One of L.A.'s most exciting new Chinese restaurants lands in Mandarin Plaza
Chef-owner Anthony Wang — who cooked at restaurants such as Destroyer, Auburn and Ink — is exploring the identity of Chinese American cuisine in a manner both true to history and to his own story.
'I've always wanted to explore Chinese cuisine, but I didn't realize how little I understood until I really started this project,' Wang said. 'For the first time in my career I can take a deep dive and look at the expansiveness and the history and culture of not just Chinese food [of mainland China], but also Chinese food in this country and how it's grown and developed over the past 100-plus years.'
One of the first cuisines he began toexplore was Sichuan, traveling to Chengdu in 2018 and tracing the origins of its famous chiles and spice — and then researching even further, to a time before the spice trade reached the region.
But Firstborn is just as much a reflection of Wang growing up first-generation in Georgia. His sweetbreads in pig trotter ragu evoke his memories of eating pork knuckle at his grandmother's house. The house-made chile crisp that tops the chef's signature fried chicken carries a smoky heat and fruity note via the secret ingredient of Morita chiles, marrying the fragrance of Sichuan and Mexican cuisines in a nod to L.A.
His parents emigrated from Beijing in 1989 due to the protests and violence in Tiananmen Square. The family landed in Miami, then a desert of Chinese food and ingredients. Wang's mother began to get creative, substituting American items to whip up the modernized Chinese cuisine that Wang and his sister, Lulu, ate through their childhood: dishes like a kind of beef Bourguignon with Sichuan peppercorn and star anise.
Wang thinks of it as 'new Chinese American cooking,' which also makes its way to the bar. Beverage director Kenzo Han (Steep LA, the Varnish) built an 'East meets West' menu that also lifts inspiration from the kitchen, with options such as an osmanthus and fermented rice sour, a sesame old-fashioned, a baiju-and-tea negroni, and a springy martini that involves house-made celery oil and carrot eau de vie. Nonalcoholic concoctions include hojicha orange milk punch and an adzuki swizzle.
For dessert, pastry chef Jaime Craten (formerly of Vespertine, Destroyer and Meteora) balances sweet and savory with lighter options like almond tofu with citrus, jujubee and osmanthus, or chamomile custard that's topped with a refreshing apple-and-cucumber granita with a kinako shortbread cookie.
Wang calls it an honor to debut his restaurant in Chinatown — adding to the legacy of the area's century of Chinese businesses — and to continue to explore what the cuisine means in the neighborhood, in the U.S. and in China.
'For me,' Wang said, 'It's a journey. This restaurant's open now, but this is something that I think we're just starting with, and it's something that I really want to continue exploring not just throughout this restaurant but throughout my entire life.'
Firstborn is open Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday from 5 to 10 p.m., and Friday and Saturday from 5 to 10:30 p.m.
978 N. Broadway, Los Angeles, (213) 537-0142, firstborn.la
Beverly Hills' steak-centric Matu now has a westward sibling in Matu Kai, which follows up the 2021 restaurant with some of its greatest hits and a slew of new dishes. Like Matu, Brentwood's new Matu Kai specializes in Wagyu: Plancha-cooked filets, wood-fired rib-eyes, picanhas, New York strips and more are prepared in the semi-open kitchen, sparks and flames often flying. These steaks can be ordered a la carte or in a set menu, though many of the newer items can be found a la carte. Look for fresh Uovo maltagliati in a rib-eye ragu, Wagyu meatballs in pomodoro, crying tiger Wagyu tenderloin satay and more. Like its sibling restaurant, Matu Kai also offers the popular Wagyu cheesesteak sandwich, which is available only at the bar. Matu Kai is open Monday to Thursday from 5:30 to 10 p.m. and Friday to Sunday from 5 to 10 p.m.
