Part art gallery, part restaurant, part Japanophile’s fever dream sprung to life, the Royal/T teahouse proves that Father’s Office isn’t the only reason to explore the hidden nooks of Culver City. Housed in a minimally tricked-out warehouse off of Washington Blvd, with a brick facade brimming with ivy and a pink neon crown, the interior seems big enough to house several small airplanes, with walls of glass separating the diners from the bold, oversized exhibits. With its gift shop full of hallucinogenic knick-knacks, S&M-themed photography, sound system playing the uncensored versions of stuff you’d hear on the radio (there’s something refreshing about going to a restaurant and hearing “mindfuck” get thrown around), and waitresses dressed up in mildly titillating Japanese maid outfits, Royal/T is just on the tasteful side of prurient. Don’t think Hooters; think “Hooters for hipsters who read manga and love Murakami.”

The food is determinedly not-bad. The tuna tartar comes rimmed in a crust of spices that are more New Orleans than Nagaski, but you won’t hear anyone complaining, and it comes alongside seaweed-wrapped rolls of crispy rice topped with pungent mango salsa. The salmon salad features a fillet of tender pink fish so well grilled, it’s like not a drop of juice escaped onto the coals. There is hoisin-braised pork belly atop faintly spicy soba noodles, which is pretty damn good; there are 5-spice mashed sweet potatoes, lukewarm and lurid purple like someone tried to turn Grimace into Soylent Green, which… ain’t. The saving grace, though, is the tea. The drink coined from the joint’s namesake is an ice-chilled mixture of black leaves, creamy vanilla milk and, in an inspired touch, rose petals. It’s like a subtle, silky cousin to coffeehouse chai, and maybe my new favorite summertime drink that doesn’t rhyme with “schmimosa.”

On your way out, don’t forget to go through the back — there’s a brilliant art piece there called the “Port-O-Party”, which is like a Port-O-John shaped like a giant white Ipod. You go in, shut the door, pick a song from the (actual-sized) Ipod inside it, and rock out under the mini disco-lights overhead. It’s the kind of thing Billy Murray and Scarlett Johansson would have wound up inside during some lost night out in Tokyo.

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WHAT: Japanese art gallery/teahouse
WHEN: Everyday, 10 AM-6 PM
WHERE: Royal/T
$$$: $7-$10 a plate

Recently, some altruistic genius sat down and thought to himself: “What are the things that Angelenos love above all else? What common ground do we share in this sprawling multicultural metropolis of ours?”

Hmmm. Hauling ass in our cars around Dash buses that are going 11 mph and taking up two lanes? Sure, we all dig that.  Burning shit down whenever the Lakers win/lose? That’s something we can get behind. Rooting for each other’s failure? Yes, but mostly in Hollywood. Bitching about the lack of carpool lanes on the 405 like a fat guy who thinks that buying bigger pants is the answer? Hallelujah, we are one. But those are all surface traits. If you really want to dig deep into what unspoken bonds unite as brothers and sisters in the City of Angels… then I have four words for you.

Outdoor movies. Food trucks.

And starting this weekend, the good people at the Outdoor Cinema Foodfest will bring those two timeless LA infatuations together. All summer long, they’ll be screening classics like The Big Lebowski, The Breakfast Club, Pulp Fiction, and The Princess Bride (as well as The Hangover, for anyone who wants to get their drink mickey’d by that movie’s legions of backwards-white-baseball-cap-wearing fans), all while serving victuals from such mobile luminaries as The Grilled Cheese Truck, Canter’s, The South Philly Experience, and Nom Nom’s.

This Saturday they’ll be showing Swingers, one of the all-time great love letters to this town, that rare movie about a flash-in-the-pan subculture that still remains funny, poignant, and truthful for years (sixteen years, oh my God) after its release. Insert “you’re so money” joke here.

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WHAT: Outdoor movies + food trucks
WHEN: Saturdays, all summer, doors open at 6:30
WHERE: Grand Hope Park
$$$: $8

The Ahn Joo Korean fried chicken truck made its splashy debut outside the Los Angeles Film Festival this week, and I was totally going to go check it out, but then I realized that would put me in close vicinity with people willing to pay money and stand in line to see mumblecore movies. Eff that noise, Jack.

Luckily for me, OB Bear exists — and this place, besides having a fun name to yell repeatedly, is manna from heaven for those who like it hot, crispy, and spicy-sweet. This is where Ludacris, the guy who named an entire album after chicken and beer, is going in the afterlife if he behaves himself. It’s that great.

