Monday, June 25, 2007


I visited Los Angeles last week and one lingering question is "how are The Locals not more fat?" I continue to ask this because all I really did while there was 1) get into my rental car (christened The Caramel Hearse on account of it being undeniably ugly) and drive to a restaurant so I could then 2) eat crazy amounts of (undeniably pretty) food and then 3) get back into the The Caramel Hearse and drive around, only to 4) repeat this pattern of living for four days. Yes I'm not the first to say it but Nobody Walks In LA and for me walking after a meal is THE most crucial part of the eating ritual.

But it's good to go places and I'm glad I did because I got to eat some pretty tasty things including luxurious sit-down breakfasts. I never eat sit-down breakfasts in New York but like most LA locals I didn't have a day job so I had time to spare and my mouth to feed. One great place my friends recommended was BLD (which stands for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner) and I went there TWO DAYS IN A ROW for breakfast because it was so damn good. The first day I ate their blueberry ricotta pancakes which was served with a little metal replica of a log cabin filled with maple syrup. I am a sucker for those kind of details, as I am a sucker for what is basically dessert for breakfast. Pancakes were stellar. The next day I ate eggs florentine which is basically a sly way to self-induce a heart-attack because one conveniently ignores the perils of hollandaise when it is placed atop spinach. I Took It To The Limit by also ordering a side of chicken sausage, which arrived way past the appearance of my eggs but I didn't complain about it and I'll tell you why: I am superficial and my waiter had crazy good muscles and gorgeous eyes and I was prejudiced towards his good looks. I almost fell in love when, after asking him for the check, he replied, "Yeah, you wanna get outta here?" as if it were a pick-up line and not an affirmation of what I actually wanted to do. I kind of wish it had been a pick-up line because, like I said: he had crazy good muscles and I am superficial.

One of my other favorite things was a milk-shake made with blueberries, banana, and honey at the 101 Coffee Shop, which was one of my favorite places in LA. First of all, I love a good coffee shop and secondly this one was great because the milk-shake pretended to be a smoothie but was in fact delicious like a milk-shake and also because someone in the kitchen was especially generous with the whipped cream. I had coffee there as well and they served it in little vintage carafes and brown ceramic mugs and again -- I live for this. I should add that overall coffee in LA was GREAT but I think maybe it's because the creamers were almost always filled with actual heavy cream (not milk) and that shit will make anything taste better.

My final meal in LA was actually at LAX and it was An Abomination. I took the red-eye but anticipated midnight hunger which led me to make a Grand Mistake and go to Chili's, the only sit-down place in the vicinity of my gate. I find it necessary to add that I had over an hour to kill before boarding, as if that somehow excuses my voluntarily taking myself to a motherfucking Chili's, housed inside an AIRPORT, no less. It's like I hate myself or something because WHY WOULD I DO THAT?! Why did I go there and pay $6 for a BUD LIGHT (oh my God, friends, it gets worse) and why did I order a bowl of AIRPORT CHILI and an AIRPORT SIDE SALAD topped with AIRPORT RANCH DRESSING before GETTING ON A PLANE? I don't know: maybe I really hate myself. It was all horrible disgusting food, even the Bud Light (the only thing I bothered to finish) but at least I got to eavesdrop on the table next to mine, which was populated by a heavily tattooed family of Margarita Enthusiasts, comprised of at least two who DEFINITELY WORKED IN A PRISON. It was pretty great watching them get drunk and get into a tangle over the check after the patriarch of the group just up and walked away without leaving enough cash. Oh people of the world! I don't know where you're going and I don't know where you're from but I'm happy to eat among you, on temporary terms, even with the subsequent belly-ache.