11777 San Vicente Blvd., Suite 134, Los Angeles, (310) 810-2501, matusteak.com/matu-kai
A Chicago sandwich shop rife with cultural and familial inspiration recently debuted at the base of the Platform complex in Culver City, with panini-pressed stacks that can include tabouleh, chile crunch, harissa mayonnaise and more. Chef-owner Mitchell Jamra blends his Lebanese roots into some of the flavors of All Too Well, a quick-casual sandwich offshoot of his Mexican-Lebanese restaurant in Chicago, Evette's. All Too Well, while named for the Taylor Swift song, is inspired not by the singer-songwriter but Jamra's family and his long lineage of Chicago deli owners that traces back to the 1920s.
The chef's first Los Angeles restaurant offers the Chicago location's most popular items such as the Bombay Chulet, which layers turkey, prosciutto garlic mayo, arugula, stracciatella, fried onion, chile crunch and fig jam, as well as the L.A.-only secret-menu Tunaverse, which tops tuna salad with a red pepper spread that blends ajvar with muhammara. All Too Well debuted as a one-year pop-up within Platform, but Jamra tells The Times that he has plans to stay in Los Angeles far beyond that. 'I'm bonded with the city now,' he said via email, 'and we are in for the long haul!' All Too Well is open Tuesday to Sunday from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m.
8850 W. Washington Blvd., Suite 101, Culver City, alltoowellchi.com
The popular chicken-focused offshoot of Los Feliz mainstay Kismet can now be found in Pasadena.
At the latest outpost of Kismet Rotisserie, which sits at the border of Altadena, the whole pasture-raised, non-GMO chickens spin slowly behind the counter, the seasonal vegetables come primarily sourced from local farmers markets, and everything is made in-house. Chef-owners Sarah Hymanson and Sara Kramer offer rotisserie-chicken plates with sides such as roasted vegetables in tahini; smashed cucumbers in caraway vinaigrette; schmaltzy roasted potatoes; and hummus with freshly baked pita, along with salads, fresh-squeezed juice, bone broth, kids' meals, cookies and pudding cups.
Unique to the Pasadena menu is a new, collaborative monthly sandwich special, where proceeds benefit the local chapter of education nonprofit Families Forward. This month find a spicy Niçoise pita sandwich made with Fishwife; in June look for an Italian sandwich from local chef and 'The Bear' culinary producer Courtney Storer. Kismet Rotisserie's newest outpost offers catering, a quick-and-casual format, and indoor and outdoor seating. Kismet Rotisserie is open in Pasadena daily from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.
1974 Lincoln Ave., Pasadena, (323) 412-4400, kismetrotisserie.com
Kristin Colazas Rodriguez began Colossus out of her home in 2018. Now she operates four outposts spread across San Pedro and Long Beach, and the latest features a full cafe menu, a bakery case flush with croissants and pastries, and an evening-only pizza program just off the San Pedro harbor. The newest Colossus recently debuted at the base of the Vivo Apartments complex, serving morning items such as the signature croissant breakfast sandwich with house-made sweet potato hot sauce, lunch and lighter bites like salad Lyonnaise with fresh croutons, and dinner such as meatballs in gravy, sourdough gnocchi and a range of daily pizzas (in Long Beach, the pizzas are available on weekends only). Whole loaves of bread and pantry goods such as tinned fish, dried heirloom beans and jars of jam are also on offer, and beer and wine are in the works. Colossus is open off of the San Pedro harbor Monday to Friday from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m., and Saturday and Sunday from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m.
511 S. Harbor Blvd., San Pedro, (213) 444-0077, colossusbread.com
A weeklong celebration of Latin cuisine kicked off Tuesday with hundreds of participating restaurants — and many offering special items and set menus. Dine Latino Restaurant Week, an initiative spearheaded by the national Latino Restaurant Assn., runs through May 18 and includes more than 200 restaurants spread from Camarillo through L.A. County, as far east as San Bernardino and Riverside, and as far south as Costa Mesa; even a few San Diego restaurants are joining the event, as is one operation in San Jose. The event aims to support Latino-owned restaurants reflecting a range of nationalities and cuisines, including Mexican, Brazilian, Ecuadorian, Colombian, Salvadoran, Peruvian and beyond. Find a map of participating restaurants here, with more businesses to be added.
