Props to the Peeps at Bistro Amasa

Doesn't it seem like restaurants should have more fun? Yeah, it's a business in a shitty time for businesses. Yeah, we're often paying serious money--especially given the price for produce and all foodstuffs right now (thanks, Obama)--so it's easy to think patrons need a mature, nothing but respectful, nothing approaching jokey, luxe repast. But shy of fart jokes at the table, shouldn't we all just loosen up a bit?

The already delightful on "regular" days Bistro Amasa (see my article when they opened last fall) clearly has chosen to heed that more whimsical call, for on Friday, July 10 they offered up--in addition to the regular menu--A Totally Rad 90s Night. Witness Exhibit A up top, a special cocktail, Fruit Loops. The Boring Bar, led by Doug Boring who crafted Amasa's regular list of drinks, too, was whipping up these special tipples, with the team all bedecked in bucket caps like they would be extras in a music video when their shifts were over. So, every sip that rainbow ring of loops would knock you on the nose, ensuring your olfactory senses sang you a nostalgic tune sung by a toucan. Clever. And then the drink itself, clear as a Nordic fjord, yet lively with lemongrass, makrut lime, pixies juice (the ones from Ojai, not the band trying to find their mind). Somehow the liquor was a house gin and rum blend--obviously not a usual pairing but the two came to a lovely meeting of the angular and round, probably thanks to a cereal milk wash. These were cocktails that read like stunts but sure didn't drink like them. (Turns out this one was originally created by Doug Boring for executive chef Julian Martinez's wedding at Julian's request.)

There's the full special menu, ready to replenish any exhausted skateboarder with a parent's credit card in hand. We opted to do a bit of it and some of the regular menu, partially because one of us is pescatarian, and evidently that distinction wasn't invented 35 years ago (I kid). In addition to the 90s menu and the regular menu, there was also a special dish, a beet salad, which, come to think of it is a throwback a different 1990s dining scene (thanks, Alice Waters). But once again, the Amasa team brought something new and fresh. Those roasted beets were sliced just above paper thin, yet still vividly earthy. A hit of anchovy kicked up the sparse "dressing," pistachio gave it a needed crunch, the sprinkle of sprouts just enough green. Then the carrots were pickled, and even more finely sliced than the beets. Then some mighty fine burrata for creamy indulgence. Such balance on a plate.

I'm going to try to speed this post up or it will take you longer to read it than it took us to eat our meal. Burt behold the Cool Ranch Crudo, and if only Doritos came as quiveringly-fresh kampachi, with this elegant a buttermilk-lime cream. The serrano pepper slices soared this dish up the Scoville scale, but that's why god made handkerchiefs. And the brilliance of toasting masa to become crispy bits atop. Once more an item that could have been awfully awkward turned into a glorious, elegant swan.

Take the ingenuity the Cold Pizza. The Boring Bar admits it's a riff on a similarly named drink from lauded Lower East Side Manhattan spot Double Chicken Please, but two drinks in the line between borrowing and homage is a blurry one. Somehow it brings together blanco tequila, Parmigiano Reggiano, burnt toast (I wish I had a chance to ask how--I assume double strained out as you don't get a single carbon speck in the glass), tomato water, basil, honey, and egg white for that lovely foamy texture. Again, this one gets you on the nose, leaving you thinking, "Sure smells like 'za!" Then yes, you get the agave as you sip, but it's blended so well with all the other flavors and aromatics you just keep desiring more. For who doesn't want a second slice of pizza?

Maybe someone with this plate of Nuggets in front of them. Unlike Mickey D's, these kind of explode open when you puncture the crunch of the perfectly toasted crust (I assume panko?), revealing a tender surprise of confit chicken and the delightful, mild funk of duck liver mousse as a binder that would prefer to just taste great and not hold everything together too much. (They were offally good!) It was hard to choose which of the three rethunk sauces to dip each bite in, from a vinegar over sweet bbq, to a sweet 'n sour that deliciously twirled between those two poles, to a spiced honey mustard that would be the king of any condiment tray.

