Where to find some of the best bar food in Los Angeles

A private corner table in a beautiful dining room will never match the allure of a seat at the bar. When I'm alone or with a date, social gatherings can be more relaxed on a stool with our elbows resting on the bar.

The gaps in conversation feel less torturous when the attention is elsewhere: the bartender at the bartender's, the birthday photos, the couple arguing, and the older man muttering to himself while struggling with a crossword puzzle.

I appreciate the familiarity with the person serving my drinks and the sincere attempt to make a connection.

The setting and the liquid courage give me a level of confidence rarely found outside of a Sabrina Carpenter song about small caffeinated drinks. At the bar, my bosses are on vacation.

That's the mentality I'm taking in the dark, wood-paneled bar of Lawry's The Prime Rib on La Cienega Boulevard, a bar I've been going to since I was eight years old. Before you start questioning my parents, hear me out.

This 86-year-old prime rib temple was the place we went for birthday parties and other major milestones. It's as much a part of Los Angeles as the street signs and the movie studios. What more grand way to celebrate in the '90s than with a 600-pound silver cart full of beef ribs rolled by a master carver in a chef's hat? The waitresses spun ice-cold salad bowls at the table! They called you “hun” and “sweetie” and wore brown dresses with white aprons and matching hats.

I can't remember a night at Lawry's that didn't start with a trip to the bar. Most of my extended family is incapable of being on time, so my immediate family would often wait at the bar for the rest of our group to arrive.

It was the most magical place, with a soundtrack of ice cream clinking in shakers, glamorous adults socializing, and so many free self-serve meatballs it would ruin your appetite for dinner.

About seven years ago they removed the meatballs from the bar. Last week my bartender told me it had something to do with all the people coming out with boxes of them.

This sparked outrage and a Change.org petition to bring them back. David Kramer, one of the six people who signed the online petition in 2016, wrote: “What am I supposed to do while I wait for my table?” “Don't eat meatballs?!?!?!”

I hear you, David, but you can still get a bowl of free potato chips. And you'll be rewarded with a menu of bar food that's not allowed in the main dining room.

Here you'll find the Prime Rib Katsu Sando, which was introduced to the bar in early May. The 6-ounce cut of certified Angus prime rib is breaded with panko breadcrumbs and deep-fried. Although the exterior is crispy, the meat is still the luxurious cut of beef you'd expect from Lawry's, dressed with a sweet katsu sauce and sandwiched between two slices of thick, toasted, crust-cut pain de mie. It's cut into four large squares and finished with shaved curls of fresh horseradish.

That horseradish hits like an electric charge and fizzles out by the time you reach the soft bread and buttery meat. Sliced ​​into neat, gigantic quarters, it's like eating a tea sandwich meant for Shrek.

For something a little less refined and a lot messier, the prime rib sandwich is guaranteed to put a drop or two of meat juice on your shirt. The 6 ounces of prime rib is hand-sliced ​​thin and buried under a siege of caramelized onions and melted Gruyere cheese. It's served on a toasted hoagie bun along with a gravy boat of the restaurant's signature jus for dipping.

Bartenders have superhuman hearing, and shortly after you tell your date you want another martini, you might get a martini with fresh meat and potatoes. Or maybe they can just read minds.

I'm not as particular about my vodka martinis as some people are and order this one mainly as a garnish. In an ice-cold glass of Chopin potato vodka float three green olives filled with prime rib squares.

For vegetarians, there are potato dumplings the size of giant Lego bricks, whose shells form impenetrable fortresses of crispy potatoes and whose insides are soft and shredded. You can also order one of the spinning salads, without the spinning service at the table.

In 2018, the restaurant underwent some major design changes, including the creation of a window from the bar to the main dining room, visible behind the liquor wall. You can browse the large space and only see the glint of one of the meat carts. The best view, however, is from the two seats at the right end of the bar. From here, you can catch a glimpse of the brown-coated waiters collecting their tables' drink orders at the service window.

There's live music on Fridays, but I never go for Ed Sheeran covers. I prefer the weekdays when I can hear myself thinking, it's never crowded and time stands still.

I would die happily on a tufted leather Lawry's barstool and embark on a never-ending process of martinis and prime rib sandwiches in the afterlife.