Eileen invited me to get a drink at The Hungry Cat on Friday. I never turn down an offer to get some libations and try a new restaurant. Run by David Lentz, the former chef of Opaline and husband to A.O.C.'s Suzanne Goin, the bistro is hidden behind Borders Books in the gentrified Hollywood building pretentiously named Sunset + Vine. The Hungry Cat is known for its seafood and fresh ingredients from the farmer's market. It also took great pains to bring the art of "fusion" to the bar. I thought it would have been better sticking with an extensive beer and wine list and serving classic cocktails. I was a little disappointed with my strawberry margarita. The waiter sold me on it when he raved about how the organic strawberries were muddled. I'm a sucker for a good story about bruising fruit. But the strawberry margarita was a little too acidic for me. It tasted like something between a strawberry fresca and a tequila shot. I might have liked it more if there were more tequila. I would have been better off with a glass of cold beer. Eileen's spiked lemonade was tastier, I thought.
After a 20 minute wait, Eileen and I eventually took our seats at the bar. We were directed to the low bar, which is the equivalent of the kiddie table. I was fine with that. Had we sat at the high bar, we would have had to share our table with an extra-large scallop statue that showcased the proprietor's wife's cookbook from her days working at Lucques. Our low vantage point gave us a view of the kitchen's grill and stove that not even the multiple sprays of fresh lilies could obstruct. That triangle glowing in the forefront of the kitchen photo is a slab of blue cheese that the cook kept slicing to feed himself and throw into some dishes.
There was no blue cheese on our salad. I liked the way the boiled egg was finely crumbled atop the avocado and mixed greens.
The showstopper was the plate of shrimp and grits that Eileen and I shared. Eileen and I are both Southeast Asians who grew up in the South. So we have a soft spot for fresh seafood and creamy grits. The cook left the heads on the shrimp, as we Southeast Asians liked it, and cooked the grits in some of the juice from the sauteed crustaceans and chanterelle mushrooms. The shrimp was crunchy, the grits soft and buttery, the mushrooms absorbing all the delicious sauce. This was the best serving of grits I've ever had in California.
For dessert, we tried another traditional Southern dish: bread pudding. The last bread pudding I had was doused with bourbon. The Hungry Cat's version was baked in a round metal pan that had heart-shaped handles. Our waitress advised us to wait until the burnt sugar stopped bubbling to eat it lest we burn our tongues. I counted to 10 and then banged my spoon on the top. My spoon bounced back because the sugar was still rubbery. I waited another 20 seconds. Cracking the crispy top layer, I dug into the warm mound of brioche and hit black gold -- the rich chocolate sauce coating the bottom.
By the end of the night, I was purring with satisfaction.
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