Tonight was a Thai feast in West Hollywood with my favorite dining partner. He chose the restaurant; I navigated the Los Angeles traffic (which, in my point of view, has dramatically decreased since gas prices rose so much) to his 'hood in WeHo. I got a call as I turned onto his street notifying me that he was running late so I grabbed a spot on Santa Monica Blvd and ducked my head into a corner bar called Jones Cafe. And fell in love.
Stepping into Jones' is like stepping into a 1920s mob-run bar, only warm and charming and welcoming. Indie rock whined through the speaker and the red-yellow lighting made me feel sophisticated and mysterious. I thought to myself, "If I was a big time Bollywood star, this is surely where I would hang."
Unfortunately, I only had literally 10-minutes to down my Chianti on my leather-clad stool at Jones' because my dining date called to say he was outside. I ran to the intersection, busy now with dusky lighting and the humming energy of cars and bikers eager to get home, and off we were to Kinaree Thai Bistro.
No greasy peanut sauce for us. We feasted on shrimp spring rolls in a thick sauce, hot but sweet. We dived into fried rice with lump crab, basil and chil chicken and veggie stir fry. Hmmm. Kinaree's was a basic no bullshit restaurant. No frills. The tables were simple and square, the floor just a polished concrete; the wine list nothing to brag about. But the fare was fresh and tasty; the conversation heart-warming.
Yum.
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