Is it just me, or has Santa Monica decided to become the “Final Boss” level of Southern California dining?
I’m Ginger Graham, and if you’ve followed Culinarypassages.com for a while, you know I’m usually the first person to defend a splurge. I live for a white tablecloth, a well-shaken margarita, and the kind of travel experiences that make you feel like you’ve actually escaped reality. But lately, a casual Saturday night in Santa Monica feels less like a seaside escape and more like a high-stakes endurance test where the prize is a lighter wallet and a headache.
Last Saturday, my husband, Brad, and our two daughters (ages 8 and 10) decided we wanted Mexican food. Not just any Mexican food—we wanted that “upscale but family-friendly” vibe. I fired up my inKind app, saw Red O listed, and felt a surge of nostalgia. Brad and I hadn’t been to that specific location in about nine years. Back then, it was the height of coastal chic.
Fast forward to last weekend: we pulled up to Ocean Avenue, and the “What the hell happened?” tour officially began.
The $20 “VIP” Hunger Games
We pulled up to the front of Red O. There’s a valet stand. It looks official. It looks promising. We waited. And waited. The valet stand was a ghost town. I half-expected a tumbleweed to roll down Ocean Ave.
Instead of a valet, we were greeted by a man waving a flag the size of a small sail, aggressively ushering us into a nearby parking garage. Now, I understand Santa Monica parking is a blood sport, but this was next-level.
“Twenty-five dollars for VIP parking on the first level!” he shouted. “Twenty dollars for the lower levels! Cash only!”
We opted for the $20 “peasant” tier. We were directed down one level into the arms of another attendant who seemed to have a personal vendetta against our Tesla. He pointed us toward a “spot” that was nestled between a massive, chrome-covered truck and a concrete pole. It was roughly the width of a yoga mat.
Brad, ever the diplomat, asked if we could perhaps use one of the dozens of empty spots further down. “No! Only spot! No more spots!” the man insisted. As soon as Brad performed a 12-point turn to wedge us in—leaving just enough room for the girls to squeeze out like they were exiting a submarine—the attendant immediately waved two other cars down to the wide-open lower levels.
At this point, the “frustrated writer” in me was starting to take notes. We looked for the elevator because, frankly, Santa Monica parking garages aren’t exactly known for their lavender-scented stairwells. “Elevator out of service,” we were told.
So, there we were: a family of four, walking up the vehicle ramp against oncoming traffic, dodging questionable puddles and a crowd of very “eclectic” individuals outside, just to get to the front door. According to a recent report by the Santa Monica Daily Press, city officials have been grappling with public safety and cleanliness concerns in the downtown core, and let me tell you—the struggle is visible.
Red O: The Empty Oasis and the “Sneaky” Caesar
Walking into Red O was like stepping into a different dimension. Outside? Total chaos. Inside? Virtually empty. At 5:30 PM on a Saturday, this place should have been buzzing. Instead, it was us and maybe three other tables.
Our server was “Super Sweet™.” You know the type—the kind of nice that feels like they’re trying to sell you a timeshare in Cabo.
Brad and I both said we’d start with a Caesar salad. Now, in a high-end establishment, a good server might mention, “Hey, just so you know, our Caesar is the size of a small shrubbery. You could easily share one.” Nope. We got two massive, entrée-sized salads. We were full before the main course even hit the table.
I ordered the Enchiladas Suizas and Short Rib Taco combo, and Brad went for the Three Enchilada combo. To take the edge off the parking garage trauma, I ordered a Santa Monica Sunset Margarita. It was beautiful. It was tasty. It was also… remarkably sober. For a premium price, I expected a drink that didn’t taste like a very expensive fruit punch.
The Great Rib Fire of 2026
Then came the kids’ meal. We ordered the ribs for the girls to split. The server knew these were for an 8 and 10-year-old. Neither the menu nor our “sweet” server offered a disclaimer that these ribs were basted in a tactical-grade hot sauce currently being evaluated by NASA for atmospheric re-entry testing. It wasn’t just “spicy”—it was a localized tongue-emergency that had my youngest daughter downing her entire water glass in four seconds flat just to extinguish the flames.
I tried a bite—and I like spicy food—and my eyes started watering. That sauce didn’t just have a kick; it was a full-blown assault on our taste buds that I’m fairly certain could be used to strip paint off a battleship. It was essentially liquid wildfire—the kind of “spicy” that makes you start negotiating with a higher power for a new tongue.We had to send them back, and while they were sweet about replacing them with a plain steak taco and a quesadilla, the damage was done.
Before the bill arrived, the server decided to go for the gold: “Would you like to order some tequila shots to finish the night?”
Brad and I looked at each other, then at our two children who were currently slumped in their chairs, then back at the server. Sir, we are parents. It is 7:00 PM. We are three minutes away from a collective coma. Do we look like we’re heading to a club in West Hollywood?
The $22 Ice Cream “Investment”
We decided to skip dessert at the restaurant and head to Ghirardelli next door. Big mistake. Huge. Well… Kind of….
Again, the shop was surprisingly quiet given the crowds outside. Then I saw the menu. $22 for a sundae. I’m sorry, is there a hidden gold bar at the bottom of the glass? Is the fudge made from the milk of a mystical unicorn? We ordered a Mint Chocolate Chip sundae for the kids and a Dubai Chocolate sundae for us.
I will give them this: the quality was undeniable. The Dubai Chocolate sundae was rich, decadent, and honestly, quite delicious. But forty-four dollars (plus tax and tip) for two sundaes is not a “treat”—it’s a monthly subscription. It’s simply not sustainable. As noted in a recent analysis by Forbes on the ‘Experience Economy’, consumers are increasingly pushing back against “greedflation” in the hospitality sector. There is a ceiling to what people will pay for a scoop of ice cream, and Ghirardelli is currently sitting on the roof.
We couldn’t even finish them. We ended up taking half-melted $22 sundaes home in plastic cups.
The Verdict: Why We’re Breaking Up with Santa Monica
By the time we hiked back down the vehicle ramp to our cramped car, Brad and I reached a silent agreement. We love the ocean. We love the breeze. But we are officially “done” with this version of Santa Monica.
When you factor in the $20 “Hunger Games” parking, the sketchy walk through crowds that felt increasingly volatile, the over-priced/under-powered drinks, and the general sense that you’re being “upsold” at every turn, the magic is gone.
According to the California Restaurant Association, the industry is facing massive pressure from rising labor costs and rent, but passing that entire burden onto a family of four in the form of $22 sundaes and $25 parking is a recipe for empty dining rooms.
If we want upscale Mexican, we’ll stay closer to home or head to spots where the parking doesn’t feel like a shake-down. Next time, we’ll take a Waymo or an Uber and skip the garage altogether. But honestly? We won’t be heading back that way for a long, long time.
Santa Monica, I love you, but you’ve changed. And not for the better.
Read More from Culinary Passages
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- Your Ultimate Grown-Up’s Guide to Santa Monica: Sip, Savor & See the Ocean Like Never Before
- InKind App: Exclusive Way to Save While Dining Out!
About the Author
Ginger Graham is the founder and lead writer of Culinarypassages.com. A self-proclaimed “recovering foodie” and mother of two, she travels the world (and her own backyard) looking for the perfect bite. When she isn’t dodging “out of service” elevators in Santa Monica, she can be found testing new recipes in her kitchen or planning her next family escape. Follow her journey for honest, unfiltered reviews of the travel and food industry.
Are you feeling the same way about the beach cities? Drop a comment below and let me know if I’m just getting old, or if the $22 sundae is truly the end of civilization as we know it.
