Dining at Baroo, Where Slow Food is an Art Form
Part of a strip mall at the corner of Wilton Place and Santa Monica Boulevard, Baroo offers oasis in an area known for street-level chaos and commuter congestion. The restaurant is small, but filled with just enough place settings to form a relaxed, communal dining room. Walls are lined with charming handwritten signage, plus cases of homemade kombucha and baked goods (like a shortbread cookie studded with cacao nibs and citrus). Visually, the interior rivals any outpost in Echo Park or other ‘hood du jour, yet Baroo’s standout is the total lack of tryhard branding. There’s no pretension, no R&D-forced taglines: just the effortless, almost accidental brilliance of chef-owner Kwang Uh (who counts gigs like Nobu and Denmark’s Noma under his belt).
Other entrepreneurs waste hours and investments attempting to crack the code of what makes an Instagram-worthy experience, but for Uh it comes naturally, borne from deep focus and hustle. He’s at the restaurant every business day, taking each customer’s order before serenely ducking into the kitchen to individually prepare, plate, and present his beautiful creations. Baroo’s trademark is tidy, grain-based bowls of seasonal produce, and they stream from the kitchen looking like colorful Petri dish experiments. Take the Bibim salad ($9), a saucer of health store-typical grains draped in diaphanous crudités. Finished with a mirror of herb coulis and cultured tomato dressing, the salad is fresh, crunchy, and striking in both flavor and color.
Courtesy Eater LA.
Bibim’s tangy dressing is just one of many fermentations on the menu, inspired by techniques learned during Uh’s childhood in South Korea. Each pickle is processed in-house, bubbling away on dining room-accessible shelves that elicit curious glances and iPhone snaps alike from customers. Depending when they visit, diners might catch a glimpse of lemon verbena kombucha in-brew, or vats of delicately shaved onions stewing in a bright pink rosewater brine. There’s also an amber pineapple-fermented kimchi that joins a sous vide egg and basmati rice in a traditional pairing that still manages to be anything but (Kimchi Fried Rice, $9).
Fans impulsively label Baroo a “Korean fusion” restaurant, but reconsider when they discover two handmade pastas on the menu. Uh prepares fresh tagliatelle-style noodles each day, tossing the tender lengths with “spicy faux oxtail ragu” made from heirloom cherry tomato gremolata (Baroo’s Ragu Style, $15). It’s a classic rustic Italian meal that rivals Osteria Mozza et al., thanks to the addition of fried tendon puffs and micro-parsley. The second pasta dish is equally as intriguing: Celeriac ($12) poetically celebrates the full life cycle of the common celery plant, combining roots, stalk, and even vegetable ash to create a smoky and crunchy alfredo-like tangle.
The meticulous process behind every plate is the result of Uh’s scholarly approach, made evident by the mixed-used shelf in view behind the register. Bookmarked copies of On the Line and Spain...A Culinary Road Trip (Batali and Paltrow’s buddy cookbook) flank in-process preparations and packages of surplus ingredients, giving insight into Uh’s constant progress. Nests of dried tagliatelle waiting for water, Tabasco, and bagged hemp seeds form a scene of non-stop growth: Uh says he sometimes sleeps in the restaurant at the end of 18-hour days, in order to regulate fermentation temperatures and assorted minutiae through the night.
Equal parts gallery and test kitchen, Baroo is constantly in flux. The space was never designed as a full-scale restaurant and is simply an “experiment” (Uh’s own words) meant to satisfy his ambitious creative process. This humble perspective appears to be a matter of control, rather than desire for fame and fortune as seen in so many others. A venture on Uh’s own terms means authority over the aesthetics of every beautiful dish; secure placement of each edible flower and passion fruit powder crumb that crosses his workbench. It’s a refreshing approach that has already earned accolades for Baroo, despite opening only six months ago.
On your first visit, if homey touches like hand-lettered signs and bite-sized baked goods don’t extract the camera phone from your pocket, each main course surely will. Before posting an Instagram photo of your perfect plate, don’t forget to add the location tag. More customers sent Uh’s way will increase demand, ideally forcing him to expand with additional storefronts. One can only hope his next place is as big as IKEA and open 24/7: it might just be the only way for Uh to keep up with his own around-the-clock outpouring of genius.