Home > Los Angeles Restaurants > Restaurant Review > First impressions: Three Drunken Goats

Walking down Montrose’s Honolulu Avenue is, in an awesome way, like entering a time warp. You can get your hair clipped at the barber shop, belly up to a soda fountain or watch the local cobbler cobble. Tragically un-hip boutiques with disco-era names like Annie’s Scandal peddle leisure suits and sequined dresses to the blue-haired set.

But amid the wood tchotchkes and porcelain figurines, some serious culinary ventures, such as the much-acclaimed Bashan, are transforming the sleepy foothills north of Glendale into the next Culver City. In the midst of much buzzy restaurant activity, the latest eatery to hang a shingle is Three Drunken Goats.

Once a retail wine store, the Spanish tapas bar now features a menu helmed by Jason Michaud, who also served at Cobras & Matadors. The C&M pedigree gives us high hopes for an evening of inventive small plates coupled with Spanish wines (over 40 by the glass) that would transport us to, say, a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Sevilla. Unfortunately, Three Drunken Goats makes us feel entirely too aware that we’re in Montrose.

The dining room is handsome enough, painted the same grape color as the rind of its namesake cheese, the wine-soaked cabra al vino (“drunken goat”). Lantern-style light fixtures, lots of dark woods, and black-and-white bullfighting pictures strive for Spanishness. But the broad, open space has no cozy corners or sexy nooks; it feels more like a banquet hall. So far, the patrons appear to be local Montrosians who, well, may have been outfitted at Annie’s Scandal.

But none of that would matter if the food were kickin’. Regrettably, the promising menu doesn’t deliver. The signature cheese comes as a two-by-two cube with a few grapes, croutons and a dab of quince paste. It’s the best thing we eat all night. Artichoke and goat cheese croquettes are overwhelmed by the fried breading and savory red pepper sauce. A Belgian endive salad turns out to be nondescript slaw with bitter dressing. Patatas bravas are glorified cottage fries—without so much as a dash of paprika to enliven them—resting in a pool of spruced-up ketchup.

Larger plates, thankfully, are more satisfying. The grilled ahi is more seared than grilled, but it’s flavorful, and the accompanying corn and zucchini salad is warm and appealing. The 12-ounce rib-eye is well-dressed, with a cap of roasted garlic herb butter. Our meal ends with churros that don’t hold a candle to the stout ones at Cobras & Matadors. It’s hard to find fried dough rolled in cinnamon and sugar objectionable, but these are unrefined (Cinnamon Toast Crunch, anyone?), and the little mug of chocolate dipping sauce tastes suspiciously like Hershey’s.

It might be best to take a drunken cue from the name; next time, we’ll stick with the wine and cheese.

Food: Tapas, steak, paella, cheese and cured meats—more ambitious in spirit than in execution.

Scene: Shiny wine bar with a retro-vibing Montrose crowd.

Insider tip: The retail wine portion is still up and running. Pop in for a glass of the abundant Spanish selections if you don't want to stay and eat.

Rachel Levin is a contributing editor for Metromix Los Angeles.

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