Ivana I.'s Profile

I've gone maddeningly M.I.A. from Yelp mostly out of pure exhaustion of reviewer-dom and talk threads and gossipy feuds that I found not to be an integral part of the site.  But they have become an integral part of the site, which is a plus for those glued to the computer in a National Enquirer sorta way.  

That said... I couldn't NOT review the bad, BAD polish job I received on my nails at Karen's Nails.  What can I say... it's Friday, so what's a girl to do when her tummy's not hungry and she's on lunch break?  Sit in the car beside a park and nap?  I think not.  Although I'd probably be in a much more pleasant mood if I did.  Anyhoot, I forget who I had, but she was nasty (I tried to crack jokes, smile, giggle, nothing worked) and clumsy.  If I opted for a red, summery polish instead of the nude, I'd most certainly be a livid gal at this moment.  Not only did she file my nails down to the fingertips, but she smeared the top coat on as if my nails had no borders.  And then...?!  No acetone-dipped Qtip to clean up the polish on my finger skin!  And when I asked (ever-so sweetly since my fingers were in her hands) for a cleanup.... she just stared at me, blankly.  I paid, left a friggin' tip ('cause hey, I don't know what she's been through in her life, right?), and should've walked out with their copy of InStyle.  But didn't.

Ladies who've reviewed this place before and given it four (even five!) stars... my goodness!  Yes, okay, it's clean.  I would hope it'd be clean.  But clean alone don't cut it when you're slapping down a ten for a poorly done 10 minute job.

So... how many inches of snow in Chicago?  It's been 72 here and sunny.  Pretty rough, n'est pas mes cheries?  But car accidents happen everywhere.  Heck, mine got nearly totalled as I was doing drop-offs in Beverly Hills this morning.  Lights smashed, hood cracked, front fender hanging by a metal thread, smelly coolant leaking out completely in front of the damn Ivy of all shnazzy "let's do lunch" spots... uppity Bentleys and Porsches and Maseratis driving around my embarrassing wreck, their wheels crunching over my broken glass.  "Hey assholes, wanna read a script?!"  But don't you worry, my little butterfly chips... no one hurt, fault of the other driver, yada, yada, yada.  A Nissan sedan temporarily hauling my ass around town, thanks to Matrix since they also suggested a fantabulous car rental place that works with all insurance companies.  Matrix was recommended by my AAA for collision repair, and when I found out they've been doing steady business for over 20 years, my anxiety and whole-life-flashing-before-my-eyes-during-accident shivers subsided.  They subsided a great deal, despite my naturally paranoid personality.  Everyone at the Matrix office was incredibly professional, efficient, patient, and sweet.  And I've gotta say... I love the fact that a petite, sassy woman is running the joint like it's a mission to the friggin' Moon.

Darling Buds of Summer,

THIS is what's been missing from the L.A. dining scene... a raw bar that is not Japanese.  Tucked away and hidden... behind the Borders on Sunset of all ridiculous places.  And once inside you will find... the most serious of oysters, served with a little lemon, simple shell fish that transport you to a small boat off the coast of Sardinia.  And let me tell you something about those scallops.  First of all, I'm not a scallop kind of girl, but I succumbed under another's prompting and gave in to a delicate sampling.  I don't know what fairy dust they sprinkled into its broth, but the marinated scallops--served raw--MELT in your mouth, with a citrus taste I never knew existed.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  The tempura-fried soft shell crab in a bean and feta cheese salad was amazing, very sexy/crunchy, but the little stickie of a gold star goes to the chorizo-stuffed squid.  And surprisingly, while all this glorious tasting was going on, there were no bits of sand grazing this lassie's molars.  

Warmest Regards,
Ivana

P.S.  Hungry Cat is also known for its special spin on standard cocktails... try the Pimlico or the Dark & Stormy.  But I must say that the Kumkani Sauvignon Blanc (South Africa) accompanies the previously mentioned dishes wonderfully, wonderfully well.  Salut!