Tucked away between the lovely pocket-parks of Southwestern University Law School and the anarchic bustle of Vermont/6th Street, OB Bear’s exterior resembles a dive-bar and the interior is somewhere between the set of “Cheers” and a pirate ship — all wood paneling, cherry-red lighting, dark leather booths and shadowy corners, with a secret attic dining-area upstairs. There’s a faint tinge of cigarette smoke in the air, and you get the idea that this might be one of those clandestine K-Town after-hours spots where the closing-time is as lax as the anti-smoking regulations. The booths have buttons in them that you can push to alert your waiter when you need something, because they sure as hell are not going to come to you (World Cup’s on, bitchez.)

The basics: cheap pitchers of Korean beer abound (go with Hite or Cass; OB Blue is secretly Bud Light, I’m convinced of it.) The kimchi is cold and fiery, the sugary-vinegary pickled radish cubes make a perfect counterpoint to the later proceedings, the cabbage salad would be refreshing if not for the overabundance of a vaguely Korean-fied thousand-island dressing. The vegetable pancake that arrives complimentary with main courses comes off like a thin, subtle, more graceful version of a latka. (Do not order the seafood pancake; it’s a slab of egg, undercooked veggies, and “krab” meat that’s the size of a throw pillow and half as tasty.)

But about these wings…

I know there are some of you out there who swear by Kyochon. I, too, was once amongst your ranks. Those small, crackle-skinned bombs of soy sauce and hot garlic flavor are undeniably excellent. But what OB has over Kyochon is A: it doesn’t make you feel like you’re in a glorified Wendy’s the way you do when you sit down inside the latter’s sleek, sterile, multi-franchised confines; B: their kitchen-time isn’t slower than a mid-90’s dial-up connection in an Uzbekistan outpost, and C: when the menu says “spicy”, it means fucking spicy. The wings come out billowing steam, dusted with sesame seeds and coated in a sizzling orange-plum glaze that sticks to your fingers like tasty napalm. The outside is crunchy, the inside is tender, and by the end of it, you’ll find yourself sucking bones like you were… I’m gonna stop that joke there, my mom reads this blog.

Trust me on this — you’ll never eat another buffalo wing again.

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WHAT: bad-ass Korean fried chicken joint
WHEN: Seven days a week, open from 6 until ?
WHERE: OB Bear
$$$: $12-$17 a plate (each plate serves 2-3)

Picture, if you will, a world where George W. Bush never became president, but instead started a delicious chain of chili restaurants.  Let’s look back and imagine for a second, shall we? Al Gore became president in 2000, the CIA memo warning of a Bin Ladin attack was read by someone who can read, the September 11th attacks were thwarted, the Patriot Act was never written, Green Day discovered it faced no large-scale problems and released an album about doing whippets outside Wal-Mart, torture-porn never became a genre and Eli Roth was forced to go back to work as Quintin Tarantino’s foot-masseuse, we never declared two insane wars, and our money remained blissfully not on fire. Meanwhile, Bush Jr, finally earned his father’s respect and learned the value of a hard day’s work when his foray into the dining industry — Big W’s House of Chili n’ Stuff — became a raging success.

I’m supposed to be doing a restaurant review here, aren’t I?

In my parallel fantasy universe, George W. is running a place that looks exactly like Tub’s Fine Chili. The logo features a big cheesy cowboy hat, the barstools are shaped like saddles, a dude in an old-west outfit waves a sign outside, and the menu steadfastly refuses to recognize that certain words end in the letter “g.” This is not the kind of place you want to take a date, unless you’re dating Hannah Montana. (And if you are, and aren’t in jail, high-five!) But anyway, that chili…

There’s a reason why amateurs go pro. Just ask frontman Rick Hodges, a Culver City native, who started off DIY-style, cooking up his personal turkey chili recipe for friends and family. Too bad for him, his food was so good that the “why don’t you open a restaurant” questions soon reached critical mass — and the result is one of those holes-in-the-wall where they only do one thing but do it damn well. (Think In-N-Out, The Ramones, machine guns, etc.) His turkey chili became the Turkey Drive bowl — with its fire-roasted poultry alongside kidney beans, cumin, and a splash of Tecate — and it’s potent, rich, and nowhere near as half-assed as the term “turkey chili” implies. The Smokin’ Pig features diced bits of pork, dry-roasted for 8 hours and mixed in a hearty base of black-eyed peas and southern spices. The vegetarian Cattleman’s Pass, with three different types of beans and corn, packs a sweet kick.

But the Steak Town is where Hodges real genius comes into play. Rather than mixing hunks of overcooked flank into his chili and hoping to eventually simmer them into something palatable, he barbecues the perfectly-marinated beef and then tosses it into the chili at the last minute, thus giving you the best of both worlds: grill-fresh meat steaming atop a long-smoked pinto bean base. As if that weren’t enough, if you are (like me) one of those people who loves some spiciness but hates to add the vinegary flavor of hot sauce to everything, Hodges came up with a perfect solution: a habanero pepper oil that’s flavorless but fist-pumpingly spicy. And they have frosted mugs of root beer floats for desert.

