why yes… i did graduate with a degree in biology

Today, we will talk about chem­istry and equi­lib­rium. And booze, yes, booze is important.

So, every­thing wants to be in equi­lib­rium. Mean­ing, every­body wants to be like every­body else. So if you have a nice cock­tail, with nice ice cubes in it, the cock­tail wants to get cooler and the ice cubes want to get warmer. That’s why ice cubes melt you know, because they hate being cold. Being cold sucks.

Luck­ily for the ice cubes, they can exchange their cold for the cocktail’s hot, where they’re exposed. So they do. It’s called heat transfer.

In the­ory, the ice cubes are sup­posed to stop melt­ing once they hit equi­lib­rium and are as warm as the cock­tail. In the­ory. But, we all know that THAT never hap­pens. Even­tu­ally the suck­ers melt away and dis­ap­pear and your cock­tail is diluted.

Things are a lit­tle dif­fer­ent with ginor­mous ice cubes.

Ginor­mous ice cubes have less sur­face area, which are sites of heat trans­fer, so they don’t melt as quickly as a bunch of small ice cubes in the same vol­ume. Which means your drinks stay true to its potency. Huzzah!

Mixol­o­gists know that big­ger ice cubes are bet­ter. They also know that ROUND ginor­mous ice cubes are bet­ter — that’s why, some­times you see them jab­bing ice picks into blocks of ice. They’re shav­ing it into balls, because balls have less sur­face area than cubes.
That’s so old school though. Nowa­days, you can get your­self some pre-made round ice balls or ginor­mous ice cubes from Névé ice.

Dan from Dan Cox PR invited me to a Névé ice cock­tail party, which was held at Oste­ria La Buca at Mel­rose. Usu­ally I refuse to go to media events or par­ties in LA, but it’s from Dan, and he’s a nice guy. I dragged Don into going with me, since I can’t be trusted behind the wheel once I get my drink on.

The party was held in some super secret room within the Oste­ria com­plex. Ok not really, but it was cool to go inside a semi-half-way-done estab­lish­ment through the backdoor.

This is Michel. He started Névé, this ginormo-ice-cubes-business. He is hipster-skinny and cute, and wants to make love to a nice bot­tle of sherry every night (more on that later).

This is Steve. He works at La Descarga. He is also hipster-skinny and cute. Sorry, I have a knack for skinny boys.

Ginor­mous long ice cubes for tall drinks, or bub­bly drinks. Because it melts so slow, your bub­bly stays bubbly.

You shall use your bubbly-safe spear of an ice cube for The Eloper. Dimi Ital­ian Liqueur, Vodka, Lemon Juice, Can­taloupe, and some bub­bly that is Pros­ecco, gar­nished with a pro­sciutto roll up. This is a drink ver­sion of the clas­sic appe­tizer — wait for it — proscuitto and melon! This one was like a punch in the face.

More ginormo ice cubes. These cube-y ones are for drinks that are made with hard liquor, so that it still gets to keep the lip.

Look at dem skillz.

Exhibit A: The Ital­ian Stal­lion. This one calls to my inner Viet­namese: for one, it’s made with scotch (and Caprano Antica, Cynar), and two, it tastes like burnt caramel. Yum.

Exhibit B: The silen­zio Dolce. This was was given a name via a nam­ing con­test over at Car­o­line On Crack. Made with Zaya Rum, Averna Amaro, Blood Orange Juice, Nocello Wal­nut Liqueur. It looks like a chick drink, and it tastes like a chick drink, but due to its sheer hardcoreness, it is guy safe. Your penis will not shrink into a vagina, like when you drink a Jolly Rancher. Swear to my heart.

Afore­men­tioned sherry that Michel wants to make love to. He gave us a taste of it; sooooo sweet. Like brown sugar. I want to sprin­kle some of this stuff on a but­tery pound cake.

The Cynar, it is actu­ally arti­choke booze. Which is bet­ter than Cam­pari in my books, because that shit is made of bugs.

Some noms inbe­tween cock­tails, from Oste­ria La Buca. This one was the Ravi­oli Con Il Fico (Potato and Fig Ravi­oli). SO GOOD.

Two dishes that will lure us next door for din­ner: The Bur­rata, lit­tle pro­ci­utto pouches filled with bur­rata, toma­toes, and olive oil, and the Salmorino: cured salmon, frisee, lemon dress­ing over flat­bread. La Buca is smart because they serve per­fectly salty foods with the booze.

Gnoc­chi al Gongonzola. Don asked the waiter if it was mac and cheese, and totally offended him. Oh Don.

The four-course booze meal comes to an en fin with an I luv Lucy - which fea­tures egg whites. EGADS! The cock­tail is named after Michel’s girl­friend, ain’t that sweet? I wish Don named some­thing after me. Actu­ally, no, scratch that, I don’t want some weird region in the human brain named after me.

Carpano Antica, Whiskey, lemon juice, and egg whites equals frothy good­ness, which is dense and tells my belly that we are done.

That was a whole lot of fun for the both of us, but we were hungy. So we mosey’d on over to the restau­rant for a late dinner.

This place is SO prosh and cozy. The owner is going to be ren­o­vat­ing and expand­ing and stuff with a designer with an epic last name, Bren­dan Raven­hill. RAVENHILL. Now that’s a last name fit for an artist. He also makes weird look­ing bottle-openers, which landed him this gig in the first place. Exciting things are in the woodworks.

When you’re buzzed, the bread here is pretty fuck­ing amaz­ing. So soft and but­tery. And the spicy mari­nara sauce? Oye.

Some wine to, um, help us eat bet­ter. Sauvi­gnon Blanc for the boy, a rubresco-sangiovese-canaiolo blend for me.

Don had the lin­guine car­bonara (16). To which, of course, I con­test, because I can make a car­bonara at home. Or so I thought. The pasta here, it is per­fectly al dente, and the cheese-pancetta-eggs sauce is creamier than any­thing I’ve ever made. Shamed!

I had the tagli­atelle bolog­nese (17). It’s good, although noth­ing beats my mom’s. What is up with moms and meat sauce? The pasta, on the otherhand, kicks Mom’s barilla’s ass by the ten­fold — it’s smooth as silk, and goes down eaaaaaaasy.

I saw panna cotta (6) on the menu and could not resist. I seri­ously doubt that there is such thing as bad panna cotta out in the world. Love, love, love.

Don had the tiramisu (10), which is the biggest tiramisu you will ever encounter in a restau­rant. Mas­car­porne is not too sweet, and the whole thing is per­fectly boozy. If only it wasn’t so big — it was get­ting heavy towards the end.

We like it here a lot. We’ll prob­a­bly be back, next time we’re in town. Which is prob­a­bly, like, two years later or some­thing, since we rarely go beyond the South Bay for noms.

Oste­ria La Buca
5210 mel­rose ave.
los ange­les, ca 90038
(323) 462‑1900
http://osterialabuca.com

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Tagged as: Booze, hosted, LA, outside noms