latinorestaurantassociation.org/dine-latino
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Atlantic
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What's Really Behind the Cult of Labubu
A furry fiend with rabbit ears and a maniacal grin has recently been spotted twerking next to the singer Lizzo, baring its teeth on the former soccer star David Beckham's Instagram, and flopping against a woman's Chanel bag while wearing its own Tic Tac–size Chanel bag. The creature in question is Labubu—a soft-bellied plushie that the Chinese company Pop Mart began distributing in 2019, and that has, in the past year, gained hordes of admirers. In 2024, Pop Mart reported a more than 700 percent increase in the stuffie's sales. People have been doling out anywhere from about $30 to $150,000 a toy. At Brooklyn raves, adults hop around under neon lights with Labubus clipped to their belt loops. The devotion, at times, has turned almost ferocious; Pop Mart decided to suspend in-person sales of Labubu in the United Kingdom after reports of chaos at stores. Commentators have offered all sorts of theories as to why Labubu has become a sensation. One factor might be scarcity: Each new Labubu release on Pop Mart's online store tends to sell out in minutes. Another might be surprise: The plushie arrives in a blind box. (It could be pink or gray; wear overalls or hold a Coke.) Some people have suggested that the Labubu hype is a product of a trickle-down celebrity effect, or that the toy has become a gay icon. But the way I see it, the cult of Labubu is simply an extension of the phenomenon known as ' kidulthood,' in which the boundary between childhood and adulthood keeps growing fuzzier and fuzzier. In the past few years, more American adults have been buying stuffed animals—some, researchers have told me, in an effort to reject staid versions of adulthood and inject more play into grown-up life. These adults have usually kept their plushies at home, relegating them to bookshelves and beds. Labubus, though, are 'public displays of cuteness,' Erica Kanesaka, an Emory University professor and cute-studies scholar, told me in an email. Devotees carry Labubu into subway cars, office cubicles, and dental schools. They clock into shifts at KFC with the toy literally attached to their hip, and take it along for their workdays as football players or airline pilots. Adults in other countries—Japan, perhaps most notably—have long worn objects featuring cute characters, such as Hello Kitty, out and about, hooked to bags and key chains. In the 1990s, it wasn't uncommon to see white-collar Japanese salarymen with Hello Kitty accessories dangling from their phones. The trend, Simon May, a philosopher and the author of The Power of Cute, told me, might have been born of a postwar rejection of overt aggression: After World War II, cute aesthetics were one way that Japan revamped its public-facing image. The country, May said, changed its self-presentation '180 degrees from militarism to pacifism.' But in the United States, loving cute objects has historically been written off as escapism at best and a worrying swing toward infancy at worst. Adults who embraced childlike things were 'seen to be irresponsibly regressive, morally immature, and refusing to play their full part in society,' May said in an email after we spoke. As recently as 2020, in an article about plushies, one writer self-consciously described her stuffed hound as her 'deep dark secret.' Yet, as I've previously reported, this defensiveness about loving cute objects has been gradually dissipating, part of a century-long evolution in which childhood has come to be seen as a protected life stage. Nowadays, May said, 'to be childlike also has an increasingly positive connotation in terms of openness to ideas and freedom from dogmatism.' At the same time, attitudes about what it means to be an adult are shifting. 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Shame dies hard, though, which might be another reason Labubu has gained traction. Within the realm of cute things, a demonic-looking stuffie is more 'ugly-cute'—adorable, monstrous, deliberately weird. (Ugly-cuteness is also by no means a new phenomenon; think of the pygmy-hippo sensation Moo Deng, toys such as UglyDolls and Cabbage Patch Kids, or the eternal appeal of the pug.) People 'feel that they themselves are a little bit edgy,' Joshua Dale, a cute-studies professor at Chuo University, in Tokyo, told me, 'for liking something that some people don't like.' As with any popular trend, Labubu does have its haters—or at least some tongue-in-cheek provocateurs. People have suggested (semi-jokingly) that the toy is possessed, possibly by a demon called Pazuzu. The singer Katy Perry, at a recent concert in Australia, used her mic to smack a Labubu out of a fan's hand. 