Forget George W; I’ll take Rick Hodge’s culinary brilliance any day of the week.

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WHAT: kick-ass chili restaurant
WHEN: Monday-Saturday, 11:30 – 8:OO PM (noon to 5 PM on Sundays)
WHERE: Tub’s Fine Chili
$$$: Nothing over $10

If you haven’t noticed, the food truck world is a little oversaturated at the moment; the next generation of LA’s food truck scene involves not only edible delights, but art, technology, and fashion as well. Welcome the Summer Fling Truck- a crazy conglomerate of Blood Is the New Black t-shirts (check these out- they are pretty rad- www.bloodisthenewblack.com), I Make My Case- a division of case-mate, and Coolhaus- custom-made ice cream sandwiches. What the hell could be better than T-shirts and ice cream sold from a truck at a summer shindig? Nothing, I say. The T-shirts are seriously awesome and designed by various artists especially for the Summer Fling truck, and the ice cream sammies, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, are phenomenal, with custom flavors like chocolate cookies + red velvet ice cream, oatmeal cookies + black truffle pistachio ice cream, and chocolate cookies + dirty mint chip ice cream (rawrrr).

This Saturday kicks off the lunch of this particular Summer Fling (maybe you’ll meet yours at the party- holla), at a mobile pop-up shop at Nomad Gallery from 8pm-12am. There will be a live performance by Dunes, DJing, live screenprinting, and of course Case-Mate, Blood is the New Black, and Coolhaus products!

As Natasha Case of Coolhaus says: “Taking the ‘taco truck’ or ice cream truck concept and co-opting it into mobile fashion could inspire other industries to go mobile as well. We are speaking to our Echo Park community and showcasing all of the creativity that is coming from this area.”

Come kick off the summer in style and ice cream; I’ll be there.

WHAT: Summer Fling Launch Party
WHEN: Sat. June 5th 8pm-12am
WHERE: Nomad Gallery 1993 Blake Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90039
$$$: RSVP here http://bloodisthenewblack.com/summerfling/

Let me be clear on this. I would never presume to — and those words are almost always followed by whoever said them proceeding to do exactly what they just said they would never presume to do — but I would never presume to tell someone how they should feel about something. That said, let me make something else equally clear: Hard Times serves the best pizza in LA, and anyone who disagrees with me on this issue is both wrong, and un-American. And a tea-partier. PUT ‘EM IN THE STOCKS!

Now, when I talk about pizza, I don’t mean the fancy-pants artisanal pies they craft at Mozza (delicious as they are), or the steroidally doughy Sicilian squares they serve at Damiano’s. No, I’m talking straight up New York-style – fat, floppy, thin-crusted slices of calorically-daunting goodness. And if that’s what you’re in the market for — and why wouldn’t you be? — then Hard Times should be at the top of your short-list.

LA needs this place. Like a culinary version of that guy in San Diego who went joyriding in a tank, Hard Times lays waste to all pretenders in its path. Mullberry St. can keep its soggy-ass slices in Beverly Hills, proof that the sharks at William Morriss Endeavor will eat absolutely anything. Garage Pizza in Los Feliz, despite having awesome late-night hours, tastes like they bake old copies of the Orange County Register into their crusts. Abbot’s in Venice comes reasonably close to HT’s level of East Coast nirvana, but still, no cigarro. (That’s Spanish for “no cigar.” I’m bilingual!)

A neighborhood favorite since back before the skinny-pant brigade invaded Silverlake, Hard Times is a clean, spartan kinda place, with walls covered in Polaroids of happily well-fed regulars. The gal behind the counter will have more tattoos than you. The delivery men look like something from Grand Theft Auto 4. And the pizza itself?…

Let’s start with the dough. It’s imported directly from Brooklyn, where the water is soft — which, for reasons that I’m too lazy to research right now, gives the crust a better “body.” Either way, there’s more savory flavor in that bottom layer than most LA joints have in their entire pie. Combine that baked-to-crispy-chewy-perfection crust with a hearty spread of garlic-infused tomato sauce and a steaming layer of grated mozzarella cheese. Add in unsubtle hunks of fresh vegetables, thin-sliced Sicilian pepperoni, or (my favorite) scattered chunks of charred, spicy-as-all-get-out Italian sausage. Sprinkle some parmesan on it, soak up the orange grease rivulets. Fold it in half. Chew.

And tell me I’m wrong.

