oyster Bar
New York, NY |
Sherpa’s Adventurers Restaurant & Bar
Boulder, CO |
THE Blvd
Beverly Hills, CA |
Tezka
Mexico City, Mexico |
Clem and Ursie's Restaurant
Provincetown, MA |
Global 33
New York, NY |
Stubb’s Bar B Q
Austin, TX |
Blue & Gold Tavern
New York, NY |
Golden Boy Pizza
San Francisco, CA |
Robin des Bois
Brooklyn, NY |
Chelsea Commons
New York, NY |
Metropolitan Museum of Art Roof Garden Café
New York, NY |
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| THE Blvd |
9500 Wilshire Boulevard
Beverly Hills, CA
310.385.3901 |
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 There's this subspecies of the human race, not sure what it's called, but specimens are characterized by bronzed white skin, an overabundance of shiny metallic jewelry and sparkly gems, loud-talking mouths filled with teeth the color of a blinding snow field, and a careless tossing about of cash like so much Rip Taylor confetti. These creatures thrive in and around LA, shuttling up and down the sunny boulevards mounted upon shiny Hummers blasting bad music all the way. It's a giant playground filled with toys that one can use to impress an easy gold-digging slut, so as long as you're hurling cash it's not that hard to get laid.
I was recently in LA for a conference on pissed-off ex-boyfriends (an emerging market with an estimated spending power of $36M – Wall Streeters take notice…) and found myself staying at the Beverly Wilshire Regent (don't ask) in Beverly Hills. The in-house restaurant, which opens directly on Wilshire, is THE Blvd… inane capitalization sic, and which doesn't entirely suck.
I got seated in an easy chair that was the center one in a series of three, all of which faced low, individual tables, and one long common sofa. On my right were three dopey blonde Paris Hilton clones yakking about how they're going to make it big, and about how sorry they feel for their gay male friends (they feel REALLY bad because their one friend? He like can't keep up with the latest fashions? And like gay guys that aren't wearing the latest fashions can't get laid? Ohmygod it is like SO hard, can you imagine?)
 And on my left is this evening's entertainment, one wealthy young loud-talking suit guy trying to get into the very low-rise pants of Paris Hilton clone #411, and trying everything short of setting off small explosives. At the server's recommendation I tried the Sauvignon Blanc Groth, a Napa 2004 ($13/glass). At his penis' recommendation mister shouty ordered a bottle of Cristal, which cost more than my dresser.
I was brought a bread basket featuring sesame and poppy-seeded crackery things with a fairly dull and lifeless flavor, a sort of pretzelish mini-loaf that was quite good, and an uninteresting focaccia bread with a slice of tomato baked in… not bad but not great. I also got a tray of bread condiments that included a sort of black bean tapenade, and an artichoke dip, both of which were bitter tasting so I passed; got enough bitter in my life thank you very much. The mild garlicky butter wasn't bad though and was a great partner with the pretzel-like bread.
Looking around I had to admit that as a destination for showing off, this wasn't the worst, or least-subtle choice. The interior of the restaurant is actually quite pleasant, a modern update on a warm classic design. The combination of large comfy seating, high ceilings, and dark wood make for a pleasant enough environment – it felt rich, but not obnoxiously so. And the other diners were a fair mix of normal people; plenty of business persons, middle-aged Hollywood types, and of course a blondsplosion of shoppers.
My entrée arrived – Pappardelle Pasta with Roast Chicken, Oven-Dried Tomatoes, Spinach, and Olive Oil ($24). I love a subtle pasta dish and this is one of my favorites. Noodles as wide as Rodeo Drive are piled on a mix of the aforementioned ingredients, bathing in a light broth made from the juices of the roasted cherry tomatoes. A nice bonus: the light sauce has little or no garlic which was key since I was heading out afterwards in search of my own happy fun prize.
Paris Hilton clone #411 sure enjoyed hearing this guy talk, which worked out well because he didn't sound like he was going to stop any time soon. And I could tell she liked the view – facing the window she looked straight up Rodeo Drive; the restaurant faces it in a T-shaped intersection. Any minute I expected an Escalade teaming with semi-plastic shoppers to come careening through the plate glass strewing Bulgari and Gucci bags in its wake.
THE Blvd seemed to work out ok for the meatsacks next to me, but probably isn't the first place I'd head to get laid. If your strategy involves throwing around currency this isn't a bad place to do it though; it's a hell of a lot classier than most joints geared towards that approach.
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| chumwater |
| August 19, 2005 |
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