Son of A Gun

Let me be clear, all restaurants are fantastic places with lots of food in them. It’s just that some are better than others.

Last Saturday I had a heck of a day. First I had to wrangle my garden hose around the whole yard. Then I had to deal with Robert, my rubber chicken chew toy. He would not stop squawking no matter how many times I squeezed him. In fact, the more I told him to relax the louder he got. So when the neighbors called to complain about noise, I pointed all paws at him. By 5:45 I was dog-tired and super hungry. Generally I sustain a relatively poultry free diet, but that evening the only thing that sounded good was a fried chicken sandwich. #sorrynotsorry Robert.

There are tons of different spots in LA to get great fried chicken, but there is only one that serves it just the way I like it: on a bun with spicy b&b slaw and, get this, rooster aioli. It’s called Son of a Gun; the seafood centric restaurant of Jon Shook and Vinny Dotolo on 3rd Street in West Hollywood. It’s a cozy little spot that never has an empty seat in the house. With no reservation and a growling belly, my parents and I decided to try our luck at the bar which has room for about six people…barely.

When we pulled up I darted toward the back and claimed the last few remaining stools. Amanda, our favorite bartender, was there with a smile on her face and a tequila for my dad. Their cocktails are fancy, but I went with water—neat, no fruit. The menu changes daily, but there are some tried and true items that never fade and, thankfully, my fried chicken sandwich is one of those dishes. We ordered it first because patience has never been a strongpoint of mine. In addition, I ordered the Yellowfin Tuna (with leche de tigre, avocado and tortilla) to start with some of their house-made potato chips and pimento cheese dip. What I particularly love about the menu is how non-vegetarian friendly it is. I decided to be polite and let my mom have a bite of the Local Black Cod with oyster mushrooms, charred escarole and a grainy mustard. After all, she drove me there.

The joint was hopping by 7 and people were starting to cluster around the bar as they waited for their table. Amanda and the wait staff were on point with their service. I swear they could tell you every ingredient in each dish down to the herbs and spices. When it came to dessert there was only one slice of pink lady apple and blackberry pie left. I nabbed it in the nick of time. The crust was flakey and not too sweet and it floated in a buttermilk anglaise. Unreal. I washed it all down with banana bread and fresh whipped cream while the people hovering around the bar watched in awe.