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WHAT: best pizza in LA
WHEN: 7 days a week, 11 AM – 11 PM (midnight on Saturdays)
WHERE: Hard Times
$$$: $19 for a large 1-topping

Chef Roy Choi is the type of guy who must go around with AC/DC’S “Back in Black” playing in his head all the time.

Think about it; a mere 18 months ago, he strutted out and transformed the LA food game overnight with his Kogi truck — a Twitter-fueled, culture-mashing, mouth-watering phenomenon which spawned so many imitators it made Pinkberry look like it needed a hug. Not content to rest on his media-darling laurels, he then snagged some obscure mini-mall space in Culver City and started Chego — a little pocket of Asian-kitchen wizardry that arrived on a huge wave of hype while simultaneously featuring absolutely nothing from his Kogi truck menu. This is the culinary version of Nirvana refusing to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” And yet, this place has just nabbed the title of Thing That I Cannot Go An Entire Week Without Eating At Least Once.

Chego is a rice bowl restaurant that’s out on a “Shaft”-like mission to strike fear in the hearts of turkey-ass rice bowl restaurants everywhere. (Yoshinoya, your card’s been pulled. Move to Guantanamo, you’ll be safe there. The prisoners are already being fed your food anyway.) Now, once you get over the joint’s fondness for frat-boy slang (”chillax peasant food from the soul?” STAB!), as well as the initial wave of indignation over the fact that there’s not even one measly kogi slider or kimchi quesadilla to be had… you’ll discover dishes that put Choi’s four-wheeled foodstuffs to shame.

Start with the charred asparagus, drizzled in what tastes like a smokehouse teriyaki glaze on steroids. Check out the polenta-infused meatballs, which steam like hot springs but effortlessly melt in your mouth. Get some kimchi-pickled carrots smothered in a rich brown sesame sauce and see how nicely the flavors balance out between savory and sour. And as for the rice bowls, just take a moment to appreciate the layers here: perfectly seasoned rice; chunks grilled deep-dark kale and chard; hidden veins of spice running through from top to bottom; and, of course their famous kogi prime rib…

…which, sadly, turned out to be dry, overcooked and underwhelming in the flavor department. My advice: skip the beef and go straight for the hilariously named One Chubby Pork Belly Bowl. That picture you see in the top left hand corner? That’s what you’ll find in here — crispy edged hunks of pork, painted a deep orange with chili-paste and thrown on a satanically hot frying pan. The taste is enough to haunt your dreams.

You might even walk out humming a little AC/DC yourself. “Thunderstruck”, anyone?

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WHAT: mind-blowing Korean rice-bowl restaurant
WHEN: everyday, 6 PM – Midnight
WHERE: Chego
$$$: Nothing over $10

In a bleary, blighted section of Santa Monica Blvd, there’s a diamond in the rough. It’s in an area of Hollywood where trash blows freely in the wind, where the traffic is so bad that drivers will die of old age and become dust before the lights turn green, where I once walked into a Del Taco and discovered a 30-something black tranny hooker sitting in a booth and shaving her adam’s apple – a sight that caused me to stop frequenting Del Taco, and tranny hookers, for almost two weeks.

But when people talk about “diamonds in the rough”, you’ll do well not to underestimate either side of that equation. The diamond in this case is called Crown of India — and it’s the best kept secret in the pantheon of LA curry houses.

Crown of India sits in a gritty mini-mall, flanked by a pawn shop and the kind of liquor store where they sell glass pipe-shaped “air fresheners” at the counter. You walk in and it’s a different world — clean, cozy, candle-lit. You’re instantly hit with the fragrant scent of basmati rice cooking in a hot kitchen. I’ve been going for years, and have never seen it crowded, and I’m always the only white dude in the place. The staff brims with happiness at seeing a returning face — I’ve never been greeted with anything but familial exuberance. Then again, with the level of cuisine they serve here, they could get away with welcoming me with a “Sup, fatty?” or a “Bitch please, I’m on the phone” and I’d still come back. Here’s why…

The vegetable samosas are served extra crispy, stuffed with steaming, savory chick-pea paste; the shrimp pakora tastes about one enterprising restaurateur away becoming the next Kogi-truck phenomenon; the papadams — usually an afterthought, like chips at a Mexican restaurant — are spicy as hell and totally worth the $1.95 a pop. The lamb coconut curry has the perfect amount of sweetness to offset the robust umami of the meat. The vindaloo delivers a potent, chili-pepper kick amidst soft mounds of steamed potatoes. The saag paneer strikes a glorious balance of spinach and hearty milk-cheese.

