Chicago: The Purple Pig

To the uninitiated, the Purple Pig is to be regarded with suspicion. It is incessantly plugged in visitor’s guides and travel books. Everyone has heard of it. It’s on the Mag Mile, for Christ’s sake. Not tucked onto some side street. No, there it is, smack dab in the middle of one of the most tourist-trodden streets in America, next to a Nordstrom. To a New Yorker like myself, this is like going to a restaurant in Rockefeller Center, or even worse, Times Square. No self-respecting gourmand does it.

But then there’s that cheeky little tagline under the brazen purple sign. “Cheese, Swine and Wine.” Those three words are the first sign that this may not be your typical tourist trap of a restaurant. They embrace the kind of devil-may-care, hedonistic, and progressive attitude towards food that isn’t usually directed at the camera-toting fanny pack set. And while the focus is decidedly Italian, like so many other restaurants in Chicago, a glance at the menu of small plates reveals a carefully picked over roster of Mediterranean-influenced dishes, traditional in their elements, but reassuringly modern in their execution.

Razor clams with oregano, lemon and olive oil

Charred cauliflower, toasted breadcrumbs, cornichons, parsley

Prosciutto bread balls

Such precursory clues may assuage some of the fear, but any lingering trepidation dissipates when the first few plates hit the table. Razor clams on the half shell, playfully arranged like Jenga tiles, are fresh and plump, their toothsome meatiness offset only by some lemon and the faint herbal nuances of oregano. An antipasto of green cauliflower retains just enough crunch, and the charring imparts a smokiness that never crosses over into bitterness. They are again dressed with a bit of lemon, but the initial tartness eventually gives way to the delicate sweetness of the vegetable.

Milk braised pork shoulder with mashed potatoes

Pork neck bone gravy with ricotta

Pork, naturally, is king at the Purple Pig, and the kitchen pays its respects in several standout dishes. The milk braised pork shoulder is one of the restaurant’s most ordered items, and it isn’t hard to see why. It is a crowd-pleasing simple dish done right. The potatoes are creamy and lump-free, and the shoulder is tender with a rich savoriness. Pork neck bone gravy with ricotta, dubbed a ‘smear’ on the menu, sounds perplexing in theory, conjuring up images of a watery, country gravy rustled up with scraps from the neighborhood butcher. However, it arrives as a ramekin of red sauce, anointed with a little mound of ricotta, to be heaped onto thick slices of grilled country bread. The first bite is deceivingly disappointing, fooling you into thinking you are just eating bread with tomato sauce and cheese, a poor man’s cheese lasagna. But as you chew, you are alerted to the ropes of silky neck bone meat, the undercurrent of heat in the sauce, all coddled by the milky ricotta. It is startlingly good in both its familiarity and novelty - this isn’t your Nonna’s Sunday gravy.

Olive Oil Poached Tuna with Greek Lima Beans

The kitchen veers off course a bit with a cold appetizer of olive oil poached tuna with Greek lima beans. The tuna is tough and dry, its gristly texture giving no indication of the gentle poaching it was purported to have gone through. Although the beans are cool and appropriately creamy, the dish is entirely too salty.

Toasted cinnamon soft serve ice cream

Panino con Nutella: chocolate hazelnut spread, banana, marshmallow spread

The dessert menu clings to time-honored classics, with a few twists along the way. Instead of the usual gelato offerings, the Purple Pig opts for the trendier soft serve. The toasted cinnamon version is big on flavor, but the ice cream lacks the staunchly smooth mouth feel of a good soft serve; miniscule ice crystals are discernible throughout, compromising the creamy texture. A panino of Nutella, bananas and marshmallow cream is frivolously indulgent enough, but certainly nothing that couldn’t be whipped up at home.

Stacked up against its counterparts in other cities, the Purple Pig seems to have achieved the impossible: an enviable location on a glitzy thoroughfare, easy access to impressionable tourists, and the respect of locals, all the while maintaining culinary integrity at prices that won't force you to subsist on Saltines for the remainder of the week. It doesn't seem quite fair, but try as you might, you just can't hate the place. So you resign yourself to being another shameless groupie, only to realize, when you finally set down your fork, that you really don't care.