'No Labubus!' she commanded sternly. 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The standout character in a series nominally centered on his dad, the Hills' boy has now grown into the adult man he was never meant to be. One reason we know how much time has passed in the alternate universe of adult animation is that Bobby Hill, who aged from 11 to 13 years old during the show's original 12-year run, is now 21. Instead of going to college, he has pursued his passion for meat and become the chef and part owner of a Dallas restaurant he describes as 'a traditional Japanese barbecue with a fusion of flavors and techniques from the German traditions of the Texas Hill Country.' ('Last time the Germans and Japanese teamed up, I wasn't a fan,' one senior diner notes. 'But this is delicious!' Bobby: 'I call it the Axis of Flavor.') He shares an apartment with his childhood best friend, the Gribbles' son Joseph, who is heavily implied to be the biological offspring of John Redcorn. 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'That boy ain't right' was Hank's refrain—one that dated back to a series premiere in which Bobby used the threat of a Child Protective Services investigation to intimidate his well-meaning but gruff father into showing him love. Neither a great student nor an athlete like his dad, Bobby was defined to some extent by his old-soul precociousness (this is a kid whose sense of humor comes straight out of vaudeville), but even more so by his middle-school malleability. In that sense, and despite all his eccentricities, he became adult animation's quintessential pre-Tina Belcher, pre-Big Mouth preteen: a mess of curiosities, talents, delusions, and hormones slowly organizing themselves into a cohesive identity. For 13 seasons, the most memorable Bobby storylines—which also comprised the majority of the show's most memorable storylines—were the ones that stretched his nascent self into new shapes. In one great episode, the owner of a clothing store for 'husky' boys observes Bobby strutting his stuff in a variety of high-stretch garments and recruits him for a fashion show. (While he embraces the spotlight, his plus-size modeling career is cut short by Hank's secondhand embarrassment.) The source of a GIF turned meme of a cross-legged Bobby meditating in his bedroom as smoke from a stick of incense swirls ceilingward, Season 4's 'Won't You Pimai Neighbor?' sees a delegation of Buddhist monks identify the boy as a potential lama. And in what might be the most famous Bobby episode, 'Bobby Goes Nuts,' Hank sends his bullied son to learn boxing at the YMCA. When that class is full, Bobby talks his way into a women's self-defense course. Soon, he's standing up for himself. But to Hank's horror, he's doing it by kicking his tormenters in the crotch while shouting 'I don't know you! That's my purse!' Like most pubescent kids, Bobby is a sponge, thirsty for love and liable to absorb any influence that might help him figure out who he is. Feeling excluded from Hank's bond with the Hills' elderly dog, Lady Bird, in another Season 4 episode, he befriends the raccoon that has been gorging itself on the family's trash. If the episode wasn't so funny, it would be heartbreaking. At the risk of taking a cartoon character too seriously, the reason so many of us adore Bobby isn't just because he's a hammy miniature entertainer who says the darnedest things, but because his oddball's search for belonging captures something universal about youth. A person who's still getting to know himself could grow up to be anything. For him, the possibilities are endless. Getting to glimpse an adult Bobby is kind of a fun novelty, in the same vein as that flash-forward Simpsons episode where Lisa is the President. At least Judge, Daniels, and Paterson left the character's distinctively androgynous voice (provided by Pamela Adlon in both incarnations of a show that has weathered the untimely deaths of too many original voice actors) intact. And their choice to make his parents the characters in transition is an inspired reversal that goes a long way toward making Season 14 work as well as it does. The thing is, a stable, 21-year-old man who's excelling in his career, feels relatively secure in his father's love, and even gets laid once in a while barely resembles the wonderfully inchoate Bobby Hill we know. Which means that this King of the Hill, for all its many pleasures, isn't quite the same King of the Hill, either.