And finally — me being a guy who has spent the past seven years on a “Kung Fu”-style quest to find the greatest chicken tikka masala in Los Angeles, let me say that I can lay down my sword at Crown of India. It comes out bubbling hot, the sauce a burnt-orange color like a Venice Beach sunset. It’s thick and rich and complex, not even the slightest bit watered down, with tomato paste, cream, tumeric, onion and sinus-triggering spice all competing for supremacy. The chunks of chicken, marinated in spices and yogurt then baked in a clay oven, are rimmed with carbonized edges of smoky tandoori flavor. It’ll leave you a sweaty, pale mess, like Robert Downey Jr in the 80’s. It’s a must-try.

Forget the rough. Enjoy the diamond.

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WHAT: Terrific, hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant
WHEN: Sun-Thursday 11 AM- 9:45 PM, Fri-Sat 11 AM- 10:45 PM
WHERE: Crown of India
$$$: Plates range from $10-$16

Do you ever find yourself getting nostalgic for stuff that never happened to you?  Be honest — when the song “American Woman” by The Guess Who comes on your car radio, do you imagine yourself in 1971, cruising along in a t-top Camaro with summer winds blowing through your feathered hair? Do you watch Mad Men and secretly long for a day when it was appropriate to drink multiple martinis at work? Ever seen an old gangster flick and then wondered about the logistics of buying a Tommy-gun? (Spoiler alert: they’re legal!)

If you answered “yes” to any of those, have I got the place for you: The Cicada Club, a frozen-in-time throwback to the swing era, situated in the art-deco sumptuousness of the Oviatt Building on Olive St. This place has a 1940’s ambiance so all consuming, it renders time machines obsolete.

Originally built, according to the website, in 1928 as a “top-of-the-line haberdashery” (no doubt the envy of all those other wack-ass haberdasheries frontin’ up in the 213 at the time), the club features live big-band music every Sunday night, a sprung-wood floor populated by some of the most graceful swing-dancers you’ll ever lay eyes on, and a gin menu that could make W.C. Fields weep in ecstasy. (They also do a fixed-price dinner, but it’s A: reportedly not that great, B: overpriced at $50 per person, and C: requires you to interact with the Cicada waiters, who I generally found to be grouchy ass-clowns.)

My advice: skip the food, grab a sloe-gin fizz, and find someone to swing with. It doesn’t matter if you’re any good; I have houseplants that are better dancers than some of the people out on that floor. (In fact, some of those people’s names rhyme with “Me.”) But that’s the wonderful thing about this place — it’s utterly egalitarian. The crowd ranges from early 20’s to late 60’s; black guys in Andre 3000 outfits rub shoulders with white dudes in pin-stripe suits and Asian girls in evening gowns. Even the 12-piece orchestra is delightfully all over the map, featuring someone who looks like a well-fed old rabbi on the bass, a young fella in a do-rag on the clarinet, a heart-stoppingly beautiful redhead trumpet player, and a Morgan Freeman lookalike for a front-man who I believe possesses the most genuinely joyful smile I’ve ever seen on a human being.

Keep in mind: the other thing that truly unites the crowd (besides a love of all things post-war) is the dress code. Cicada Club requires a jacket/tie/dress shoes for guys and evening gowns for gals — dress like you were going to The Edison, in other words. And remember, the next time you find yourself wishing you were alive in an era when the drinks were two-fisted, the music was big, the dames were classy and the guys were… well, off fighting Hitler for the most part — this is the place you come.

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WHAT: Ultra-immersive 1940’s swing-dancing club
WHEN: Sunday nights, 6PM – 11 PM
WHERE: 617 South Olive Street
$$$: $10’s at the door, $8-$12 a drink

One of the hallmarks of a great LA restaurant is that they have hours designed to piss you off.  For example, at some point in time, Bay City Deli reached into a hat and picked out “Mondays” as the day they were going to close for unnamed reasons. Yuca’s on Hillhurst has no actual hours of operation and exists in a state of utter anarchy. Langer’s opens at 8 AM (for all those craving deli-meats and coleslaw for breakfast) and closes at 4 PM (because, well, fuck you.) It’s bad enough to make bankers look at these guys and be like “Damn, when do you actually work?”

But all these places have one thing in common: a transcendent culinary experience — and in that proud tradition comes Cliff’s Edge. This hidden Silverlake gem proves once and for all that joints like The Varnish and The Roger Room don’t have the game locked when it comes to “awesome places with no signs.” You’ll drive by three times before you see it — a nondescript tea-green bunker on the corner of Sunset and Griffith Park. You enter a tall wrought-iron door in the back of the parking lot and immediately find yourself on an idyllic, multi-tiered wooden deck built into the face of a cliff (hence the moniker) and surrounded by mini-forests of bamboo.

