*To be read to the soundtrack of Bran Van 3000’s Drinking In LA*
The words ‘America’ and ‘food’ are likely to conjure up images of gargantuan sized burgers, questionable looking sausages on a stick and Ice cream buckets bigger than your head. Whilst, for the majority of the 52 states there lies some truth in this generalisation, there’s one gaping big portion of star-studded land that seems to have bypassed the junk food memo. I am, of course, talking about Los Angeles.
Last year, I made the 5,400 mile trip to Los Angeles (where my brother now lives) and although I was out of intensive treatment for anorexia and had regained a significant proportion of my lost weight, i was in no way recovered. The scatty routine, ‘L.A BODY’ hashtags and army of clean eating cafes came at me like a Kate Moss quote. Being flung in to restaurants in which most of the dishes are named after ‘a state of mind’ (I.e nourishment) wasn’t great for the remnants of eating disorder still bubbling under the surface. Needless to say, I returned from hols this time last year a few having dropped a few kilos and re-gained a fair share of my original food neuroses.
Fast-forward 12 months and I have since reached my target weight and confronted the roots of my eating disorder – not to mention the overwhelmingly positive effect of discovering the NOT PLANT BASED community. On a whim, I decided to try the West coast thing again and booked some flights (FYI, I don’t only ever go on holiday to LA, my brother lives there). Only, this time, it was like being in an entirely different stratosphere – and not just because of the newly inaugurated, lunatic president.
Filled with a head of potential catastrophic scenarios, I boarded a plane to the City of Angels and prayed to god that everything would be alright (largely because I’d opted for a cheapo, semi-legit travel insurance policy). I’d booked my blow-out stateside trip with the intention of conquering my last stage of recovery in ostentatious, supersized style and figured that if anything was going to help me secure the last kilo, it would be America. But now that I didn’t HAVE to gain weight, the thought of giant cheesecakes and bottomless cocktails filled me with a familiar sort of nervousness. Day one took us straight to Venice Beach via a bevvy of cliché Californian “eateries” offering the “rawest”, “most nutritious” and – of course – the “cleanest” produce in Los Angeles. I was hungry (as per) and, given my faint post- discharge neuroses, I wondered whether dipping my toes into the wellness pool would really be that harmful? After all, when in Rome…e.t.c, right?
The only problem was, nowadays in my “recovering” foodgasmic brain, there was not one Carob bar/quinoa flapjack/ raw cacao nib that I was remotely interested in eating. And I don’t care how many micro nutrients it contains if it looks and tastes like it came out of my hamster. What’s the point of buying something if you’re not going to enjoy it?! So, I ate a Reece’s Pieces Ice Cream sandwich instead. It was covered in sugary, milk chocolate which melted in the sun, leaving its brown smear all over the inside of the wrapper. I devoured the peanut perfection in about 30 seconds – and then I licked the wrapper sparking clean. As I listened t to the gentle hum of the pacific ocean; midday sun kissing my knees and melted peanut ice cream sliding down by thumb, I had never been more content.
A couple of hours later, we were invited to an all-american style barbecue, complete with DIY ice-cream sundaes for dessert. With a belly still full of Reece’s frozen treats, I wasn’t exactly hungry and was surprised to discover that the prospect of eating when I wasn’t hungry created a small – albeit tangled – knot in my stomach. Still, there’s nothing worse than impoliteness, so putting my niggles aside, I dived in, head first, to the BBQ buffet. As my eyes ingested the overflowing platters of sticky chicken wings, mustard-smothered hot dogs and burgers as big as my face, my brain’s voice whispered; “it’s fine Eve, you can just stick to the salads”.
As it turns out, the six pence of that bastard voice was just the catalyst I needed to pile my plate with the tastiest, juiciest chicken legs I had ever demolished. And roasted sweet potatoes. And potato salad. And corn on the cob, smothered in butter. After which I ate three scoops of ice cream decorated with crushed Oreos and gummy bears out of a plastic pint cup. That’s when it dawned on me. WHO THE FUCK CARES IF I DO PUT ON A BIT OF WEIGHT ANYWAY?! Will I still be able to enjoy myself? Yes. Will everyone who I care about and/or love still love me? Yes. Will I still be healthy? Yes. I for one can’t think of any other thing that actually matters…
As I glanced at my long and trusted friend the salad bowl, from across the table, I realised that, although I happen to enjoy salad, in that moment, I was pretty sure that I’d enjoy alternative offerings more. After all, what’s the point in doing anything if you’re not going to actually enjoy it? I continued committed to my new epiphany for the remainder of my holiday and munched my way through some wonderful experiences and memories which I will cherish forever – the best of which I have listed below. I don’t know if I’ve gained any weight and for once, I don’t actually care.
