Grubtrotters

A seating at Cut, Wolfgang Puck’s luxury-liner steak joint at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, is like a front-row ticket to, depending on your demographic, a Bruce Springsteen or Hannah Montana concert. You have to know somebody who knows somebody who can hook you up. Fortunately for us, our connection this evening was Steve Dolinsky, award-winning food reporter for WLS TV in Chicago who also happens to be the master of media training for chefs.

Steve was a guest at the hotel where he was conducting one of his media sessions, so he was able to snag us a much-coveted 7 p.m. reservation on very short notice. The catch was that we had to sit in the bar. The main dining room was even more insane than usual because a collection of culinary heavy hitters — including Eric Ripert, Alain Ducasse and Jacques Torres — was in town that night to dazzle and delight for one of Wolfgang’s charities.

The bar turned out to be fine because it allowed us to keep tabs on the Kansas-Memphis game on TV. It also gave Steve a chance to say hello to Bobby Flay, another all-star in the charitable function’s lineup. If the bar was good enough for Flay, Mr. Iron Chef America, who were we to grumble?

We opened with two appetizers. One was a bone marrow flan encased inside the bones. We received instructions on how to proceed: Spread the mushroom marmalade over the bread, then top it by scooping the flan out of the bones. The creaminess of the flan and mushrooms worked well with the crunchiness of the bread. Nice. The other was a maple-glazed pork belly with Asian spices. Again there was a contrast that proved to be the right mix: the sweet citrusy aspect of the sesame-orange dressing and the bitterness of the rhubarb compote.

For the entrees, we didn’t opt for the top-shelf choices such as the 100 percent geniune Waygu Beef from Japan. Eight ounces of such ribeye will set you back $160. Sorry, but some of us actually work for a living. We went for the 16-ounce Prime Nebraska ribeye — corn-fed, dry-aged 35 days and listed for 98 bucks less. It was seasoned just right. We sprinkled nary a speck of salt. Juicy. Savory. A real prize-winner.

Our table also devoured the 16-ounce Prime Illinois bone-in filet as well as the Kobe beef short ribs that were cooked for eight hours, then plated over a puree of curried artichoke.

We didn’t have much room left for dessert, but that didn’t deter us from plowing through scrumptious helpings of a dark chocolate souffle and Baked Alaska that were supplemented with a toppings bar of creme fraiche, chocolate sauce and hazelnut ice cream.

On our way out, we took a step into the dining room to check out what we had missed. We’d love to experience the full treatment next time, but roughly speaking we had savored the first-class meal while sitting in coach seats, so long as the airline wasn’t one of the dumpy domestic carriers and preferably a service-obsessed Asian outfit.

But that’s a rant for another day. Victor.

When I interviewed Wolfgang Puck’s Ethiopian-born wife, Gelila Assefa, for Harper’s Bazaar last year, she told me her favorite spot for native cooking was Awash on Pico Boulevard. I have eaten at Nyala in LA’s Little Ethiopia many times but had never even heard of Awash. So we decided to check it out this weekend.

I first got hooked on Ethiopian food in high school after eating at the Red Sea, a restaurant in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of Washington, D.C. I fell in love with the spicy flavors, the communal style of eating and the porous injera bread that replaced utensils and expanded as it soaked up all the juices on our circular platter.

Once I got to college at Northwestern, I quickly spotted a great little joint in Chicago called Mama Desta’s Red Sea, which I visited again last year and, sadly, found in a state of disrepair. (I got my fix at Addis Abeba in Evanston instead.) Back in the day, though, I hosted birthday parties at Mama Desta’s, and I would always make sure to bring my dates there early in the relationship as a sort of culinary litmus test. They didn’t have to love the food, but they at least had to be adventurous enough to try it. If they were too squeamish to eat mushy food with their fingers, they probably weren’t very sensual, I reasoned. Averse to spicy food? Not the best match. Any jokes about rice and flies? Fugettaboutit.

Despite all this positive history with Ethiopian food, I had to seriously push past some trepidation when I first spotted Awash. Just what sort of place does the wife of our city’s most famous chef frequent when she’s cheating on her husband’s cuisine? Well, from the outside it looks like a total dump.

It’s got a B grade on the window from the Health Department, and I never eat anywhere with less than an A. The sign is marred with traces of graffiti, and bars on the windows made me question whether it was even open.

Gelila had warned me that she always orders takeout from Awash because “the ambiance is not the best.” (She recommended Nyala for its atmosphere.) But once we stepped inside Awash, we found a lively scene of Ethiopians eating and hanging out at the bar. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and they were very friendly to us. The place could definitely use a makeover, but man was the food good.

We ordered beef cooked in a spicy red pepper sauce called Awaze Tibbs, as well as Chicken Tibbs, which featured cubes of chicken cooked with onion, garlic, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. We picked spicy lentils, spinach and salad as side dishes. Then we waited what felt like an interminable amount of time as we watched sizzling hot dishes being delivered all around us and played a geography word game to take out minds off how hungry we were.

Alas, it was worth the delay. Huge portions of tasty grub finally arrived, and for $35, we filled up and had plenty to spare. OK, so the beef at Awash is not going to pose a threat to Wolfgang’s Cut anytime soon. And the bathroom really could use a good scrub. But if you’re up for an adventure and in the mood for authentic and cheap ethnic eats, this place is a delicious dive. You heard it here first.

Awash, 5990 1/2 W. Pico Blvd., Los Angeles; 323-939-3233.