3357 Wilshire Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90010
** Long overdue completion on this post. Hate me, but at least it's here now. **
We met at the HMS Bounty. It was his choice. Let me break it down, Delicious style.
HMS Bounty is in Koreatown. Strike one.
HMS Bounty is a D-I-V-E. Strike two.
He is smarter than me.
That’s right. He is smarter than me, and while I could probably come up with excuses like “destination FOBtown sensation is conveniently in the middle,” and “Benito’s is a dive, too,” I had a severe, but subcutaneous, problem with the fact that he was very clearly, very obviously, so very blatantly, more intelligent than me.
My bad. Than I (am intelligent).
But let’s be clear about what the real problem is here. It’s not about intelligence, his nor mine.
It’s about grammar! At the very least, he probably knows the appropriate usage of “I” versus “me,” and I don't like anyone challenging my reign supreme as grammar queen!
The truth of the matter of the heart is that I do not know what I want. I am so totally fuct in the head that I have absolutely no clue what I want, no clue what I think I want, and no clue what I think I think I want. Or think. Or want. My thoughts and wants are never aligned with one another, and they change in non-aligning value every day. It’s kind of like playing a twisted game of Russian roulette with my own emotions.
I want complete and utter freedom. Bang! Wrong, because what I think I want is to be romanced out of my mind. Bang! Wrong again, because what I think I really want is someone who will stand up to me. Bang! What I think I think I want, which may or may not be what I really want, is…a New York Strip cooked medium with a side of filet mignon.
We all know that I would never order a steak medium.
I want meat to be bloody rare.
And I thought I wanted someone who is smarter than me (am smart), but as soon as I met The Scientist at HMS Bounty, I was hurled back into that wicked game of volleyboy in which I'm on one side of the net *sighing* over his brilliance, then tossed over to the other side of the net fiercely competitive with him, then smacked back to the other side, swooning with certainty that he reads the New York Times. Or maybe the Wall Street Journal. But not USA Today, because come on, only the economy business class who stay at the Fairfield Inn read the free copy of the USA Today with their continental breakfast.
HMS Bounty is in Koreatown, but it's not in in the gorgeous glittering ghettropolitan section of Koreatown. It's in a scary part, and by "scary part," I mean the tiny stretch of Wilshire Boulevard that is exactly the length of the width of HMS Bounty's storefront. The entrance is dark. The facade is crumbly. The chain-linked empty lot across the street didn't help.
When I stepped inside the HMS Bounty, I swear I felt like I had walked into Long John Silver's basement rec room. If the entry doorway had been dark, the interior was even darker, with an eerie red glow coming from an unidentified source. Maybe this was the hell lounge of naughty sailors, where the portholes are sealed shut and the antique register rings, but never lets them pay and leave.
I saw The Scientist sitting at the corner end of the long, wooden bar. I sat down beside him and was introduced to the three crusty old men with whom he had been in friendly chat. The three were "buddies" and have been regulars of the place for years - like 20 years. I have to admit that there was something utterly charming about that.
The Scientist and I got to know each other better. We drank a little, looked over the laminated sheets that offered what was once known as "continental cuisine," and ordered. With each progressive step in the conversation, I was at once interested, but intimidated. By the time a dinner salad with a Denny's-menu-picture-perfect dollop of Ranch dressing and the Baseball Steak arrived at our places, I was lost.
I'm sure The Scientist gave an athleto-historical reason for the name of the Baseball Steak, but all I could really think was that it looked exactly like a baseball. Naturally, it was presented very continentally with steamed broccoli and French fries. Both were well done, and I think I might have noticed that The Scientist had ordered his steak rare.
But still, he's smarter than me.
And I don't want the HMS Bounty.
Others are saying:
~ Caroline on Crack: Wind Down After the Wiltern Aboard the HMS Bounty (Nov 2005)
~ Citysearch: "it's all very lush, solid and serious"
~ LA.com: "ranked among the best bars in the city"
~ Yelpers give it 3½ stars out of five
** a year ago today, we set the tivo for graze anatomy - the 6th ed. of dine & dish **