Falcon (dinner)

Or: Make me one more drink, hold the gnocchi.

A very good girlfriend, who we'll call Handy (as in, she always keeps a drink...), organised her birthday dinner at a spot in Hollywood last night: FALCON. The company was varied and fabulous, and we wore the glimmer of celebration well. Too bad our venue did not.

Now, I'll have to admit that I was immediately suspicious of Handy's birthday restaurant choice, seeing as I had never before heard of the place. But despite the aura I like to portray that concentrates on my concentrated levels of in-the-know, it's fair to admit that I'm still new to Fire City, so I don't know *all* the dazzling places to perch and nibble (or be nibbled). For instance, but two days prior, I was invited to a different birthday bash at The Green Door, and I went "oooh," but had no idea what it meant. Apparently Green Door is the Villa's cousin: a posh, celeb-watchers nighttime candy. Two weeks ago, both those names meant nothing to me, and though they still sort of don't (I'll stick to frequenting trivia night at Busby's, thank you), their mention makes me remember that I'm still learning when and how to "oooh," Fire-City style.

At any rate, I didn't want to judge Handy's taste based on my slightly inflated in-the-know (even after glancing over Falcon's website and taking a peek at her "sister restaurants," I was still drawing an absolute blank), so I bit my tongue, declared my excitement and actually became so upon the promise of trying something new, i.e., practicing one of life's truest passions. Unfortunately, Falcon failed on several counts. Here are...

FIVE REASONS WHY FALCON FAILED
1. Lack of menu options. Not only is their menu priced high and its choices slim--you can pick from about ten things, all decidedly grouped in the tired menu heading of "American eclectic"--but at 9pm on a Friday night with about four other parties dining in the entire restaurant, they announced they had run out of gnocchi. When your menu has four meals on it, you are not allowed to run out of anything. Shame on you, Falcon.
2. Slow service. Though we were seated promptly upon entry, and our waiters were kind, smiley and good-looking enough for the Hollywood scene (I'm disgusted that I just typed that...NOT), they were not quick. We were without waters for about 10 minutes and without drinks for about 15 after that. A gracious smile from our waitress, Krystal, at every turn, but pangs of hunger resultant from their dowdy bread basket (three pretzel sticks, two large crackers and one dinner roll...for a party of ten? Luckily they brought a second when we balked) left us unmoved.
3. Music. Their in-house DJ should quit his night job and go back to accounting. The mix of Moby-esque tunes interrupted by bad scratching and off-beat track changes actually made it into our conversation too often to be ignored.
4. Decor. Or rather, heating? The set-up of Falcon, I'll admit, is lovely: wide, dark oak "sofas" have rich red pillows adorning their girth. The tables are low and comfortably narrow, I imagine, to encourage conversation over the din of bad music, and in fact, the sunken exterior patio and adjacent candlelit bar would make a great dance space if Falcon decided to quit trying that whole dinner thing and just become a nightclub. But seeing as exterior, currently, is still eating space, Falcon should make amends to its decorating (i.e., should have cut down that tree above our table so we could fit a heat lamp right there). It's strange that it has been so chilly recently, and I probably shouldn't blame Falcon for the fact that I had to keep my jacket on all through dinner, but frankly, Falcon lacked the heat-lampage to justify seating us outside. And there was too much tree.
5. The quality of the patronage. Now, we were amongst the patrons, but as young, hip 20-somethings with no inhibitions on a Friday night, we were the most happening thing at Falcon that Friday, and in a city like Fire City--and in a neighborhood like Hollywood--we should not have been. When I go out, I want my experience to be like taking an AP Chem class. Not that I want to be constantly confused and fighting back tears--I just don't want to be the smartest person in the room. If there's no challenge, I'm in the wrong place. This is why I took AP classes in high school and why I took graduate level classes as an undergrad: the thrill of the challenge. If I walk into a club or bar or anywhere and I'm one of the smartest-looking people there, I'm in the wrong bar. I want to earn my hotness, not have it given to me by default. In this town, that's the marking of a bad venue. And/or Busby's.

THE UPPER: Drinks were absolutely fabulous. Strong, solid beverages they were; and for their flavor, practically worth their Hollywood pricetag. If I ever come back to Falcon, it will be for the deliciously fruity concoction, the caipirosa. They took so long to bring our food, I was feeling awfully festive when it finally did arrive. And I kinda liked that.

IN FIVE: 2/5, because I'm rating it as a restaurant, not a bar. I'll admit the drinks deserve higher.

THE (otherwise forgettable) SPOT: http://www.falconslair.com/