Underwhelmed, Mon
Saturday, December 3, 2005 13:06Tried a new place yesterday, called Ginja Lions. It’s Asian-Caribbean fusion, located on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City, right across from the strip mall that houses the famous Sushi Nazi, Sushi Nozawa. It is a small space, decorated with tropical themes. There is an aquarium in the wall, reed fences lining the ceiling, and strategically placed palm trees. I could see no lights anywhere, so on a cloudy day like yesterday, it was quite dark. At night they light candles at the tables, which I guess makes up for it. The decor is whimsical and fun, and it needs to be to divert your attention from the food. Not that the food wasn’t tolerable, just that they were out of damn near everything. The waitress made a small production of describing all the punches and juices that are listed on the back of the menu, then went seriatum down the list to tell us they didn’t have most of them. I ordered a Coke, and my friend ordered a lemonade. Lemonade they had, but since Coke is such a rare commodity, they were out. I ordered water. After some searching she found some.
I have had plenty of jerk, so I decided to expand my knowledge and order the national dish of Jamaica: Ackee and Salt Fish.
For those who know me, my advice is always avoid ‘local delicacies’ and ‘national dishes’. They typically can ONLY be appreciated by the people from that region, and Ackee and Salt Fish is no different. What I got did not resemble fish in any way. It was a steaming pile of hash, comprised of tiny, slimy bulbs that looked like miniature yellow vital organs–the Ackee. They had the texture, in fact, of liver. Somewhere mixed in this distopia of flavors was onion and fish. What I found amazing, is that Ackee and Salt Fish exactly describes the flavor. Ackee, salt and fish. There was no other distinctive flavor in this dish at all. It was also served with three weapons euphamistically refered to as ‘dumplings’. Flat, beyond dense, and tasteless, the hard-tack eaten by confederate soldiers would have been more desirable. To top it off, guess what, they were out of fried green bananas that was specified in the menu. So, for $14.95 lunch portion, I was handed a plate of mush accompanied by white dough pucks, and was asked if it was ok that the third major component of the dish was absent. ‘Fine, yeah, sure, no problem.’ I didn’t even ask for a discount, as they informed my friend that lemonade refills were NOT free and that he would be charged for another one.
It really doesn’t even matter what he ordered because all those things conspired to ruin what was already an amazingly mediocre lunch experience. I even took pictures of the decor, but why dignify the experience by adding visuals.
By Zteve (see more of his posts). You can find more of Zteve's writing at his own website Gastrologica
vanessa says:
October 26th, 2008 at 8:10 am
It’s Friday afternoon, in the middle of bustling Beverly Hills. The cars pile the streets and doctors and shoppers are milling about. None of this fazes me as I sit on the patio of Kassava under the straw umbrellas. Listening to the sounds of reggae transcends me to a place where nothing really matters and everything is irie. The thought of being on an island where the warm and breezy sun shines on my face, brings a feeling of ultimate peace. The waitress brings me some pineapple ginger juice and with one taste I’m immediately refreshed. The tangy tingling sensation of the juice, awaken your senses and sweeten your palette. I peruse the menu taking in all the options. Who would have known how many islands you could taste in one sitting? The choices varied from spinach patties to conch stew and passion fruit mousse all representing different tastes and styles from a number of different islands in the Caribbean. After wavering between the Oxtails and the Curry Goat I finally settled in on the Jerk Chicken. Anticipation of the savory meal made my mouth water. Before I could get too far into my state of daydreaming I took another sip of my delicious fruit juice. Not too long after I was entranced by the waitress walking down the steps with a steaming plate. It seemed like forever as I watched her every step. The closer she got to me the more my senses came alive with the aroma of the chicken attacking my nose. The blend of the food and the music created an experience that in today’s economic times was all the vacation I could afford. Before I took off to head back to the reality of 3rd st., I was treated to a dish of passion fruit mousse by the proprietor, Jessie Levostre. The smile on her face told me I was in for quite a treat. The first spoonful was absolute bliss. Its air fluff texture and sweet passionate taste was heaven here on earth. I had found an island oasis; right here in the middle of Beverly Hills and everything was irie.