Los Angeles

The City of Angels

November 2025

Three restaurants. Each unforgettable for a different reason. These are the dining rooms where atmosphere, execution, and emotion align — and where this month’s energy lives.

This Month’s Chosen Tables

Berenjak

Arts District

LA

Berenjak is where fire becomes poetry, and every flicker of flame tells a story centuries in the making. Nestled in the heart of the Arts District, this London-born Iranian gem ignites Los Angeles with a menu built on smoke, spice, and memory.

Skewers of jujeh and koobideh char over glowing coals, saffron in the air like silk. Tiles radiate warmth, flatbreads crackle from the fire, whispers of sumac linger.

This isn’t dinner. It’s ritual— heat, heritage, and hedonism.

Dishes That Defined the Night:

The Koobideh Kabab arrives smoky and tender, a ribbon of seasoned lamb kissed by flame. The Jujeh Kabab, steeped in saffron and citrus, glows golden with delicate perfume. Then comes the Tikkeh Masti Kabab—beef filet marinated in yogurt and garlic—melt-in-your-mouth opulence. Each bite feels less like dining and more like devotion to the art of Persian fire.

Asakura

Santa Monica

Asakura isn’t a meal — it’s a meditation. Tucked discreetly into West LA, this Tokyo-born kaiseki sanctuary moves with the quiet grace of ritual. Light pools across hinoki wood, silence lingers between courses, and each dish feels like it’s been dreamt into existence.

Here, nothing shouts. But everything speaks.

Stillness hums beneath the surface at Asakura. This West LA kaiseki sanctuary—born from Tokyo’s revered La Bombance—treats each course like a syllable in a whispered poem. The room is soft with light and intention. No theatrics, no indulgence—just time, craft, and reverence.

Plates arrive in sequence, each a study in balance: mountain and sea, softness and edge, heat and restraint. The service moves like breath—silent, precise, anticipatory.

This is not dinner. It’s kaiseki as ceremony. It’s intimacy, perfected.

Dishes That Defined the Night:

A single coin of Chawanmushi, warm and ethereal, dissolved like fog. The Charcoal-Grilled Black Cod, lacquered and faintly sweet, arrived still whispering smoke. But it was the A5 Wagyu with Wasabi Root, shaved tableside, that left the room quiet. A final course of seasonal fruit and mochi tasted like the end of a season. Or maybe the beginning of one.

LA

Maydan

West Adams

LA

Maydan is not a restaurant — it’s a reckoning with flame. Hidden within the architectural sprawl of West Adams, this Washington-born icon arrives in Los Angeles as a living tribute to Levantine fire cooking. Copper glows, embers hum, and dishes emerge with soul—layered, blistered, and impossibly alive.

Flames leap, bread crackles, and centuries collapse into a single glowing hearth. Maydan doesn’t serve food — it serves memory, forged in fire. Inside West Adams’ most elemental dining room, heat is the first language, and smoke is punctuation.

Skewers of lamb, chicken, and seasonal vegetables char over open flames, brushed with spice blends that whisper across continents. Flatbreads are pulled from the fire still blistering, stacked beside bowls of labneh, fermented chili, and pickled things that bite and bloom.

This isn’t just a restaurant. It’s invocation. It’s theater. It’s ceremony by emberlight

.Dishes That Defined the Night:

The Kebab Halabi—ground lamb, Aleppo pepper, and garlic—arrives with edge and elegance. The Jaj Barreh (spiced chicken thighs) are blackened and sweet in all the right ways. But it’s the Whole Grilled Prawns, head-on and flame-kissed, that stop conversation. Every bite dances between char, citrus, and history.