Real Best L.A.

Angelino Heights
Carroll Avenue
This stretch of slavishly kept Victorians has hosted the sisters of Charmed (Willow, Piper, Trig, and Crunk) and the zombies of “Thriller” (John McCain, searching for his breakfast of flesh). People like to walk around and see the houses. People also like “Thriller.” If you are a DJ, you should totally play it. (Rebecca Schoenkopf)

Arlington Heights
El Cholo
El Cholo hasn’t been cutting edge for a long time, but the place is fun and has a sense of history. The restaurant opened in 1923 and moved to its current location in 1931, and stars and unknowns have been dining here ever since. Literally millions of people have eaten here since the restaurant’s famous logo was doodled on a napkin by the unknown customer who left it on a table, and the converted bungalow has the patina that set designers kill for. Though it opened as a “Spanish” cafe serving simple meals, El Cholo has introduced several items to Los Angeles palates. In 1959 it was nachos, more recently green corn tamales, and they still serve the definitive version of both as well as a powerful and tasty margarita. The flavors of many items here are muted – this is Mexican food for gringo palates – but we like the food and are charmed by the atmosphere, so we all keep going back. 1121 S. Western Ave., L.A., (323) 734-2773. (Richard Foss)

Atwater Village
Tam O’Shanter/Bigfoot Lodge
It’s the one-two punch of theme dining and nightlife: dinner at the Tam O’Shanter followed by an evening of arcane music at the Bigfoot Lounge. The Tam was a country inn at the end of a dirt road when it opened in 1922, a Scottish Baronial fantasy that looked like something from the Outer Hebrides. It hasn’t changed much, though the crowd dining on prime rib and Yorkshire pudding is more casual than in the days when dinner jackets and evening gowns were de rigueur. After you finish your Scottish trifle or whiskey pudding, stroll down the street to the Bigfoot Lodge, L.A.’s little slice of Yosemite. It’s a delightful fantasy, a log cabin environment complete with deer antlers over the fireplace and hand-hewn beams, but the music is hot and the drinks are strong. Dining at the Tam followed by clubbing at the Bigfoot is one of the most surreal evenings you can imagine – pack your kit and hiking boots and head for Los Feliz Boulevard and a night of cultural whiplash. Tam O’Shanter, 2980 Los Feliz Blvd., L.A., (323) 664-0228. Bigfoot Lodge, 3172 Los Feliz Blvd., L.A. (RF)

Baldwin Hills
AMC Magic Johnson Crenshaw 15
I took Bill O’Reilly to the AMC Magic Johnson Theatre last week, and he was very impressed. He had a great time and couldn’t get over the fact that there’s no difference between the Magic Johnson and any other multiplex in Los Angeles ... that even though it’s run by black people, with primarily black patronship, there wasn’t one person there screaming, “Motherfucker, focus the motherfucking projector!” He really appreciated that it was like going to a multiplex in an all-white suburb, with people sitting there, watching the movie, and having fun.

Then I woke up.

Nowadays it’s a successful (if small) national franchise, but back when Magic Johnson opened this multiscreen venue in Baldwin Hills in 1995, it was by no means considered a sure thing. Getting major corporations to build facilities in primarily black neighborhoods has never been a walk in the park, but, in the wake of the 1992 riots, it was damned near impossible (despite a lot of hollow promises at the time). But Earvin “Magic” Johnson managed to convince Sony to join him in the enterprise, and the result was financially and socially a great success. I hate that I feel the need to bring this up, but: It’s really okay to go there, even if, like me, you’re whiter than a tub of Miracle Whip. Hell, even Bill O’Reilly would probably be welcome.

Which is more than he would be at my house. 4020 Marlton Ave., L.A., (323) 290-5900. (Andy Klein)

Beverly Center
Largo at the Coronet
Long time ago (when we was fab), we used to trek to the original, Fairfax District Largo to be so unbelievably fucking cool and see Tenacious Dbefore the album, show, or movie, and maybe to attempt futilely to flirt with handsome owner Mark Flanagan. Now Largo’s gone and gotten giant, and moved to a big fancy theater (but – sadness – no bar), and you can see a rotating cast of L.A.’s top alt. comedians (Patton, Garofalo, Paul F. Tompkins) and haunting and/or peppifying musicians (Michael Penn, Jon Brion, Aimee Mann) all hanging out together, in a big orgy jam session of lurve. 366 N. La Cienega Blvd., L.A. largo-la.com. (RS)

Beverly Hills
Greystone Mansion Park
The best thing in Beverly Hills is free – but not everyone in town wants you to know that it’s there. Locals have been known to tear down the signs for Greystone Mansion, a public park with beautiful gardens located in a quiet residential neighborhood. The sprawling 67-room English Gothic castle was built by the Doheny family in 1928 on the largest estate in the history of Beverly Hills, and included tennis courts, stables, kennels, lakes, waterfalls, and a playhouse. Ned Doheny, the first owner, didn’t enjoy it long – he and his secretary were found dead in the house just four months later after an apparent murder and suicide. Other members of the family lived there for about two decades, after which the mansion was abandoned except for rentals to film studios. Some of the dozens of films shot there include Ghostbusters, Spiderman III, There Will Be Blood, Stripes, and The Big Lebowski. Between film productions the mansion is a public park that is available for grand weddings and parties – like the big Barbra Streisand Obama bash just last week – but the rental costs a pretty penny. Enterprising citizens have been known to have stealth weddings on the grounds and to hightail it before they were observed, and at least one album cover shoot has taken place there without management knowing about it. Most visitors do nothing illicit – they walk the grounds and admire the landscaping, enjoy the serene atmosphere of British grandeur, and muse over the playground built for L.A.’s aristocracy but occupied by them for such a short time. 905 Loma Vista Dr., Beverly Hills. www.greystonemansion.org. (RF)

