Wilshire is too cool for its own good.
The patio is where the purported coolness resides, but Ashley and I sat in a more subdued room inside. I was cool with this until it became apparent that our server was too cool to give a shit about us. Not cool, dude.
I was excited to try Wilshire, but maybe my hopes were too high. The food was only good, not great. The saving grace was that our dineLA deal was $34 for starter, entree, and dessert.
Ashley had been dreaming of grilled octopus ever since we made our date. Her dish was dressed with chicories, black trumpet mushrooms, piquillo pepper, and Meyer lemon. Good amount of acid. Good chewy consistency.
My ricotta gnocchi with hedgehog mushrooms, cippolini onions, and chestnuts was enjoyable but far from mind-blowing.
We both thought that Ashley's miso-marinated black cod was quite tasty. Texture was perfect. The accompanying crispy rice and shiitake mushroom salsa were a snoozefest, though.
I liked my wild mushroom duck pot pie with farmer's market winter vegetables enough, but, truth be told, it wasn't much better than a Marie Callender's pie.
Ashley played the role of Mr. Monkey very well tonight during dessert -- we switched halfway! Hooray! The apple tart tatin with crème fraîche ice cream was palatable.
The donuts with an espresso float with white chocolate ice cream were more impressive, though still not out of this world.
I had a wonderful time at dinner, due mostly to Ashley and her general hilarity. Wilshire is a fine establishment with decent food, but the service was terrible. It's more of a scene than a place to dine. Disappointing.