When your night involves handcuffs and a samurai sword, you’re either:
Doing surf and turf at a crazy new La Cienega place, or...
Well, let’s just assume that’s it. That’s what you’re doing.
Go with the crazy at Barton G., a new Miami import that shackles your barbecue and serves your seared tuna with a giant samurai sword sticking out of it because why not—opening tomorrow in West Hollywood.
Let’s say half of your friends want to hit Vegas for a completely over-the-top night. And the other half really, really don’t. This place could easily become your compromise. You’ll meet between the white, orchid-sprouting felt walls and gold sheer curtains at this opulent little dining room with a glassed-in pastry kitchen hovering above it. Then throw out any preconceived notions that your cheese course shouldn’t come in a mousetrap.
Yep, you’ll quickly see that everything’s a little wacky here. Your table’s Lobster Pop-Tarts arrive in a 1950s toaster. Your filet’s on a carving board with a four-foot fork rising out of it. Your drink has nitro-vodka popsicles. And dessert looks like Marie Antoinette with cotton candy hair. It’s like your meal itself is a performance.
But you don’t have to go see its play.
Doing surf and turf at a crazy new La Cienega place, or...
Well, let’s just assume that’s it. That’s what you’re doing.
Go with the crazy at Barton G., a new Miami import that shackles your barbecue and serves your seared tuna with a giant samurai sword sticking out of it because why not—opening tomorrow in West Hollywood.
Let’s say half of your friends want to hit Vegas for a completely over-the-top night. And the other half really, really don’t. This place could easily become your compromise. You’ll meet between the white, orchid-sprouting felt walls and gold sheer curtains at this opulent little dining room with a glassed-in pastry kitchen hovering above it. Then throw out any preconceived notions that your cheese course shouldn’t come in a mousetrap.
Yep, you’ll quickly see that everything’s a little wacky here. Your table’s Lobster Pop-Tarts arrive in a 1950s toaster. Your filet’s on a carving board with a four-foot fork rising out of it. Your drink has nitro-vodka popsicles. And dessert looks like Marie Antoinette with cotton candy hair. It’s like your meal itself is a performance.
But you don’t have to go see its play.
