The Americana Way

To make a more dispassionate run-through of its bills of fare, I waited until the gawking and gasping had passed before dropping in on Glendale’s new lifestyle center — The Americana at Brand.

Dispassionate? It’s become harder for me to shut up about the place than the after-dinner speakers at its inaugural ball. More than a month after opening, I found a center that maintains a holiday spirit without any particular holiday.

With open-air garden paths leading to fine restaurants, go-beyond specialty foods, classy retail shops, special services and entertainments — plus a built-in residential neighborhood with its own transportation system, a trolley — The Americana is a consuming passion; a city within a city; unique and superior to anything Glendale has had to offer big spenders.

Apprehensions that the $400 million Rick Caruso development will hurt business for independent operators along Brand Boulevard are reasonable.

Frida Mexican Cuisine
The Americana at Brand
750 Americana Way, Glendale
(818) 551-1666
www.americanatbrand.com

Will most of Brand Boulevard become just a crossroad, with one direction leading to a cemetery and a jail and another to Sears? I don’t know. I’m paid to worry about the next meal. And that would come at The Americana’s Frida Mexican Cuisine.

But prior to a very expensive lunch, I hopped on the trolley to check the scenery around the 15.5-acre high-end, mixed-use marvel. I skipped a grand tour of fancy shops and boutiques,since my walk-around money had to be reserved to eat at Frida.

Except for Cheesecake Factory, the other full-service restaurants looked very expensive: Café Primo (Italian), Granville Café (casual gourmet), Jewel City Diner (classic American comfort food), Katsuya (tapas-like Japanese) and Kyopo (fresh Korean/barbecue, opening soon).

However, scattered along large swaths of grass, there are a dozen affordable specialty food stalls and kiosks with tables and chairs. Among them: Wetzel’s Pretzels, Beard Papa (cream puffs in shells, fresh baked per order) and a pizzeria where — surprise —you can get a slice for $3. Another surprise: Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and Starbucks co-exist.

Much of the greensward is roped in velvet to contain the crowds that may be spilling out of invitation-only events held inside the full-service restaurants.

Above the scene, residents of balconied quarters, renting apartments from $2,000 to $5,000 a month, are spotted looking down on the hoi polloi. In the solitude of a lonely bedroom at The Americana, I’d toss and turn thinking about all the beautiful people at work and play. But living here, I could buzz a concierge to bring me food.

While serpentining around this city within a city, I handed the motorman a slip of paper bearing the suggested name for his trolley — “City Haul.” In handsome livery, the conductor made me think about romantic trolley rides in old San Francisco, personified by the legendary “Ding Dong Daddy of the D-Car Line,” who had wives and children at both ends of the line.

Deboarding back into the real world, I picked Frida as the place to eat because I thought it might be named after the fabulous Mexican artist, Frida Kahlo. As an appetizer, I hoped to see a print of Kahlo’s last painting — a juicy, red watermelon. Or better, a surrealistic innuendo of Frida’s husband, Diego Rivera, sharing a toothbrush with her lover, Leon Trotsky.

But restaurant Frida is too serious for that: Tacos are made with lobster tail.

Then there’s filet mignon dappled with truffled chili sauce ($29.95) and things like that. Dressings didn’t come out of a bottle as salads went for $12.95. Burritos are available from $10 to $12 but not after 2 p.m. Scrimping, I ordered the lobster tail tacos for $16.95. Bathed in a creamy chipotle sauce, the succulent tails were everything I had hoped for. And, as a prelude, it was delicious to chip away at two distinctive side dips: one, a silver cruet of tongue-lashing red; another, a gentler green.
Before they arrived, I had company. It was a little girl. She kept jumping up and down next to where I was sitting, a long, well-upholstered bench hugging the wall. Finally, mother said, “Stop it, you’re bothering the man.” A moment later, I spilled a big glass of water. The little girl smiled at me — her new role model.

In an instant, as if watching on sonar, a brigade of swabbies hit the deck and turned the river into a wadi — to my annoyance: They always expect a larger tip from men who wet their pants. Money, that was the rub. Earlier, in placing my order, the waitress said that there were “only” two tacos, “So would you like some rice, beans and guacamole to go with them?” Of course. But she didn’t say a word about a $3.95 additional charge.

My bill for two fish tacos at lunch was $20.90, plus tax, plus tip. I thought seriously about knocking over another glass of water.