The Purple Pig

500 North Michigan Avenue
Chicago, IL 60611-3777
Phone: (312) 464-1744

Best dishes: Razor clams, pork neck bone gravy, charred cauliflower, milk braised pork shoulder

Hours: Sunday - Thursday 11:30 a.m to Midnight (Kitchen open 'til midnight); Friday & Saturday 11:30 a.m. to 2:00 a.m. (Kitchen open 'til 1 a.m.)

New York: Yerba Buena

The hospitable, enjoyable boozy brunch has largely left the island of Manhattan. Brunch in Manhattan these days involves fighting crowds of self-important yuppies, battling snotty hosts tripping on an overinflated sense of power, and waiting in line for at least an hour for mediocre plates dished up by a rookie line cook who would probably rather be at home nursing his hangover of death instead of cobbling together that week’s leftovers and calling it brunch. Sure, the drinks (which are usually pre-mixed and rather weak) are often abundant, maybe even unlimited, but if they weren’t, then you might actually taste what you were eating, and the whole moneymaking racket would go down the tubes. The cattle-herding nature of what is now a Manhattan brunch does absolutely nothing for my hangover, and well, sometimes a girl is just in no condition to make it out to Brooklyn, where all the high-quality, properly-mixed-stiff-drink brunch places now hold court.

Yerba Buena is not exempt from all of the aforementioned transgressions, but at least the drinks are nice and strong, the food demonstrates some care, and the staff actually smiles at you. The margaritas are individually mixed by hand, and the wait isn’t atrociously long, despite the restaurant’s miniscule dimensions. We were quoted a thirty-minute wait one Saturday morning, and were actually seated in about fifteen, with a graciousness that is rarely seen at other Manhattan brunch standbys.

Tacos de Pescado: crispy tilapia Baja style, jicama cabbage chipotle slaw, rice and beans

The offerings at Yerba Buena are decidedly Pan-Latino, and this may be why the food avoids the slapdash disposition of its peers. You can’t just throw hollandaise sauce on it and call it a day. Though the menu is a bit scattered, taking detours through Mexico and Venezuela, with a stint in Peru, Yerba Buena manages to put out some respectable renditions of Latin-American classics, and even makes an effort to incorporate authentic ingredients native to the countries it pays homage to. The fish in an entrée of fish tacos is skillfully fried, the now-rampant chipotle mayo texturized by strands of crunchy jicama. The tacos aren’t mindblowing, but they are definitely tasty, although corn tortillas would have been preferable to the flour ones used, the softness of which lend a certain one-dimensionality to the dish. A side of rice and beans is not particularly noteworthy, the rice tasting suspiciously like Rice-a-Roni.

Tres arepas: Chicken tingas with fried egg, BBQ short rib and pork belly

A trio of arepas is an exercise in adorableness, each arepa the size of a small Whoopie pie. The chicken and short rib are the best, the smoky sweetness of the chicken softened by curds of egg, and the beef pliant and faintly spicy. The arepas themselves have a nice texture, the cornmeal carefully toeing the line between crisp and tender. The only dud of the three was the flavorful but excessively chewy pork belly.

Ceviche limeno: hamachi ceviche, pink grapefruit, maiz cancha

An appetizer of ceviche features fat chunks of decently fresh hamachi, simply accented with lime and wedges of grapefruit. However, I was perplexed by the niblets of toasted tumorous corn sprinkled throughout. These might make for a novel bar snack, but they contribute next to nothing to the dish, and their tooth-breaking brittleness is jarring juxtaposed against the fish and citrus.

Churros con chocolate: Mexican hot chocolate, cinnamon dusted churros

End the meal with a plate of tiny churros, which impressed me with their light-as-air crunch and well-balanced cinnamon flavor. The accompanying dipping chocolate, however, is disappointing. Its thin, Swiss Miss hot cocoa-like consistency seems to sink into the churros, rather than clinging to the expertly-fried dough in silky skeins of thick, rich chocolate.

Do you go to Yerba Buena to sample the apex of Latin American cuisine? No. But if an appropriately trendy, fairly tasty and minimally irritating brunch is on your agenda, Yerba Buena will not only welcome you with open arms, but bid you goodbye after it’s all said and done with an indulgent smile and a warm handshake.