Boyle Heights
Ron Garmon
There used to be a real swing to Boyle Heights, they tell me. Most of this was just a quick whoosh of air from people ducking behind walls and flowerpots and lampposts and fat people when they saw Hunter S. Thompson coming toward them. Oh, it was also the case that Thee Midniters and Los Lobos brought wild nights and neighborhood pride to clubs that have since (of course) been murdered most foul. These days, there is little to commend in the sad, dingy nabe – except for one bright shining star: our very own Mister Ron Garmon.$newpage

You can see him, with his gleaming pale mull-hawk and fierce blue peepers, striding purposefully for a bus. (Just look for the guy who looks like Sting, or Rutger Hauer, or Rod Stewart, but mostly Sting.) You can see him, focused furiously on a far horizon, mostly because he’s on drugs. You can befriend him! He has many friends! He is kind, and handsome, and a man of talent and taste. Ron Garmon? So recommended. 5209 Wilshire Blvd., L.A., (323) 938-1700. (RS)

Brentwood
Arnold Schwarzenegger
You know who’s sort of weirdly sexy? Arnold Schwarzenegger! It’s true! I mean, I know he’s gotten sort of old and fat and gross with his clothes off (from those pictures at the beach, peoples, not from some sort of icky firsthand knowledge!), and I know he’s sort of stupid and lie-y. But if you ever happen to be covering some sort of rally, maybe in a private airport hangar at John Wayne, and there are, say, less than a dozen people there because the advance men totally wanked it off, so Governor Schwarzenegger is definitely getting an eyeful of you, well, fuck it, you may feel a few tingles. Power is sexy. Even when it’s Arnold Schwarzenegger. Plus, it’s not like there’s anything else in Brentwood that’s better. (RS)

Century City
Pink Taco
Sure, the decor is stylish and comfortable, and the food ain’t bad – but let’s be real: The reason people like Pink Taco is that it’s got an indecent name, and everything tastes better when you’re reminded of that thing that you’re not eating. Owner Harry Morton claims the name of the restaurant comes from a menu item – the soft taco with pink, pickled onions. So it’s a taco, see? And it’s got these pink onions on it, and it has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the female anatomy, or Emiliano Zapata’s position on lesbian communists. Although I’m sure he knew more than just one. Especially delicious are the the spicy desserts, like the chile-infused “caliente” brownies. Westfield Century City Mall, 10250 Santa Monica Blvd., (310) 789-1000. www.pinktaco.com. (Gabrielle Paluch)

Chinatown
Ooga Booga
This Chinatown boutique showcases the same triumphant can-do D.I.Y. creativity that put the Smell in The New Yorker, stocking idiosyncratic art, fashion, music, literature and more from L.A. and beyond. As a representative just-in sampling: Muddy Treads by Vice and Tiny Vices photographer Peter Sutherland, the new fall fashions from Opening Ceremony (who debuted Chloe Sevigny’s outre couture last spring), and a box of fun from experimental label Not Not Fun, whose handmade releases capture fringe music at its freshest. Now-and-then live shows from Smell stalwarts like BARR, Pocahaunted, and Silver Daggers (plus accompanying DJ sets from members of No Age and Mika Miko, and vegan catering depending on the occasion!) make the connection come to life but there’s plenty here for anyone who wants to make their own little world more interesting. 943 N. Broadway, Ste. 203, L.A., (213) 617-1105. oogaboogastore.com. (CZ)

Crenshaw
Maverick’s Flat
A reverent article on L.A.’s psychedelic soul in the excellent Dumb Angel magazine (deserving its own Real Best blurb, actually!) shined welcome new light on this gem of a venue that once hosted Ike and Tina, Parliament Funkadelic, the Four Tops, the Olympics and more – in fact, visionary Motown producer Norman Whitfield and the Temptations were so impressed by Maverick’s that they named their album (and their song) Psychedelic Shack in its honor. Although the glory days have currently gone dormant, the decor – George Clinton meets Eero Saarinen to smear glass and glitter on quivering amoeboid curves – persists, and Maverick’s is currently available to hire for extremely special events. 4225 Crenshaw Blvd., L.A., (323) 295-4179. (CZ)

Culver City
Museum of Jurassic Technology
David Wilson is one irreverent dude with one sassy museum filled with exhibits dedicated to the pithily shrewd ironies that are born of his brain, and primarily supported by grants and donations. Is it art? Is it comedy? Is it just plain crazy? It is horse-puckey from the “lower Jurassic,” and serves as a good reminder not to take anything in life too seriously. The permanent exhibits include a collection of oil portraits of the dogs of the Soviet space program, a collection from Los Angeles area mobile home and trailer parks, a collection of micro-miniature sculptures and paintings, such as a sculpture of Pope John Paul II carved from a single human hair and placed within the eye of a needle, and a collection of decomposing, antique dice. Always infused with a healthy sense of humor, the collections are mostly challenging to the viewer’s sense of reality; Wilson himself says the state of confusion can act as a vehicle to open people’s minds. And now you can even take your confused self up to the tea room for tea and cookies, or enjoy a film screening in the company of the museum’s new adorable puppy. What makes this place the best is that the Museum of Jurassic Technology is the museum that points and laughs at all other museums – it questions the verity of knowledge without ever even trying to tell the truth. 9341 Venice Blvd., Culver City, (310) 836-6131. www.mjt.org. (GP)