Went Home Hungry from The Hungry Cat

The Hungry Cat
1535 Vine St
Los Angeles, CA 90028
(323) 462-2155

www.thehungrycat.com

“O, Oysters, come and walk with us!”

The Walrus did beseech.

“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.”

Monday evening we met T & CJ for a light dinner at The Hungry Cat. The Hungry Cat is hosting an oyster roast on Monday evenings, and T and I were down for some oysters. Honestly, my belly was still in recovery from gastric distress after last Saturday's night of over eating and over boozing at The Bazaar. Oysters, salad and a little white wine sounded like just the trick. Unfortunately, we were really disappointed with The Hungry Cat.

Things did not start off well. We arrived at 7 and promptly ordered drinks, which did not come for over 15 minutes. We had to flag down a busboy and ask him to get our server. As I am sure you know, this is a small restaurant. Last night 4 tables were seated on the patio, 2 inside and a few people were sitting at the bar. The owner was in attendance, there were at least 2 servers working, 2 busboys and 2 hostess-type-people. After our drinks came we waited about another 10 minutes to order. I am unsure what was going on inside, but it wasn't good.

Above is the oyster roast menu. T and I ordered the roasted oysters which were actually steamed. CJ ordered everything else, which what I love about him.

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head—
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

The oysters came, but accompanied by nothing with which to shuck them. Now, I can shuck some oysters. As I have mentioned before when waxing poetic about clam chowder, I used to work at a little restaurant called The Half Shell in San Francisco. The Half Shell did happy hour oysters, a half dozen for $6.95 and the bartender gets to shuck them. I can shuck some oysters. However, I need a shucker and a towel. I had neither. Our server came back, who was very nice and very patient when she was actually at the table. They were out of shucking tools. She told me they should be easy to shuck with a knife, they were not, therefore maybe they hadn't been steamed long enough. She took them away and brought them back completely shucked. I was up to the task, it just needed to be an achievable task.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat-
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn’t any feet.

Their taste was unexciting, to say the least. They were OK. I love oysters in any form. But I was expecting something more. It is funny how experiences in life can set us up for disappointment later. The Half Shell used to serve roasted oysters. The chef did them two ways, Rockefeller style with spinach, garlic, cheese and bacon, or simply in a sweet and spicy BBQ sauce. It was of this I was dreaming when thinking of an oyster roast. Now, I was looking up a bio for David Lentz, the personality behind The Hungry Cat. The way he serves these oysters seems really east coast to me. (Somehow in my imagination of what an east coast oyster roast would be, never having lived there nor been to an oyster roast.) However, everything I could find was about his current career and not about his background and upbringing. That and the bio of another David Lentz, karate master David M. Lentz.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more-
All hopping through the frothy waves,

And scrambling to the shore.

Thankfully, along came something more edible and something else entirely inedible. Our one dozen kusshi oysters. Also on the platter were D's half dozen cherrystone clams. He hates raw clams. He was thinking steamed clams. We had nowhere to throw or hide these so they just went back to the kitchen. But we gobbled up those wonderful kusshi. I wasn't even planning on raw oysters, but when kusshi are on the menu I cannot resist.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

Above is another item on the Monday Night Oyster roast, the crayfish and chorizo cornbread. Mmm'kay. This was delicious.

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings.”

Also featured on the menu is a quartet of sausages with slow cooked pepper and onions. There were chorizo, merguez, lamb and pork sausage in that friendly little dish and they were all good.

“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,
“Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!”
“No hurry!” said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

From the regular menu was the Dungeness crab cake on a bed of frisee with bacon, young potatoes and a jidori egg. This had the potential to be a beautiful dish. I love frisee au lardons in any possible translation. However, the crab cake fell short. It was under seasoned. Something should separate a crab cake from just regular crab aside from the fact that it is shaped into a cake and lightly fried.

“A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,
“Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed—
Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.”

Also from the regular menu is my favorite salad in all of Los Angeles. The market lettuce salad with grated hard boiled egg, pecorino cheese and avocado. This is a celebration of goodness in your mouth. Tastes great with a glass of cold white wine.

“But not on us!” the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue,
“After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!”
“The night is fine,” the Walrus said.
“Do you admire the view?”

D ordered the Alaskan king crab with spicy blood orange butter and grilled bread. Again, issues with the manipulation of the sea creatures. This was not even par-cracked for us. Under normal circumstances, I would crack the shells and remove the meat for my husband. I kind of like doing this and he hates it. However, the patio at The Hungry Cat is dark. Way dark. You may have noticed that I used flash in these photos, kind of a no-no for a food blogger. However, it was really fucking dark. Now, if all I cared about were my photos, I would eat out more often at lunch. However, I also care about drinking and working while drunk just isn't the done thing in my field. Therefore, I do my food blogging at night. Like a cat. Or a vampire. Or zombie. T even had words with one of the hostesses about the darkness.

Now, T lives 6 blocks away from the Hungry Cat. She has been coming since it first opened. I came with her one of the first few months. I remember we sat against the wall inside, long before they built the raw bar. Nowadays we usually we sit at the bar, however in T's discussion with one hostess-type-person she said that she remembers eating on the patio with some lovely little twinkly lights gently lighting the clients, the drinks and most importantly the food. And the hostess argued with her. Really. The hostess has apparently worked there 3.5 years, and the only time there have ever been twinkly lights is at Christmas. And she told T she was welcome to eat inside next time. REALLY? Wow. Wasn't there maybe a nicer way to have that conversation?

Anyway! I wasn't going to take photos, but D asked me to use my flash to light up his food so he could see what it looked like before eating it. Not kidding. And I cannot shuck oysters without a shucker, nor can I crack crab without light. I am not God.

“It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf—
I’ve had to ask you twice!”

The last disappointment of the evening were the squash blossoms. I love squash blossoms. Love. However, I recently ate the ultimate squash blossoms at Yxta downtown. Those were the best ever. EVER. The perfect balance of cheese filled blossom to squash. These last night had no squash whatsoever. Simply the blossom coated in tempura batter and deep fried. I was sad. I was even more sad when texting T after leaving The Hungry Cat we realized that we had all left hungry. Not so with the Walrus and the Carpenter.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,
“You had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?”
But answer came there none—
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one.