HOLLYWOOD HUNGER GAMES
Hollywood is not a place. It is a state of mind. A state of mind in a city that is more about caloric restrictions, youth, beauty, fitness and sartorial splendour than it is about angels. This is an industry town and Angeleños, particularly the rich and gloriously famous in pursuit of that Holy Grail called Oscar during Awards season, have been nipped, tucked, pulled, cut, sucked, spray–tanned, zumba’d and yoga’d to within an inch of their lives.
This is not America. This is LA. From bohemian Topanga and the quirkiness of Venice to the glamour of the movies and the rock ’n’ roll of Laurel Canyon, it is a schizophrenic delight.
Everybody is a celebrity. There are celebrity stylists, hairdressers, boutique owners, dermatologists, therapists, yogis, dog-walkers and chefs. Because of their celebrity clientele they have, by association, bestowed this title upon themselves and they come with a price tag and an attitude to match.
IF YOU’RE MORE THAN 15 MINUTES LATE, YOUR TABLE WILL BE GIVEN AWAY
Despite a realtor with a rather swollen upper lip once saying to me, “Nobody eats much in this town,” there are a myriad restaurants, catering for tastes from the serious to the whimsical. Said restaurants allow for networking, making deals, and, more importantly, posing. The servers in these establishments, mindful of the fact that this city is also one of broken dreams, are all good-looking, sparkly, smiley types, covering their bases in case the customer turns out to be a casting agent or movie producer. After all, this is the reason they migrated in the first place, forking out the high rentals and surviving on Ramen noodles.
Not long ago I found myself in a Beverly Hills coffee shop enjoying the daily soup and salad special when the waiter recognised my South African accent. The next thing I knew I was listening to a monologue on Neill Blomkamp’s latest project and what sounded eerily like some kind of audition.
Last time I looked, Gjelina, a Venice restaurant on Abbot Kinney Boulevard, named by GQ as the hippest street in America, and Goldie’s, Australian–owned, (yes they’re everywhere) on 3rd in WeHo, were too cool to have a visible name displayed. Gjelina has a grey stucco and glass façade and Goldie’s greets guests with an entire wall covered in fashionable succulent topiaries. Gjelina’s patrons include the Beckhams and Gordon Ramsay. It is here that a pregnant Victoria was famously refused her request for an amendment to a dish by a chefzilla. Across the road the paps regularly settle in and click away. Tim Robbins often cycles by, guitar precariously balanced on the back of his bike.
The Bazaar by José Andrés, with its air of decadence and stunning Phillipe Starck décor, is another favourite of the beeooodiful people, their Bentleys and their valets. Here I once ate what resembled micro brussel sprouts adorned with foamy, bubbly, white something–or–other in a glass and it was delicious. But being a vegetarian and a food philistine, I couldn’t pronounce or identify most of the menu.
Co–owned by Moby, Crossroads Kitchen on Melrose is an über–chic vegan Shangri–La favoured by Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi. This place changes the gastronomic conversation. The menu offers the likes of horseradish aioli frites, artichoke oysters and vegan carrot-cake ice cream. If you are more than 15 minutes late for your reservation, the table will be unceremoniously given away.
Food trucks, although not a place where haute couture and haute cuisine collide, are a staple of the landscape. My favourite operates from Grand Central Market and goes by the lavish name of Egg Slut.
It is, however, not all make-believe. I’ve seen Christopher Walken grabbing a bite at WholeFoods in Miami Beach, lunched next to Sean Penn at Brentwood Country Mart and ordered a coffee-to-go next to Angelina Jolie at The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in Santa Monica. We’ve lunched at an unassuming, sun-drenched café on the main drag in Santa Barbara, a few tables removed from John Cleese. Then my husband (Australian) began to perform the Ministry of Funny Walks.
But that is a story for another day.