Yerba Buena

23 Avenue A # A

New York, NY 10009

Phone: (212) 529-2919

Best dishes: Churros, ceviche, arepas

Hours: Weekdays, 5pm-12am; Weekends 11:30am-4pm, 5pm-12am

New York: John Dory Oyster Bar

The John Dory is the restaurant you want to hate. There's the gaudy, overblown decor (think one of those aquatic-themed bathrooms meets country club prep meets no taste). The prices are very high, and the portions very small. The clientele can only be described as obnoxious, and the staff is deliberately apathetic (case in point: the sullen hostess insisted on repeatedly calling my companion "Stephanie" despite the fact that we had corrected her several times in the span of thirty minutes). It is also cramped and uncomfortable, bordering on claustrophobic. Really, the whole restaurant is just like one giant douche. But irritatingly enough, like so many of the egotistical asshats we know and love to hate, it's actually good at what it does. The Kanye West of restaurants, if you will. At its core, the John Dory does great seafood. For such an achingly hip place, the food is surprisingly fresh, simple and good, tinkered with only slightly, so that the natural flavors of the ingredients shine through. It is not overwrought, as you would expect the menu of the newest restaurant in the Ace Hotel to be.

Razor clam ceviche

Sea bream with Meyer lemon and Thai chili

Oysters, East and West coast

Cold poached lobster with tomalley vinaigrette

Whelks with garlic and butter

Take an appetizer of razor clam ceviche. It isn't the most attractive of plates, but the raw clam, simply dressed with an intensely grassy olive oil and maybe a bit of citrus, is soft and sweet. A crudo of sea bream with Meyer lemon and Thai chili offers a firm, clean bite, and ends on a luxurious note. The John Dory has excellent oysters (and at $3 a pop, they should be). Well-shucked, with meticulously clean shells, they are best adorned with just a squeeze of lemon. The lobster is fresh and well-poached, the richness of the tomalley modulated by a bit of acidity.

Chorizo stuffed squid with smoked tomato

Oyster pan roast with uni crostini

Things stay perturbingly on course as you navigate through hot side of the menu, starting with a wonderfully smoky chorizo stuffed squid. Tender hollows of squid are filled with hearty paella rice and nubs of sausage and nestled on a mound of white beans and creme fraiche. Smoked tomatoes add a smoldering acidic sweetness. The stock in an oyster pan roast could use a tad more seafood flavor but all that sherry and cream are lovely when sopped up with the accompanying crostini slathered with petals of uni butter or one of the John Dory's crusty, buttery Parker House rolls (which must be ordered separately). And the oysters in said pan roast? They are gently simmered to a slippery smoothness, best eaten with a spoon and some of that creamy broth.

Eccles cake

Grapefruit curd with ginger shortbread

Dessert is not a strong point. Eccles cake, an English dessert comprised of currants in a somewhat stiff flaky pastry and topped with ripe Stilton, was hesitantly described as "interesting, but good" by our server (waiter speak for, "Don't order it.") I was forced to parrot back this same lie when he came by to ask me how it was. The currants are cloyingly sweet, with an underlying mustiness, and the blue cheese doesn't help matters. The grapefruit curd with ginger shortbread was a welcome reprieve, and a nice twist on the usual lemon rendition, but nothing particularly special.

So, by all means, go. But keep in mind that the John Dory is a restaurant best approached with the kind of jovial, easygoing attitude that eludes so many of its patrons and employees. This is not the place to go when you are feeling irritable, impatient or ugly. Don't take it (or yourself) too seriously, and you'll have a grand time. Who knows? Remain unflappably cheerful throughout dinner and you may be rewarded with a grim smile from your server as you pay your bill.

John Dory Oyster Bar at the Ace Hotel

1196 Broadway

(between 28th and 29th St.)

New York, NY 10001

Phone: (212) 792-9000

Best dishes: Razor clam ceviche, oyster pan roast, Parker house rolls, cold poached lobster, oysters, chorizo stuffed squid

Hours: Open seven days a week, 12pm-2am. No reservations taken unless you are a guest of the Ace Hotel. Wait times usually very long, particularly after 7pm. Best bet is to go early.

Things to know: Oyster happy hour everyday from 5pm-7pm.

Newport Beach: Nana San

No trip to California would be complete without sushi. The state's proximity to the Pacific Ocean means that it has access to some of the freshest and most varied catch in the United States, at prices lower than one would find for fish of the same caliber on the East Coast. At the recommendation of a born-and-raised Southern Californian friend, we left the bustle of Los Angeles for an afternoon and drove to Newport Beach to have lunch at Nana San, a generic looking restaurant in a strip mall. A seat at the sushi bar is a must.

