What a bizarre, chaotic, surreal, random, incomprehensible place Los Angeles is. In any other city, a lovely restaurant like DAMA would be situated alongside others of its kind, and one would walk past a series of kindred establishments to arrive at this venue. But, symptomatic of the irrationalities of this so-called City of Angels, DAMA is nestled in a neighborhood of small factories and produce warehouses, in which elderly Korean ladies toil well into the evening, and desolate streets on which only the homeless loiter. Thinking that you could park elsewhere and take a leisurely stroll to the restaurant would be a mistake unless you’re prepared to hurdle a series of homeless tents on the way there. Luckily, there is an ample parking area to be found at the venue itself, albeit a very discrete one. There are actually a couple of restaurants, including DAMA, within this fenced enclosure, but their proprietors have apparently collectively decided to take an “If you know, you know, and if you don’t, then you’re not cool enough anyway” attitude toward exterior advertising and signage, so first-time visitors should brace for the bafflement of having MapQuest tell you, “You have arrived at your destination” while you don’t see anything nearby resembling a restaurant. Even once within the semi-enclosed cluster of restaurants, pinpointing DAMA from among its neighbors is a final challenge as the name isn’t displayed anywhere. A man standing at the entrance, who spoke with a heavy Eastern European accent, and who I at first took to be a member of the Russian mafia (but who, in retrospect, was probably the valet), proved to be a helpful guide and pointed me in the right direction toward the restaurant I was looking for.
So, not an easy place to find, this. But when you have been shown to your table, placed halfway between the restaurant interior and the veranda area, and you take in your surroundings, dimly lit by a hundred miniature bulbs, it feels like a reward at the end of your quest. The tables fan out around a large, opulent bar area. Stacks of wine rest luxuriously behind the glass doors of their display shelves. Colorful tiles adorn the floor beneath one’s feet, while palm leaf ceiling fans and climbing foliage are interesting decorative details overhead. Overall, this is a pretty restaurant with a comfortable ambiance. The clientele appears to skew 30+, and, although I would consider this an upscale establishment, there’s a “casual dress” attitude reflected in the attires of the other patrons that I, who had paired a dressy turtleneck and blazer with sneakers, found reassuring. At some restaurants, the music is so loud that trying to have a conversation over dinner becomes ridiculously arduous; here, one catches snippets of Bad Bunny and Karol G during lulls in the conversation, but the volume is not so loud as to be obtrusive, and so the music adds to rather than undermines diners’ enjoyment. Finally, the waitstaff of any restaurant is another crucial determinant of customers’ ease and comfort. Our server, Joshua, was friendly and pleasant, but, like the music, his presence didn’t become oppressive through excess; that is, he didn’t check on our table every five minutes.
As someone who pees a lot (especially when I’ve been imbibing alcohol), I can’t consider a review of a restaurant complete without a word about its restroom! The ladies’ room at DAMA provided me with pleasant peeing experiences. The three stalls were clean, and I was even able to stay warm and amused while answering nature’s call because the restroom was heated and speakers played the same music that was the background noise for diners’ conversations outside. Only once all evening did I have to wait, briefly, for a stall, when a trio of women decided to hold a discussion, while occupying a stall each, about whether this guy liked one of them (he was sending her all kinds of mixed signals, apparently).
