According to Michael Voltaggio, a young chef trained in the cerebral techniques of molecular gastronomy, Animal is distinguished by its “gnarly big plates of food where each dish has three thousand calories.” (Voltaggio, whose menu at the Langham, a hotel in Pasadena, includes “A Study of the Vegetables of the Season,” eats there once a month.) Animal’s staples are outrageous concoctions that might be called whimsical if they weren’t so rich: expertly prepared junk food made from exquisite ingredients.
“We’re a meat-eccentric restaurant,” he said. That meant the next week would be slow: the Lenten slump. “Yeah, it looks like it,” he said vaguely, before someone realized it was Ash Wednesday.
“What is that metal plate in her head? Man, is that a tattoo? Jesus Christ! That’s the craziest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.” Shook stared. “Whoa!” Dotolo said suddenly, pointing at a mark on the forehead of a middle-aged woman in a station wagon nearby.
Vinny Dotolo and Jon Shook at their restaurant, Animal.
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