When I'm at a quality sushi restaurant, I almost always opt for the omakase. There is no better way to taste the day's freshest fish or to experience the full spectrum of the restaurant's potential. Nana San is as good a place as any to order the omakase - if you're lucky, Goro Sakurai, the owner and head sushi chef at Nana San will be serving you that day. Friendly and accommodating, his easygoing demeanor belies the care he devotes to his craft.

Japanese red snapper with fresh yuzu and sea salt

This red snapper appetizer is a signature dish at Nana San. Crisp and clean, it was an austere precursor to the flight of fish to come. The word “digestive” comes to mind.

Herring roe

In stark contrast to the simplicity of the red snapper was the pickled herring roe, which arrived immediately after. The golden beads of roe are anchored to a firm, rubbery section of tissue, which has a texture similar to that of kelp. It takes a bit of chewing, but you are rewarded for your efforts with an explosion of salty brininess, each bite intensely evocative of the sea.

Kumamoto oysters with scallions, grated daikon radish and ponzu

Shigoku oysters with scallions, grated daikon radish and ponzu sauce

Next came oysters on the half shell, each painstakingly dressed in scallions, grated daikon radish and ponzu sauce. The craggy Kumamotos were appropriately creamy and full-bodied, while the Shigoku specimens, in keeping with their sleek and streamlined abodes, exhibited a sharper, cleaner flavor.

Bluefin tuna (left) and hamachi (right)

Seared salmon with fresh lemon and sea salt

Sea eel with sea salt

Santa Barbara uni

Seared scallop with yuzu and lime pepper

Then the sushi began. A swatch of hamachi dissolved in a swirl of melting fat on the tongue; it is perhaps one of the best cuts of hamachi I have had to date. A chunk of barely seared salmon atop a bed of rice prompted a hush of wonderment over our end of the bar, while a slice of cooked sea eel elicited murmurs of contentment, its rather drab appearance belying its flaky tenderness. Goro continued to impress with a mound of uni, straight from Santa Barbara, and a ludicrously paunchy raw scallop, as voluptuous in flavor as it was in form, the yuzu and lime pepper garnishes rounding out its curves.

Toro

Chu-toro

Spanish mackerel with scallion and ginger

Nana-san is not without some missteps. A hunk of toro was slightly sinewy, although a subsequent cut of chu-toro fared a bit better. The Spanish mackerel lacked its usual meaty complexity, its flavor overpowered by the minced ginger.

Halibut with jalapeno

Amberjack with yuzu

Albacore

Cucumber maki

Citrus gelee

The meal ended on a light note, with two bites of cucumber maki and an intensely refreshing citrus gelee.

Nana San may not offer the prize cuts that are monopolized by the most high end sushi restaurants, but for what it is, it is a great value. And what is it that you get? Very fresh fish, without pretense or sternness, transformed by the lightly creative touch of Goro and his disciples at a laid back little sushi bar bathed in the California sun.

Thanks to Michelle C. for the recommendation.

Nana San

3601 Jamboree Road, Ste 15B

Newport Beach, CA 92660

Phone: (949) 474-7373

Hours: Mon-Fri 11:30 am - 2:30 pm; Mon-Thu 5:30 pm - 10 pm; Fri-Sat 5:30 pm - 10:30 pm

LA: Animal

The nose-to-tail approach to food has been around since the beginning of time, yet somewhere along the way, America missed the boat. In this land of plenty, culinary tastemakers got it into their heads at some point that the ugly, the foul and the unmentionable were not fit to eat, much less serve in any respectable establishment, and foisted their misguided notions onto the rest of society. Never mind that the rest of the world has feasted happily on hooves, asses and everything in between for centuries - sometimes because they found it delicious, most of the time because they had no other choice. The result? A country where children think chickens are some kind of Frankenstein creature composed entirely of breasts and nuggets, where people object to the slightest crunch of cartilage in their gravy or hamburger, where the sight of a whole steamed fish on a platter, head and all, will send diners into the streets screaming bloody murder (and that's before the PETA demonstration outside your restaurant the next day).

