The restaurant that tells you it wishes it was adopted.

From the other L.A., (and not the 02134, or Mobile, but the non-boot-shaped one out West), comes news of Bacaro, a  new place that comes with the olives and the polenta, and the whimsical grapes. Better still, the Knife opines

Bacaro is on a funny little slice of Union, between 23rd and 24th streets. More importantly, it's worth seeking out. Bacaro is like the emo, low-budget little brother of Lou.

I, for one, welcome our new emo restaurateurs. In fact, let's hope this emo restaurant thing is just getting started. As a potential concept, it has legs: a restaurant with eyeliner-glazed filets of dayboat amberjack,  a restaurant that often shutters on Saturday nights to  post on its LJ, a restaurant where rather than telling you about the specials, the servers push up one sleeve to show you where they carved them into their arm, a restaurant where the cocktails are named after Anne Sexton poems, a restaurant that confirms reservations through long rambling posts on your Facebook wall,  well, that  restaurant might be just the all-too-human antidote we need to the restaurant the cool kids eat at, while a computer tells you that  you can't.

For details on the other other L.A., Brother James:
James Brown,_Make_It_Funky.m4a
This is about as intense as casual stage banrer gets, and offers new insight onto why Fred Wesley's autobiography reads like the Chitlin Circuit's answer to Mommy Dearest.