Have the design magazines made it out to Daw Yee Myanmar Corner yet? Because it is hard to imagine a restaurant better-suited to a page or two in Dwell: a small Silver Lake dining room decked out with glowing pink-and-blue neon and a black-and-white tiled wall, gilded faux-crocodile wallpaper, brightly colored metal chairs and plants straight from the back room at OSH.
Some of the customers sit on stools at a long, high communal table; others are sprawled on woven cushions scattered on a wooden banquette. You drink out of polka-dot juice glasses, thick bistro glasses or parasol-topped coconuts. If you ask for condiments, the arrangement of jars and bottles on a tray looks like an outtake from Kinfolk. Turmeric-yellow lozenges of fried chickpea tofu, heaps of ginger salad and chunks of salmon belly roasted in banana leaves are on the plates.
If you remember hip Hollywood Thai restaurants in the mid-1980s, when people ate mee grob instead of boat noodles and the music industry seemed to be nourished solely with chicken coconut soup and cocaine, it’s like that, except that it shares its mini-mall with the Bar Method instead of an aerobics studio, and instead of drugs, you can smuggle in Brain Dust and activated cashews from the Moon Juice next door. Burmese cooking — whose ingredients are plucked from the roster of antioxidants, favor vegans and tend to be Instagram-bright — is pretty on-trend. And if you can’t find something to like in brittle, crisp samosas stuffed with spiced mashed potatoes; mellow chicken curry; or sliced tomatoes sprinkled with a few drops of fish sauce, you’re probably reading the wrong column.