Maybe Animal can change that for Los Angeles. But maybe not. Animal's focus is clearly on the joys of flesh, and not just the meaty, popular cuts that everyone will dive into. Pig ears, marrow bones, veal brains, bunny loins - it's all there, baldly splashed out onto the ever-changing menu. It is a restaurant that seems determined to convince the masses of the merits of what Anthony Bourdain affectionately terms the "nasty bits", to make the idea of eating a pig tail a little less scary by packaging the offending organ in clever plating, attractive garnishes, and a slick, trendy decor.

Pig ear, chili, lime, fried egg

Sweetbreads, pickled crosnes, spicy sweet and sour

Oddly enough, it is when the bits are the nastiest that Animal stumbles. An appetizer of pig ears dressed in chili, lime and a fried egg tasted overwhelmingly of lime and not much else. The ear had been shaved down into pitifully thin strips and fried, such that the unique interplay between cartilage and skin that is the hallmark of pig ear was completely lost, as was any noticeable pork flavor. It was reminiscent of, if you can believe it, a very tart, very exotic salad. Sweetbreads were battered, deep-fried and topped with dollops of a ketchup-like spicy sweet and sour concoction. They tasted more like morsels of fried chicken skin doused in Heinz than anything, the lush flavor and nubile texture of the organ obliterated by the batter and the sauce. A quick perusal of the menu reveals that Animal seems to have the same M.O. for most of its offal: deep-fry, then mask all potentially distressing characteristics with some kind of pungent condiment. It's disheartening, really, because despite Animal's earnest determination, it seems loath to take its diners out of their comfort zones, opting instead to make things taste and look safe and familiar. The offal is reduced to a mere vehicle for shock value and novelty, but no one is actually appreciating its virtues. It's like bungee-jumping while unconscious - why bother?

Veal brains, vadouvan, carrots, applesauce

Foie gras loco moco, quail egg, Spam, hamburger

Poutine, oxtail gravy, cheddar

Animal seems to regain its nerve with a dish of veal brains, lightly pan-fried, subtly spiced with vadouvan and served with tender, sweet carrots and applesauce. The simple, wholesome flavors of the carrot and apple were a surprisingly appropriate complement to the funky, almost unnerving richness of the brains, the ideal bridge between the everyday and the unknown. The kitchen really shines when it moves into more comfortable territory, and for Animal, that means rich, meaty ingredients folded into decadent variations on cult favorites. The restaurant's signature dish, the foie gras loco moco, is an extravagant twist on the Hawaiian classic, boasting seared lobes of foie gras and Spam atop a medium rare hamburger and a bed of Carolina Gold rice. Topped with a quail egg and sauced with a foie gras-based teriyaki and sriracha sauce, it is the perfect savory comfort food, its pleasing umami undertones punctuated by the acidity of the sriracha and the coolness of the scallions scattered about the plate. Animal's poutine is similarly over-the-top, the crisp fries dressed with a sticky-rich oxtail gravy deep with red wine flavor and salty hunks of cheddar. It's a bit of a gut-bomb, but in the best way possible. And the ever-fetishized bacon and chocolate combo makes an appearance on Animal's dessert menu in the form of a bacon-chocolate crunch bar, its thick bands of silken dark and milk chocolate studded with almost obscenely crunchy bits of bacon.

Bacon-chocolate crunch bar, salt & pepper anglaise

I like Animal. I really do. Jon Shook and Vinny Dotolo, the chefs, have talent in spades and the cojones to match when it comes to fashioning a daring restaurant concept. Enough is enough, the menu seems to say. It's time to show these pansies what a carcass is all about. On the plate, however, that bravado gives way to a flurry of apologies and soothing platitudes. To be fair, this probably isn't entirely Animal's fault. Diners are unrelentingly fussy, and no restaurant can undo a hundred years of grilled chicken breast propaganda overnight. Some handholding is to be expected. But Animal has the cachet and the potential to do for its various carnal misfits what Prune and Blue Ribbon did for the once-humble marrow bone - transform them into lusted-after delicacies, rather than something skeptical hipsters choke down just to say they've eaten thymus glands. I just wish they'd do it.

