Every time I’m in LA, I hit Animal. Ideally, I’ll make it there twice. Team Fat Ass? Yeah, I’ll own that without shame. There may have even been one visit where our group ordered everything on the menu. Here is some pic spam for no other reason than, um, it’s awesome.
Here’s the thing: a quick glance at the menu should remove any delusions that your meal will feature entrées supporting whatever gluten-free/egg free/nut free/fat-free/weirdo-hardc0re-vegan diet is
Hollywood’s latest offering in their magic bag of crazy the newest fad.
Crispy pig head:
In addition to the above, our group tends to be partial to the poutine, the gnocchi, the flat-iron with truffle Parmesan fondue… oh, and let’s not forget the foie gras maple biscuit. Actually, to save time, I’ll keep this simple: we love everything on their menu… except the kale. And straight up, who goes to a place called Animal and munches on kale?
Oh no, I didn’t mean for that to sound rhetorical. Here’s your answer: the girls from that
terrifying MTV horror reality show, The Hills… Let’s break it down, shall we?
J (glancing at the table to our left): Isn’t that one of those girls from that MTV show?
A (gives blonde a once over): You mean The Hills? Two of them look familiar. I didn’t watch that show though. I did read those novels the one girl wrote when they ended. They were so bad!
J & other J (in unison): Seriously?! You read those?! OMG. WHY?!
A: I was 9 months pregnant! I was bored!
J & Other J: Hahahaha. And you thought those would be a cure?
A, J, and Other J all laugh.
Before we can continue the snarkmentary, a whole mess of them breeze through the door, seemingly in full MTV mode. If you’ve been to Animal, you know how loud this place is… suddenly all we can hear is:
Feel the rain on your… OHMYGAH! How ARE you?! It is SO good to SEE you! You look AH-may-ZING!
Many hugs, multiple hair flips, and endless exclamation points later, they’re ready to order. We watch in fascination as one plate of kale was delivered to the table. Then another. There was one point where we thought they may have ordered the poutine, but wait… no… that was actually ours. No wonder they looked confused.
Four hours later A, Other Jay, and I have polished off about 10 (shared) entrées, 1 bottle of wine, a Mexican coke, and suddenly, there’s the waiter with a flat-iron steak. Without truffle parmesan fondue or anything else.
That’s it. We need a mute button… Check! The AmEx cards come out, and with a final gulp of wine (mine), we’re out of there.
Perhaps next time we should show just how friendly we can be. We’ll send the table an order of foie gras + biscuit + maple gravy.
Wait. I take it back. I’m not that cruel. I’ll make sure to ask them to send the plate with the maple gravy and biscuit on the side.