Postcards from Monrovia
Restaurant Devon connects with out-of-towners, Francophiles and people with very particular tastes
By Dan O'Heron 12/10/2009
For people who have moved here from small towns that have a water tower at one end, a filling station at the other and a general store in between, and visitors from Ohio who have parked their plows and flown here for the Rose Bowl game, there can be something surprising to write home about: a visit to a charming small town in glamorous Southern California with a big-city place to eat — Monrovia’s Old Town and Restaurant Devon.
Strolling the neighborhood, a tree-lined village of about 10 square blocks with bright flowers and absent silver-stemmed parking meters, I see a place protected from all unpleasantness like a toy town under glass. There’s a Raggedy Ann doll in one window, live puppies in another. Around a corner there’s a locksmith, and up the street a church that lords over all the smaller buildings like the Chamber of Commerce — which I suspect still uses a mimeograph.
Yet, somehow Old Town makes room for at least a dozen sophisticated restaurants —none better than Restaurant Devon.
Shortly after opening in 1996, Devon was listed among the “10 Best New Restaurants” by Los Angeles magazine. Later it drew accolades from the Zagat survey and The Wall Street Journal. And the Los Angeles Times named it as one of “Top 40 Best Restaurants in Los Angeles.” The wine list tells me that if Michelin Tire had any stars to spare, they’d fall here.
Owner Richard Lucasiewicz, a former computer programmer, said he’d “always wanted to open a wine shop” — and has virtually done that here. With Gothic curlicue on an immense collection of bottles, the labels alone are a triumph in lithography.
With curried oysters in champagne sauce, pebbled with salmon eggs, I’d recommend a crisp, chilled Grand Regnard Chablis ($33 a half-bottle). For dessert, the extraordinarily luscious but seldom seen blue-cheese ice cream (applauded in The Wall Street Journal), sided with a baked pear ($7), would deserve Chateau d’Yquem French Sauternes ($250 a half-bottle). If in season, a peach replaces the pear. Seasonality is the backbone of Devon’s new French cookery — an emphasis on using fresh ingredients in prime condition.
While the French system can’t be beaten or bucked — it’s the standard by which all other cuisines are measured — it’s complemented here by overlays of acquired California and Asian refinements. Using arrowroot instead of wheat flour as a thickening agent, sauces are clear and light but just as intense as the good mucky gravies of France.
Devon delivers what people expect from this French-Cal-Asian fusion: a progression of classy dishes from appetite-tickling artichoke salad, flaked with French feta cheese ($9), to squab sautéed over crunchy Japanese enoki mushrooms, finished with truffle sauce ($15).
And Devon borrows from Italy with great interest. A tsk-tsking lady friend, Indya Winter, who once confided to me that she wouldn’t have touched veal even if she had been at the Donner Party, said she can’t resist Devon’s osso bucco ($24) and how they pierce the bone so she can scoop out the marrow.
For lunch, a friend said he frequently orders crab and spinach ravioli ($11). Interlaced with the succulent and sweet pink flesh of the Pacific Dungeness crab, the slight bite that spinach leaves impart make a perfect blend.
When on special, I’m going for the whole hard-shelled, boney-legged Dungeness. To dismantle these horny, cantankerous beasts of the sea, Devon will supply the crab cracker, hammer and bib and I’ll bring along antiseptic, gauze and tape.
For dinner, I’m apt to order linguini with sea scallops, perfumed with basil sauce. Normally, at some of the best restaurants, scallops are so rubbery, rather than eat them, I’d prefer to play some jai alai off the wall. But here, I’m told Chef Jose Garcia has learned the tenderizing secret of finely adjusting the cooking times. He may have gotten that from former Devon Chef Pedro Simental, who was mentored by Shiro’s Hideo Yamashiro, who was mentored by Wolfgang Puck — a royal lineage famous for doing divine things with seafood.
In taming tough critters, Devon is a big-time hunter and gatherer. Regular dinner menu entrees include caribou ($29), said to resemble venison, and black bear ravioli ($14), domesticated with a veal stock reduction (and — not to worry — the black bear comes from Chicago, not Sierra Madre). Devon at one time or another — especially at wine-tasting events — has even served beaver and raccoon. And camel (one hump or two?).
And if, like the cavemen, you look for things to eat so they won’t eat you, Lucasiewicz admits to have served lion meat. So lean from exercise, isn’t lion meat tough? With a marketing expert’s technique in urging us to buy, he responds, “Let’s just say, it’s firm on the chew.”
Wild bird land contributes to the regular menu with quail ($27), squab ($15) and pheasant ($13). “We’ve been asked to serve peacock,” said Lucasiewicz, “but we’re too close to Arcadia to do that.”
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