Animal

435 N. Fairfax Ave.

Los Angeles, CA 90036

Phone: (323) 782-9225

Best dishes: Veal brains, poutine, foie gras loco moco, bacon chocolate bar

Hours: Sun-Thurs, 6pm-11pm; Fri & Sat, 6pm-2am

LA: Kogi at the Alibi Room

When it was finally confirmed that I would be going to Los Angeles for winter break, two words immediately formed in my finals-addled brain: Korean tacos. Or more specifically, the Kogi truck, the culinary brainchild of Chef Roy Choi that swept Southern California into a truck-chasing frenzy in 2008 and has since spawned dozens of copycat operations across the US (including one of the most recent pop-ups, the Korilla BBQ truck in New York). I'm not a proponent for imitation anything, so I semi-consciously made the decision not to try any iteration of a Kogi taco until I could taste the real thing for myself, in California. With this trip, I saw my chance. However, I'm still a New Yorker, and there was no way I was going to chase a truck down an unfamiliar California highway in a car only to wait two hours for my fix. With my original four days in LA slashed to two and a half due to an East Coast blizzard, I was on a strict schedule. Thankfully, a friend directed me to the Alibi Room, a bar that partnered with Kogi soon after it took off, and offers the same menu out of their kitchen.

Short rib tacos with slaw, cilantro, onions and salsa roja

Spicy pork tacos with slaw, cilantro, onions and salsa roja

The Alibi Room isn't much more than a large square bar plopped in the middle of a dark room, with a row of seating near the entrance. A couple we later met at the bar told us that prior to its partnership with Kogi, the Alibi Room wasn't exactly the most happening spot. The proprietors of the Alibi Room may not be very successful bar owners but they do know how to strike a deal. That Tuesday night, the place was packed with young locals, their chatter reverberating off the bare walls. It's a rather daunting scene for the average tourist so here's a crash course for the uninitiated: Go to the bar. Try to find some empty bar space. Place your food order with the bartender. Throw back a couple of drinks while you wait.

Kimchi sesame quesadilla: flour tortilla, cheese, kimchi, red pepper sour cream, salsa roja

Blackjack quesadilla: flour tortilla, cheese, spicy pork, onion, salsa verde

The tacos arrived first, sporting mounds of slaw and the traditional lime and radish. Both the pork and the short rib were grilled well, with the short rib exhibiting the toothsome, slightly resistant texture particular to traditional galbi. However, I found the slightly cloying sweet-sour sauce coating the meat to be better suited to the pork than the beef; the short rib taco would have been preferable had the natural beef flavor been allowed to break through the confines of its marinade. I wouldn’t call the overall effect harmonious – maybe they aren’t supposed to be. After all, the tacos are a mishmash of Korean and Mexican cuisine – they are meant to be an intriguing yet tasty juxtaposition of the textures and flavors of each, and this is certainly accomplished. How then, does one explain the almost preternatural flawlessness of the kimchi quesadilla? I’m not going to pretend I’ve never thrown a slice of cheese into a bubbling pot of kimchi chigae, but those were sly maneuvers to add some salty richness to the fermented tang of the kimchi – moves I sort of kept to myself because they seemed a little pedestrian, and well, inauthentic. But it seems that many Koreans often have the same idea, and Mr. Choi apparently decided to come clean with this guilty pleasure head-on with his kimchi quesadilla. The thing is bursting with copious amounts of melted cheese and kimchi, the oozing cheese the perfect foil for the sharpness of the cabbage. It’s all encased in an impeccably crisp flour tortilla and dressed with a smooth salsa roja for an extra blast of heat. There are few things I will risk third-degree burns for, but I palmed this quesadilla with gusto, scalded fingers be damned, lobbing it back and forth between both hands all the while trying to steer it into my mouth. (Eating with me is not humiliating at all.) The blackjack version is equally sumptuous, although less obviously a product of ‘fusion’ cuisine - with its spicy pork and cheese filling, it's just a really, really good quesadilla.

Driving around LA later that evening, it wasn't difficult to see how the phenomenon of Korean tacos took hold. The city has a huge Mexican population, and a formidable Koreatown to match. Weaving in and out of the streets of K-town, and along its outskirts, we whizzed past innumerable taco trucks, stands (including a lone man tending to an extremely makeshift grill in a parking lot - something I regret not stopping for to this day), and Spanish-only storefronts. The confluence of the two is probably something that should have happened earlier. But when it's this good, it is not ours to question when or why or how - just find that truck (or not) and go with it.

Kogi at the Alibi Room

12236 Washington Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90066

Phone: (310) 390-9300

Best dishes: Kimchi quesadilla, blackjack quesadilla

Kogi Korean BBQ hours at the Alibi Room: 6 pm-12 am, Monday - Saturday

Kogi Truck website (with schedule): www.kogibbq.com