L.A. dining is exhausting. Truly. You spend forty minutes looking for parking in Koreatown only to realize the "it" spot of the week has a three-hour wait and a menu that looks exactly like the five other places you visited last month. But then there’s Here’s Looking at You. People call it HLAY. It sits on the corner of 6th and Ardmore, looking somewhat unassuming from the outside, but the here's looking at you restaurant menu is a complete fever dream of flavors that shouldn’t work together but somehow do. It's been around since 2016, survived a pandemic-induced closure, and came back because Los Angeles realized it couldn't actually live without those specific shishito peppers.
It’s not "fusion." I hate that word. Fusion feels like a boardroom meeting where someone decided to put kimchi on a taco because it's trendy. This is different. This is the personal diary of Chef Jonathan Whitener. It’s a mix of his Southern California upbringing, his professional French training, and a deep, obsessive love for the global pantry that defines the city.
The Chaos That Actually Makes Sense
If you look at the here's looking at you restaurant menu, you’ll notice it’s categorized by size and protein, but the descriptions read like a scavenger hunt. You might see beef tartare next to a dish featuring nam prik noom. It’s jarring. You've got to trust the kitchen.
Take the shishito peppers. Everyone does shishito peppers. Usually, they’re just blistered with some sea salt and maybe a squeeze of lemon if the chef is feeling fancy. At HLAY, they come with veal brisket, tonnatta, and pickled red onions. It’s savory, fatty, acidic, and slightly bitter all at once. It’s a signature for a reason. If they ever took it off the menu, there would probably be a small riot on 6th Street.
Then there’s the steak tartare. Most places give you some chopped capers and a quail egg. Here, it’s mixed with red chili, turns out to be surprisingly spicy, and is served with these puffy, salty shrimp chips. It’s a textural masterpiece. You use the chip as a shovel. It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s great.
Small Plates, Big Personalities
The menu changes. Often. That’s the thing about a place that relies so heavily on seasonal produce and the whims of a creative kitchen. You might walk in expecting the soft shell crab—which, by the way, has been served in the past with a buttermilk bagna cauda that will change your life—only to find it’s been replaced by a scallop dish with blood orange and serrano.
The vegetables here are never an afterthought. Honestly, I’ve gone and just ordered the entire "Green" section of the menu. There was a period where they were doing these heirloom tomatoes with smoked tofu and a plum-hibiscus vinaigrette. It tasted like summer in a way that felt almost aggressive. It’s not "light" food, even when it’s veggies. There’s a weight to the flavors.
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The Meat and the Grit
When you move into the heavier side of the here's looking at you restaurant menu, things get even more intense. We aren't just talking about a roast chicken. We’re talking about a bird that’s been treated with the kind of respect usually reserved for royalty, served with things like foie gras gravy or ramps when they're in season.
The St. Louis Ribs are another staple that pops up, often glazed with something sweet and funky, like a fish sauce caramel or a Fresno chili jam. It’s sticky. You’ll need more napkins than they give you. You should ask for them upfront.
- The Duck: Often served with a fruit element like cherries or huckleberries to cut the fat.
- The Whole Fish: Usually a market preparation that depends entirely on what’s fresh at the docks that morning.
- The Frog Legs: If you see them, get them. They usually come with a salsa negra that is so dark and earthy it tastes like the soul of the earth.
A Note on the Bar Program
You can't talk about the menu without talking about the drinks. The bar at HLAY is managed with the same "mad scientist" energy as the kitchen. They have a cocktail called the "Tropical Medicine" that uses scotch, pineapple, and ginger. It sounds like a mistake. It’s actually a cure for a bad day. The wine list is equally adventurous, focusing on natural wines that have enough acidity to stand up to the bold, spicy, and umami-heavy food coming out of the kitchen.
Why People Get Confused
I’ve seen people sit down, look at the menu, and look genuinely stressed. I get it. We are conditioned to want "Italian" or "Mexican" or "Chinese." HLAY is "Los Angeles." That means the influences are shifting constantly. One dish might feel very Japanese, while the next feels like a trip to a Texas BBQ pit.
