Mezcal Mecca
Lately I’ve been in a bar funk — frequenting the same old nightlife haunts like a bad addiction. And frankly, the drinks at my local watering hole are starting to taste like stagnant water. God bless Cedd Moses, king of cool L.A. bars, for renewing my faith in hitting the town (and the bottle) with his new downtown tequila and mezcal bar, Las Perlas.
Entering the space is like stumbling upon a swanky Mexican saloon, featuring cocktails mixed from recipes that read like detailed Ina Garten dishes. I was so dazzled by the chill ambience, rad concept and handsome staff, I'd even go so far as to declare that a night here actually makes a Mid-City gal wish she lived downtown.
TEQUILA BLITZ!: A wall behind the bar holding various (and enchanting) tequilas.
The Buzz: Perched smack-dab across 6th street from Moses’ hip eatery-cum-bar, Cole’s, this newbie nightlife spot might as well be located worlds away. Stocking a whopping 30 different brands of mezcal and 80 kinds of tequila, they should post a “no lightweights allowed” sign on the door.
But don’t expect to find commercialized Spring Break brands like Patron. Moses cherry-picks his artisanal booze from villages throughout Mexico. In a nutshell, this is as close as you’ll come to the real deal without flying to Oaxaca.
The Scene: Aside from patrons of Cole’s who’ve heard the good word, the crowd is still gaining what's sure to be inevitable momentum. As I listened to the locals’ banter, I got the sense that the new bar is destined to be their Mexican Cheers. Expect the usual downtown hipsters, along with a smattering of more unexpected patrons (one staffer dubbed its guzzlers “New Romantics” — which is really just an 80s word for "hipsters"). But if you'll forgive my hopeless romanticism, it feels like the the kind of place you just might find someone to fall madly in love with in.
The Visuals: The most striking image upon entrance is a massive handmade chandelier, which projects ideal makeout lighting should you feel so inclined (you couldn’t stumble upon a bad angle if you tried). There are stuffed bunnies and other contrived props peppered about that I could live without (they conjure up 80s Disneyland rides), but who cares when there’s a pool table and a jukebox jam-packed with tunes ranging from Alexi Murdoch to the Velvet Underground?
SIGNING OFF: Even the facade feels artisanal.
The Dress Code: Think Carpe Diem, not Carpe Dior. Such a relief to not be surrounded by knockoff bags, way-too-miniskirts and hair extensions. The wardrobe at LP is effortless and more concerned with the memories being made than the clothes being worn. I spotted three beards, two porkpies and a whole lotta vintage. Scott the Sartorialist’s dream.
The Hot Seat: Smokers rejoice! The open air, candlelit patio is fully equipped with several tables to puff and chug the night away at. An oversized and chic-ly upholstered couch sits in one nook, perfect for post-tequila canoodling (if that's your thing).
The Drink: Bartenders (I was gently chided when I used this term — it is now p.c. to say “mixologists”) city-wide have been in a tizzy because of the selection and gourmet appeal of the libations served. I guzzled and highly recommend the “Poblano Escobar” elixir, which is a spicy (and strong) blend of mezcal, poblano chiles, pineapple, cumin spice and lime. My pals report that the “Disco Mariachi” and “400 Rabbits” are also must-tries. All special concoctions come on an artsy cardboard handwritten menu. And forget typical bar garnishes like syrupy maraschinos; Las Perlas stocks fresh cantaloupe, strawberries, oranges, red chili peppers and pineapple.
My only gripe on this front is that a lack of real grub served (sans some bagged pork rinds) with these loaded medleys could be a recipe for disaster. Rolling blackouts may occur — so a designated driver or cab number is highly recommended. But if this is a cheap ploy to get us across the street to order up a french dip storm at Cole’s, well played. I ate like a wild beast.