As for the brunch menu: the eggs benedict is divine, the pumpkin ravioli perfectly spiced, and the spicy ahi tuna tartare — chopped with fresh mango and served atop a bed of seaweed salad — engages every type of taste-bud on your tongue at once in perfect harmony. But the guilty secret of Cliff’s Edge is definitely the fries with the gorgonzola dipping sauce — pungent, creamy, and vaguely redolent of red onion amidst tiny hunks of green-veined goodness. You’ll sit back and sip a blueberry Stoli Italian soda, and watch sunlight dance amidst the leaves, and slowly forget that any other outdoor restaurant ever existed in this city.

But ah, here’s the rub: it’s only open during the day on weekends. I ask you — what kind of cruel, sick, depraved joke is that? You’ve got this restaurant that is second to none when it comes to blissful al fresco-ness, and yet only has daylight hours twice a week? ARE YOU PEOPLE OUT OF YOUR MINDS? VAMPIRES SEE MORE SUN THAN THAT! Ok, fine, if Saturdays and Sundays are all we’re getting, that’s all we’re getting.  We’ll manage.

Somehow.

Pass the sauce.

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WHAT: Unparalleled outdoor brunch
WHEN: Only on weekends from 11-3 (because God hates us)
WHERE: Cliff’s Edge
$$$: $10-$15 a plate

Ron Robinson, Fred Segal, and FILTER magazine invite you to shop in style this Saturday, with music, drinks, and pizza at the Fred Segal store on Melrose. Who doesn’t love music, drinks, and pizza-especially together? Scratch that; who doesn’t love music, drinks, pizza, and a free limited-edition screen-printed t-shirt? Nobody, that’s who. Shannyn Sossamon (the hot girl from 40 days and 40 nights) will bring the tunes, Original Penguin will bring the duds; the first 25 people to make purchases will get a $25 gift card. RSVP to Sharon@Ronrobinsoninc.com

WHAT: Original Penguin Spring Fling
WHEN: Sat. April 24 3-6pm
WHERE: Fred Segal, 8118 Melrose Ave
$$$: free to attend

If you know me at all, you know music is a big part of my life…as well as cupcakes.  Soooo give me a day to celebrate both (see this week’s Soundboard) while contributing to a good cause?  Done and done.

After a morning fulfilling your deepest music fantasies (well…as far as limited vinyl finds go anyway), pop on by Morel’s French Steakhouse & Bistro at The Grove for the National Food Bloggers Bake Sale and share some of your good fortune.  With over 40 local LA bakers and bloggers (you probably already follow, Twitter-style) donating their time and tasty treats, your day will nearly triple with sugary goodness.

Amongst the decadent deliciousness will be: Blondie brownies with butterscotch and chocolate chips from event hostess, Gaby of What’s Gaby Cooking, Deadly Chocolate Almond Toffee from La Fuji Mama, Espresso Black and Tan Cookies (a SoCal twist on the NYC fav) from Daydreamer Deserts, and some yummy surprise cupcakes (finally!) from I Heart Cuppy Cakes.

Not to mention the fact that this is part of the first annual food blogger’s charity fundraiser.  All proceeds made from cities across the U.S. on Saturday, April 17th (that’s TODAY, folks!) 10:30am-1:30pm will be donated toward Share Our Strength’s effort to end childhood hunger in America.  Should you not be able to tear yourself away from the record store ruckus (a bit of a quandary, I know), feel free to shoot over a charitable donation through their website between bands.

Music, cupcakes and good deeds?  My oh my, it IS a beautiful day.

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WHAT: National Food Bloggers Bake Sale
WHEN: THIS Saturday, April 17th 10:30am-1:30pm
WHERE: Morel’s French Steakhouse & Bistro at The Grove
$$$: FREE until you spot the goodies

Seriously.

Put the name brewery and art in the title of any event and I’m there, no questions asked. Of course, a few extra details never hurt anyone, right?  Plus, I’m not 100% sure you’re convinced yet and hey, I’ve got your back.

Here goes:

The Brewery Art Walk is a twice-annual (Spring & Fall) open studio weekend event for the 300 or so artists who work/live/play here in the world’s largest art colony (ummm…yes, please) to exhibit and sell their creations to the public (you!) at lower studio prices.

The Brewery Art Association was in fact, at one time, a PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon, for those of you living under a rock) brewery and bottling plant.  While, unfortunately, no PBR is currently being made here (ridiculous, I know), they could possibly be selling it or, if not, I am sure all you resourceful chaps have figured out a way to satisfy your liquid cravings on your own anyways (i.e.; bring your own). Nevertheless, this event is completely FREE, parking is FREE (nearby lot is provided by UPS), and you have the opportunity to purchase amazing, one-of-a-kind pieces while supporting your local art community.