I was referred to Kim for my car's smog-failure 'situation' and he is HANDS DOWN the warmest, most trustworthy mechanic I've come across in all my automobile-ownin' days.  An oxygen activator is all my wreck of a driving machine needed, unfortunately.  Looks like it's got another year before I finally kick it into the ravines of the Grand Canyon.

Pretty fantastic lunch specials to share... great salad w/ grilled salmon... but the absolute, MOST HORRIBLE ESPRESSO I've ever had in my life so far.  Pitiful. Disgusting.  Watered-down to funky town.  I've never in my living days seen my mother leave behind half a teeny-weeny cup of espresso, but it was so shameful we preferred to throw ourselves back into the mid-day heat of Robertson and go searching for bikinis.  Ugh.  Unfriendly service to boot.  Come for lunch and drink champagne instead.  Better espresso at the hotel lobbies surrounding LAX for Christ's sake.  Cuvee THIS.  ("Then why even toss 'em two stars??' you ask.  Hmm.  Wow.  That's a toughie.  Well... perhaps for the mini bottles of Moet & Chandon, for crying out loud.  And pray tell... what lil' goddess w/ an upside-down smile doesn't adore a mini bottle of champagne.)

No wait as a walk-in on a Saturday?!  An absolute must-stop for a mani-pedi.  The kindest service, despite the fact that you always think they're talking about your feet in particular and giggling away their other worries of the day.  They do try to push their massages on you... be firm if you don't want one and simply say 'next time'.  Don't give in to the frown.

A Southern Italian restaurant brought to you by the owners of Dolce.  The carpaccio appetizer is explosively wonderful.  But the sweet/oh-so-subtly manipulative service rubbed our party in quite the non-appreciative way... you ask for one bottle of water to share, and she brings out two... pouring/pouring/refilling to her heart's content.  We were too busy chatting to notice.  And although everyone and their mother's been so down on merlot lately, we thought it was enough already, and ordered a nice bottle of St. Supery, which complemented each and every dish on the table.  The bolognese farfalle, however, you can pass here... nothing to write home about.  But anything frutti di mare is a winner.  Did I just write 'winner'?  I suppose I did, yet most of the menu will not blow your socks off.  Although a new 'hot spot', it's easy to land a reservation here simply calling one day in advance.

There are dives, and then there are classy dives.  This, my dears, merrily belongs to the latter.  A new Hollywood favorite of mine.  Located under the House of Blues' administrative building, it's mucho easy to find.  This is what it's got:  great drinks, great bartenders, great vibe.  I have to agree with Stephy that the jukebox's music selection could be much better... but the tunes they had playing during my stay were a-okay (although there's something SLIGHTLY off about hearing Coldplay even in a classy dive).  If you don't luck out with parking on the street (it IS just off Sunset after all), there's $5 dollar parking in the adjoining garage (worth it).  A short walk to Daddy's in case you're itching to stretch your legs and hit another one of those aforementioned 'classy' dives.

If you're searching for that unclaustrophobic bar we all crave so much (especially in Hollywood), Daddy's is great on a Thursday night when you're looking to chat it up with a friend over some seriously strong drinks.  (Nice Rum & Coke.)  Unpretentious, old-school vibe... loungey, neighborly feel.  I adore the large, square, soft leather floor cushions scattered about.

I've lived around the corner from this place for about three years, yet... well, life happens and we miss the Galanga train.  Not tonight, baby!  The daintiest/flower-shaped crab rangoons, tofu pad thai, vegetable curry with ginger sauce, items so far... so very good.  Quite a selection of salads and noodle dishes as well... everything on the menu appeals to  those fickle tastebuds.  Brown rice as an option is great for those craving smart carbs only.  Galanga also has a lunch special:  everything for $4.95.  Not too shabby.  And toss in an absolutely adorable garden patio w/ sweet little romantic touches, wonderful presentation and friendly service, and you've got a solid gold winner.