If you’re ever in LA, go here:
Salt and Straw
Proper portions of creamy, flavoursome ice cream handmade with some of the tastiest flavour combinations ever. Think roasted white chocolate and burnt strawberries; Cookies & Cream with Raspberry Swirl; Almond Brittle with salted ganache. I averaged one of these every two days and have zero regrets.
Huckleberry
Village vibes from this delightful café on one of Santa Monica’s bustling roads. Opt for an egg-based brunch and then choose one of their freshly baked beauties for the road. We went for monkey bread and it was gooey, cinnamoney and enormous. Yum.
The Ice Cream Museum
Soz to keep going on about Ice Cream (sense a theme?) but both Beyoncé and the Kardashians have enjoyed a day out at this downtown LA hotspot so it would be ill informed of me not to give it a mention. There’s sweet treats available in every one of the ten rooms, as well as a literal pool of sprinkles. AND a GIF maker. What more could you want? Tickets are $25 for adults but so, so, so worth it.
Paco’s Tacos
You can get lost in the Mexican restaurants in Los Angeles, because there’s so friggin’ many of them, but we were kindly informed by some home grown California girls that the Mexicana culinary experience at Paco’s is unbeatable. Order a whole entire plate of assorted Mexican favourites; from tacos to tortillas, to enchiladas, to chimi changas e.t.c with rice and beans all for just $13. That’s about a tenner. Also, the guac and nachos are to die for and definitely worth squeezing in before – or during – the main event. The flour tortillas are freshly made by their in-house baker who sat adjacent to our table and cracked out perfectly soft and circular tortillas every single time. Wash it all down with a couple of Margaritas and you’ll be on your way to sunny Mexico in no time.
Wexler’s Deli
If you’re a fan of the humble bagel and lox, this is a definite must-go. Smoked Salmon and smoked Whitefish are slowly and lovingly prepared in-house, before being stuffed inside a schmeared, chewy bagel. The pastrami is also top notch, should you have a fear of fish. Oh and the pickles are just like Mrs Elswood used to make – but better.
Catch
It’s very much on the pricey side and getting a reservation might require months of prior planning, but if you can afford to save up for a little while, I would definitely suggest scheduling a dinner here. Imagine the freshest seafood you’ve ever dreamed of, served beautifully on silver “towers”, as well as inventive, exotic and lip-smacking sushi. For the less adventurous, Catch offers simple entrees of baked/steamed fish and charred veggies. Oh and you might just spot Bradley Cooper or Gigi Hadid tucking into a salmon skin roll.
Soho House, West Hollywood Sunday Brunch
If there’s one person to scope out before you go to LA, it’s someone with a Soho House membership. Find them on any social media platform/fancy Shoreditch restaurant/trendy Shoreditch clothes shop. Then convince them to come to LA with you. Then book a table at Soho House West Hollywood at Sunday brunch time. Eat ALL the food in their brunch-time buffet – and I mean ALL the food. We’re talking meatballs, mac & cheese, sourdough, baked fish, colourful and exciting salads, buttermilk fried chicken, DIY pancakes, waffle stations, roast beef, roasted vegetables and lots and lots and lots of puddings. Then ask your resident member to roll you home.
In & Out Burger
Born and bred in California, this burger joint is a must for any visitor. It’s kind of like a high class McDonald’s, but with a much smaller menu and much nicer bread buns. Plus the “animal style” fries are a force to be reckoned with; think Chilli Cheese Fries without the spice. Plus, the company are well known for offering their employees great work opportunities and treating them with much more humility than other burger chains. The food is much more reliable in terms of quality – apparently they don’t even own a microwave. So, do your bit for society and order a Double Double (look it up).