Pick up a 6’ red stiletto sculpture or one of the aluminum steel Angry Dog and Shark functional art tables, compliments of contemporary/abstract metals master, Bruce Gray. Should those not be your cup of tea (or can of PBR), there will be an endless supply of original jewelry, photography, books, and other artistic inventions you never thought you needed until now.  If you have a few extra bucks, be sure and pick up a little something from the kids at the Barnsdall Arts: Ragan Art Academy booth and support local children’s art education programs.  Oh, there’s also an on-site bar/restaurant (Barbara’s at the Brewery) as well as a few art-friendly food vendors to keep you appropriately fueled (and sober, if need be), plus… a couple of food trucks lingering in the distance too.

In a nutshell:

(Reformed) Brewery + Art = FUN.

I’ll be there and you should too.

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WHAT: Brewery Art Walk
WHEN: THIS Saturday & Sunday, April 17th & 18th, 11am-6pm
WHERE: 2100 N Main St. (& Moulton) in DTLA
$$$: FREE unless you buy something

This week’s Bored & Thirsty is a different sort of animal than you’re likely used to. Week

after week, we see bars and clubs across this great city of ours, and really, there’s only so many variations on that theme. Sure, there are some great variations – Footsies, Jumbo’s, El Cid  - but let’s not forget about some of the other ways to get your drink on.

Among them, one of my all-time favorite drinking engagements: the time honored tradition of getting housed at a Dodger’s game. Now I’m not a sportshead (Hoorah for points, I guess!), but this is something different. Situated near Mt. Washington on the east side of town, Dodger Stadium is like our city’s Mt. Olympus. On a good night you can see a 360 degree panorama, and there’s something spectacularly captivating about walking into the bright-white lights of a stadium at dusk, drink in hand, about to get down with doing the wave with tens of thousands of your like-minded Los Angelenos.

The drinks are standard, and pricey as hell. Beer (only) on draft or in a can (promptly poured in a plastic cup) run from $8 all the way up to $13 (YIKES, you guys – let’s cool it with the ridiculous prices, k?), and admission is $12 for the shittiest seats, so you’ll  have to save a little for a night of sporting, but let’s me tell you: it’s freaking worth it. Because nothing says summer like peanuts and beer. And yelling “Charge!” everytime something important happens (like I said, I’m a total sports nut).

Here’s a little tip: you’re not allowed to bring your own booze to tailgate. No tailgating! Or rather, DON’T GET CAUGHT TAILGATING – DOUBLE WINK!

It’s all about singing the Star Spangled Banner, it’s about garlic fries (the perfect compliment to getting wasted, I assure you), it’s about being bright outside until 9 p.m. It’s about participating in Los Angeles, not just being a resident. This is like an annual initiation, and you’re not officially enjoying summer until you go and quench your boredom and thirst.

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WHAT: Baseball and brews.

WHEN: Throughout the summer!
WHERE: Dodger Stadium
$$: $12 entry, $10 beers… dare I suggest: pregame.

For anyone who made it to the The Grilled Cheese Invitational last year, you know what you’re in for. For those of you who didn’t, SHAME ON YOU.

The GCI is more fun than playing Donkey Kong Country at Don King’s cousin’s house (for anyone who didn’t get that reference, watch this. No, really, watch it, the quotability factor is staggering.)  Every year, fans of butter-crisped bread and melted cheese — in other words, all sentient humans with working taste-buds — gather for a jolly cook-off where a panel of judges, and the general public, decide who will reign as Supreme Sammich-Maker.

For those of you who want to throw on the theme from “The Karate Kid” and put your skills to the test, 300 chef-spots are given away on a first-come/first-serve basis — all you need to bring is your personalized ingredients and your A-game. I’m partial to thin-sliced sourdough with cranberry-chipotle cheddar and a sprinkling of spicy chorizo, but if I find any of you fools jacking my recipe, shit’s gonna get real. Don’t start none, won’t be none.

Seriously, though, don’t miss it (and get your tickets early) or we’ll be forced to put you in the stocks outside the courthouse and eat yummy things in front of you without offering you a bite. We cannot have anarchy.

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WHAT: Grilled Cheese Competition
WHEN: April 24th, Noon-6 PM
WHERE: Los Angeles Center Studios
$$$: $10

I don’t know about you, but spring is my favorite time of year.  Never-mind the fact it means my birthday is right around the corner and… it sets my mind in a constant state of cupcake-dreaming bliss—springtime means the air is clean, the weather is warmer, and brightly colored petals are blooming all around, including the much-awaited cherry blossom trees.  Finally getting the credit they deserve, LA is celebrating these Japanese beauties April 10^th-11^th in the Little Tokyo Arts District with the annual Cherry Blossom Festival.