The secret is to stop trying to categorize it.
The service helps. The staff isn't pretentious about the weirdness. They know the menu is a lot to take in. They’ll tell you straight up if you’ve ordered too much or if you’ve missed the one dish that’s peaking that week. It’s a neighborhood spot that just happens to be one of the best restaurants in the country.
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Finding the Vibe in Koreatown
The atmosphere is dark. It’s moody. The lighting makes everyone look about 20% more attractive than they actually are. It’s the kind of place where you can have a deep, existential conversation over a plate of bone marrow or a first date that either goes incredibly well because you both love spicy tripe, or fails immediately because the other person just wanted a Caesar salad.
There is no Caesar salad here.
There is, however, often a crudo that will make you rethink what raw fish can be. I remember a yellowtail dish with pickled grapes and a black garlic oil. It was sweet and savory in a way that felt like a glitch in the matrix.
The Return of the King
When HLAY closed during the pandemic, it felt like a hole had been ripped out of the L.A. food scene. Many thought it was gone for good. But the community rallied. The founders, Jonathan Whitener and Lien Ta, managed to bring it back in 2022. The "new" here's looking at you restaurant menu felt like a homecoming. It didn't try to reinvent itself; it just got better at being its strange, wonderful self.
They kept the classics. They kept the soul. They kept the "Here's Looking at You" neon sign that serves as a beacon for hungry people wandering around K-Town at 9:00 PM on a Tuesday.
What You Need to Order Right Now
If it's your first time, or your twentieth, there are some rules.
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- Don't skip the bread. They usually have a toasted brioche or a sourdough that comes with a cultured butter. It’s essential for mopping up the sauces.
- Order the "Strangers." The menu often has a section for things that don't fit elsewhere. Trust the strangers.
- The Rice. There is almost always a rice dish, like a fried rice with lap cheong or a congee-style preparation. It’s the comfort food you need between the high-acid crudos and the heavy meats.
The Cost of the Experience
It’s not cheap. But it’s not "fine dining" expensive either. You’re looking at a bill that reflects the quality of the ingredients and the labor-intensive sauces. It’s an investment in a night out. You’re paying for the fact that someone spent three days fermenting a chili paste just so it could sit on top of your cauliflower for five minutes.
Most plates are meant to be shared. If you go with a group of four, you can pretty much run through half the menu. If you go as a couple, you have to make some hard choices. I recommend the "dartboard method"—just point and hope for the best. You usually win.
Practical Tips for the Hungry
- Reservations: Get them. Now. Don't walk in and expect a table at 7:00 PM on a Friday. They use Resy, and slots fill up weeks in advance.
- Parking: It’s Koreatown. It’s a nightmare. There’s a small lot, but honestly, just Uber. It saves you the headache and allows you to have that third cocktail.
- Dietary Restrictions: They are surprisingly accommodating, but given the complexity of the sauces, vegans might find the options a bit limited compared to a standard California bistro. Call ahead.
The here's looking at you restaurant menu isn't just a list of food. It's a reflection of a city that is messy, diverse, and constantly evolving. It’s a place where the "rules" of cooking are treated more like suggestions. It’s fun. It’s loud. It’s delicious.
Next time you find yourself in K-Town, skip the standard BBQ for once. Head to the corner of 6th and Ardmore. Look for the neon. Order the shishitos.
Actionable Next Steps:
Check the current seasonal offerings on their official website or Instagram before your visit, as the menu is highly volatile. Secure a reservation at least two weeks in advance for weekend dining. If you're looking for a quieter experience, aim for a weeknight "early bird" slot right when they open to engage the staff about the day's specific market additions. For those who can't get a table, their sister restaurant, All Day Baby in Silver Lake, offers a different but similarly high-quality vibe with a focus on soul food and incredible pastries.