So I have been going on and on, haven't I. Here are the roasted carrots from the regular menu, all piled up like Lincoln Logs cosplaying Jenga. To double down on rootsy heartiness, there's a quick smear of parsnip puree underneath, giving the carrots' sweetness, even more prevalent from roasting, a proper contrasting note. The sauce is a sophisticated mix of brown butter miso and sherry, there are some plump, surprisingly in the best way pickled sultanas (don't tell me you don't like raisins), some hazelnuts to make up for everything else on the plate being so little of a chewing challenge, and again, a sprinkling of micro-greens giving you color and fresh pop. Simple, and not so, but simply delicious.

I'm still not sure where we fit dessert beyond our covetous for more eyes. We returned to the 90s menu for a tribute to Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal in cheesecake form (and, yes, scattered on the plate too). I certainly never had, even in nostalgia's rosy glow, a breakfast as dessert this good. Both light yet substantial, as a good cheesecake should be, the crème fraîche quenelle offered more lift and just the right bit of puckering sour, and the cereal milk caramel we only wished there was more of, to slather onto every last bite.

All in all a sick, bangin', off the hook dinner. I'd call it the shit but that doesn't work for a fine meal, does it, no matter how much fun the kitchen, the dressed for the evening staff (sorry I didn't mention how wonderful everyone working there was, too!), and the fine bar surely seemed to have and share.

 

It's Easy to SVR FLVR!

NOTE posted 7-8-26: I guess when you get samples in May, write about them immediately! Sad news: It sounds like Untitled Art is no more. Oh, well.

Let's put it this way, what Untitled Art's line of non-alcoholic beerish (more on the need for the -ish soon) pours, FLVR!, lacks in vowels it makes up for in...well, you can probably guess. I was lucky enough to get shipped a couple of taster six packs to see what's up with the product line that used to be called NON (as in non-alcoholic), and am pleased to report deliciousness on all fronts. And we're talking diverse fronts--sure, there's a West Coast-Style IPA and a Juicy IPA to make the never-out-of-fashion hopheads happy, but then there's a Chocolate Dark Brew, an Italian-Style Pils ("style" might seem to be adding up as a hedge word but I promise it's not in the glass), a Mango Dragonfruit Sour, and a Grapefruit Radler.

Those two IPAs are certainly IPAealing, the West Coast doing a bit of the dank thing, the New England, uh, I mean Juicy, giving the squeeze of citrus. So you get what you'd expect, which is just what you want, as the less successful low-abv beers often don't seem to achieve their style at all, hoping to bamboozle you in a wash of bubbles and foam. I'd put them both up with the ever reigning king of NA's, Athletic, to the point I should probably do a side-by-side to decide who would win out.

The Pils also delivers that nifty mix of malt and hops levity you want in such a beer. It's supposed to be something you can suck down, and enjoy, while doing yard work on a summer's day, even if that yard work is reading in a hammock, not mowing the back 40. And it is. The Chocolate Dark Brew hits you with cocoa the moment you pop the can, and is surprisingly complex for an NA, kind of "chewy" in a good way, even if it might lack the lingering finish a stout with some alcohol can. Think of it as an after dessert drink that won't make you sleepy.

And then there are the-ish pours, and I don't sling that suffix as a slight in the, uh, slightest. Both the fruity offerings are less beer-like than just tasty, with the fruit being featured dominating the flavor profile and the hops gently raising its hand demurely in the distance. The Mango Dragonfruit takes you straight to somewhere tropical--what a fine Maui poolside pour it would be--while the Grapefruit Radler does that cool "I quench you as I make you thirsty" thing that isn't an issue because you could zip through a six pack and still drive home (if you were sure to hit the head before the drive--that'd be a lot of liquid, your bladder mileage might vary). 

On a day when the Los Angeles Times' lead guest editorial (subscription required, so the ideas shouldn't be that life-threatening) asserts "alcohol should be marginalized like smoking," it's easy to be left fuming if you feel most evenings tend to call for a potent potable or two, especially in our current beleaguered times of Trumpiness. What's coming-out of Wisconsin from Untitled Art can help you scratch that itch without pouring any alcohol on it, so to speak. So here's a huge HRY!* to FLVR! 

*If the sometimes Y rule is in play, please shorten that to HR!, even if that makes it sound like I'm rooting for home runs (that's ok) or Human Resources, the suck-ups whose job it is to allow the bosses to do whatever they want to the employees and give it the veneer of "fairness." 

So let's just say HOORAY! then.