Dance the day away with some traditional Odori dancing in the street (San Pedro St., to be exact), challenge someone to a strategic-frenzy game of GO, and perfect your horse stance watching the live presentations in the Martial Arts Arena.   New for this year is the J-Pop Stage, featuring anime-pop music & a lolita fashion show, a showing (4 times daily) of the film-festival favorite: Only The Brave, and (an obviously needed addition), a beer & sake garden.  Food-wise, expect a large assortment of Hawaiian favorites (smoothies, please!), as well as yummy sushi and noodle selections from Japan Bistro.

This is also the perfect time to reacquaint yourself with the (too-often forgotten) Japanese American National Museum and the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA, which are literally right next door.

Whatever brings you out, this vastly cultural, FREE event definitely tops the list in terms of entertainment-value.  Engaging over 45,000 guests last year, there are bound to be a few recreational activities to keep you busy and out of mischief.  Well…busy, at least.  I’ll leave the mischief-decision up to you.

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WHAT: Cherry Blossom Festival
WHEN: Saturday, April 10th: 10:30am-6:30pm & Sunday, April 11th: 10:30am-5pm
WHERE: Little Tokyo Arts District (1st & Alameda downtown)
$$$: FREE!

We’re big fans of Bacaro L.A. here at Bored LA (woah coincidence), from their delicious open faced burger with fried egg on top to their beefsteak Sundays (which I still need to attend, ASAP). April 17th is their whopping 2 year anniversary, and they’re throwing a bash that’s $20/person for OPEN BAR ALL NIGHT (delicious wines) and hors d’oeuvres passed around all night too. Check it out; it’s a cool space in an under-the-radar part of town with great food and great drinks. Also look out for their new wine bar, Mignon, coming soon to downtown.

**MOVED TO THIS SATURDAY 4/24** Sorry to our loyal readers who showed up last Saturday :( They changed the date, I swear!

WHAT: Bacaro L.A. 2nd anniversary
WHEN: April 24th 6pm-midnight
WHERE: Bacaro L.A.
$$$: 20/person

If you’ve never set foot in Home Ec, you’re literally in for a treat this Saturday.  It’s a cute as can be craft store in Sunset Junction and this Saturday only it will be full of yummy goodies in addition to its usual supply of unique fabrics and notions.  They’re holding a bake sale all day long to benefit Micheltorena Street Elementary School.  In the past, they’ve held charity bake sales for Haiti relief efforts and animal rescues, so look forward to even more delicious confections this time around.

If you go before 2, you’ll also have a chance to stop at the  Silverlake Famers’ Market – it’s at Sunset and Edgecliffe, only a few blocks away – so you can get some healthy produce to go with your sweets.

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WHAT: Book It Bakesale
WHERE: Home Ec
WHEN: Saturday, March 27th, 11 AM-7PM
$$$: Depends what you buy

More Hammer Screenings to report. This one is right up my alley, so here goes: April 1st the Hammer Museum is screening What’s On Your Plate?, a documentary about kids and food politics by award-winning filmmaker Catherine Gund. Said to be both “witty and provocative” the documentary comes amongst a plethora of food-awareness media that has caught on in recent months; Food Inc. being nominated for an Oscar and Michael Pollan topping bestsellers’ lists. The film follows two eleven-year old, multiracial city kids as they explore food systems in NYC and as they talk to farmers, storekeepers, and food activists about what we’re really eating. Check it out and maybe find out something about what’s on your plate.

WHAT: Screening of What’s On Your Plate
WHEN: April 1st 7pm
WHERE: Hammer Museum
$$$: free

Our favorite jorts-wearing, bearded acoustic folk singer/songwriter-enjoying bohemian community is back at it again, spreading joy and happiness through everything that we here at BoredLA love: music, art, community, and environment.

The Silver Lake Jubilee festival, taking place on May 22nd and 23rd, promises to unite a community once divided by the polarizing quality of Fiery Furnaces’ Blueberry Boat album for at least one weekend.  It will feature a line-up of over 20 musical acts, galleries of local artists, wonderful food from local restaurants, and a slew of surprise performance acts throughout the day.

This event plans to be as eco-friendly as possible and will even feature a children’s village, eco-village, and a temporary xeriscape garden for educational purposes.

The event will happen in a few months, so keep this info in your pocket.  However to pave the way for the festival, the last Wednesday of every month will feature Serenade Sunset at the El Cid (21+).

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WHAT: A Festival!
WHEN: The Weekend of May 22nd and 23rd
WHERE: Between Fountain Ave. and Santa Monica Blvd. on Myra Ave, Silverlake
$$$: General admission: $5, Children under 10 and Senior Citizens: Free