Vespertine has always been high on my list of restaurants to go to. Right smack bang in the middle of nowhere in Culver City, Los Angeles, it sits on top of the hill (not literally), looking down on everyone like it’s the king of the world. Having always been so well received over email and in person, I have formed a relationship out of genuine interest in the chef and his concept. The first time I visited was in 2019 and, since that totally crazy, unforgettable night, there has been a permanent stamp of approval embedded in my very thoughts. It isn’t going anywhere. When people ask me, “Which restaurant is the best you have ever been to?” firstly, “best” is a broad word; I can’t possibly answer. What I can do is tell you which places have stood out the most when you eat in so many two-star Michelin restaurants all over the world. What comes naturally with this is my version of what is at the top and who separates themselves from the pack in a huge pool of grafting chefs. One thing that is also important to me is how far the restaurant is willing to go to accommodate. Vespertine is the rare player in LA that takes into consideration any preferences or dietary requirements. Honestly, you have no idea how many times I have messaged other two- and three-star restaurants in this city asking them to take care and mind a gluten intolerance, only for them to respond as if I had asked them to charter a private jet to bring some highly prized ingredients especially from France, ready in time for my meal. They will not budge, and the fact that they are unwilling to do anything to help their guests makes me think twice about whether I want to go there or not. I am a busy person; I don’t have time to worry over these things, so if they can’t implement such a small task (like everyone else in Europe, for example), I won’t give them my time or attention. When did it become all about them?
I should make a musing post about that. Anyhow, fairness is all around at Vespertine; they don’t moan about it, they simply get on and do it. That’s why we are here: we can all dine, not only some of us. As usual, I am going to be honest, because it’s only right to do so, and things are different this time around, including the sequence. Normally, we would be waiting outside as part of the first encounter, but that seemed to have been scrapped, along with the snacks and another space in which to enjoy them. There was no anticipatory sense of arrival. Instead, we were taken into a lift, shown through to the kitchen and then seated. A mini tour before beginning. As I sat down, I couldn’t work out if the dining room was smaller or bigger. Were there fewer tables? Oddly, it felt cramped, with everybody quite close together. Starting with a gin and whisky without anything to eat was lonely; I began to miss the full aperitif. The staff tried to time opening a bottle of wine to go with our food, so we could enjoy both at the same moment, but it didn’t quite work out that way. We waited, as our patient and personable sommelier offered to go on a hunt to try to find something else more suitable. He would appear and then disappear again, while I murmured, “The wine list could be better with more Californian.” It made no sense to pay three times the cost for a usual Burgundy red, but the service was excellent; they really tried their best for us. It would have been nice if we could enjoy the gastronomy and wine in tandem. However, the caviar offered made up for the wait. This is service.
I had a few reminders of the standard of Vespertine, beginning with a beautiful raw scallop with passionfruit, the sweet side harmonious and working texturally well with the rest. I was almost ready to stand up and give a round of applause for the second dish, with buckwheat being so crucial: a symphony of flavours playing and dancing in the mouth. Seeing so much work go into it suggested perhaps a never-ending process. Moments like this confirm why I always return, with another stunner logged in my memory to talk about. As for the mussel, our waiter spooned the caviar generously onto the top, which is normally a supplement. “We wanted to apologise for keeping you waiting,” they said apologetically. “That is quite alright,” I reassured them. Without this, it really wasn’t the same; it’s almost as if the mussel needed the caviar, and then it was all lifted. This extraordinary attention to detail from the chef is what is missing in the world today.
The fish was astounding, meant to be eaten with your fingers and coming from Japan (not surprising). And the quail was unreal; if I ever use this word in a story, you know I mean it, as I don’t say it often. A seriously top, top, top product. There were some weaker areas, such as the dessert, for which we were moved into another setting. The logistics didn’t give the same impression as before; there could be budget constraints, or they might not have the capability to do what they did six years ago. Instead of giving us a series of desserts, coming up with one or two very technically precise masterpieces would give better flow and continuation. Sometimes, when you try to do too much, the standard drops. I also didn’t find the ingredients used very “delicious”; they were more avant-garde, more conceptual, when the flavour needed to take the reins. I would like to see this reduced, exactly like in the savoury courses. Nevertheless, we were back once more, but it didn’t overtake the first time. There were glimmers and snippets of before, just in a cut, reduced version. That isn’t to say that you should avoid coming here; go for yourself to be able to shape your own thoughts and feelings. I have given you a head start.
