Reyna asked me, "So, are you going to live in LA forever?"I nodded automatically. Then, I looked down at my Nicoise for what felt like a very long time. Really? That can't be true. Every time I see a man wearing a well-fitted shirt with a wide collar. Every time I see bresaola or speck on a menu. Every time I see a bazaar of delicacies that remotely resembles Selfridge's Food Halls. I think of my favorite places, that I have long since buried while traipsing through the daily grind of the urban sprawl.
"I'd like to be in London, of course," I decided. I announced it to her as if I was announcing it to myself for the first time.
"Well, I suppose with your job... it makes sense to stay here."
More than a job, of course. It's a job that becomes a career that becomes a lifestyle. And it all starts, of course, with this exam.
Today Cirrus said, "What do you call the person that has the lowest grade in our law school class?"
"I don't know," I bemoaned.
"A lawyer," she said.
Final note, for Angelenos on Melrose, you know, near Marc Jacobs or Miu Miu, probably best to stay away from Chocolat. It's a new restaurant, the old Moustache, so new that the walls aren't even painted yet. I thought that added a certain postmodern charm. But, I expected more out of the food and service. I thought I'd see seared ahi in my Nicoise but it was actually a can of Starkist tuna dumped on top of a limp pile of greens, with two slithery anchovies hastily dangling on top. And the souffle, their specialty, was overcooked and better served a la mode than with a gravy boat of Reddi-Whip. Then, issues with the service, leading me to bitch to the manager. Having a couple of things comped didn't help that much.
Anyway, it's been a long day. I'm tired.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 12:14 AM
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