Sometimes you don’t know a place is missing from a neighborhood until it opens. That’s how I feel about the new Sweet Lady Jane that opened a few months ago in Santa Monica up towards the east-end of the shop on Montana Avenue. I just hadn’t realized before – there really wasn’t anywhere to buy a perfect cherry pie (or a chocolate cake) or a delicious croissant or stop in for lunch and feel like just at the table next to you someone’s having an interesting conversation while you have one yourself accompanied by a perfect curried chicken salad sandwich (not an easy thing by the way) or home-made soup or if you need something cozy, a perfect grilled cheese, and the promise of a perfect cappucino (even though you don’t drink coffee at lunch).

And then, of course, any of their perfect sweets, a heavenly slice of cake, a hefty slice of pie. And you won’t be able to help yourself – you’ll bring something home for dessert that night, too – and if you’re anything like us, place an order for one or two pies for Sunday night (and maybe a chocolate cake) because you’ve just been inspired by Sweet Lady Jane to invite people over for Sunday dinner.

Living in LA is easy. Eating out here is hard. Sure you can wear whatever you want, and reservations for most places aren't necessary, but the high prices for ho-hum food and lackluster service by kids waiting on you while waiting for their big break (this is not a myth) mostly keeps us at home where the food is at least warm, the company enjoyable and (for us) the wine cellar filled with lovely selections. When we want a fix of beautiful, inventive food, we just turn on Top Chef and watch the pans fly. That's where we discovered Nyesha Arrington.

A contestant on the recent season in Texas, we couldn't help but root for her and Chris Crary, another LA chef to win the top prize. They both seemed, not only genuinely talented, but to be decent people as well. Which is not, by the way, a requirement for a chef, though it probably helps in the kitchen and certainly when you're on reality TV. Unless you want to be cast as the villain. They say all publicity is good publicity, but that is surely a double-sword when you're "playing" yourself. Regardless, we would be able to taste their food and, yes, the fact that we saw them on TV did sway us to go to their respective restaurants. Actors are a dime a dozen. Someone who can cook perfect pork belly truly has my attention.

We met Nyesha at LudoBites 8.0 while she was waiting to be seated. We felt a bit silly, nervous and dorky approaching her to chat, but she was incredibly gracious and I think a bit surprised to be recognized. (She was not eating yet. We would never be so rude as to interrupt someone in that manner.) We told her how impressed we were with her kitchen skills, especially during the Last Chance Kitchen segments, and promised to come into Wilshire soon. (She's the executive chef.) We had been there once - before she took over the kitchen - and enjoyed the experience, so now we were doubly excited.

When I originally conceived of taking a self-led tour of the LA food trucks with some friends it was to see who was trying to capitalize on the success of Kogi BBQ, the crossover Mexican-Korean taco truck, and their use of Twitter to let people know their current location.  Supposedly Kogi is the originator of the hip and cool LA food truck and, as some have told me, has the best food of all the taco trucks. My plan was to find trucks that had just rolled out, are newly popular, or ones that I know nothing about and see if Kogi would hold up against the rest.

My food truck team consisted of seven diverse and discerning palettes including a maitre fromager, a chef, a pastry chef, a hungry stoner and a guy who makes the biggest sandwiches I’ve ever seen, but seems to gain no weight.  We started our glutton-fest at Barbie’s Q who was parked at T-Lofts in Santa Monica (11500 Tennessee) where food trucks hang out every day.  The big green truck has a pin-up girl and the slogan “A Rollin’ BBQ Joint” on the side and is a clear representation of the owner.  John, who insists that the pin-up on the side is not his daughter, takes everyone’s order while standing in front of his truck so he can shake hands and show off his fluffy white mustache.  The St. Louis ribs were sweet, juicy, and did the fall-off-the-bone thing that grosses out my vegetarian girlfriend. It was my favorite dish of the day (out of the two dozen things I tried). We also tried three kinds of deliciously simple sliders (chicken, pork, or beef, sauce, and a bun), potato salad that was thankfully dill heavy and mayo light, and some baked beans that were best consumed when poured over a slider.

My mother used to tell me she would drive to Malibu several times a week.  She wouldn't stop there, just drive there and back.  To relax…to write in her head...to figure things out. She doesn't do it anymore, because of the price of gas, it's wasteful...but every once in awhile I'll wake up early and do the drive myself...watching the coastline as I speed by...I'd pay more for a movie...

When my parents first split up they weren't exactly on the best of terms. My time was divided. I spent way more of it with my Mom, and distinct brackets with my dad. My Mom and I had an easier time hanging out, satisfied with doing nothing.  One Wednesday, in the middle of the day, she drove me along the coast. 'Where are we going,' I thought to myself, but I didn't dare ask, for one because she wouldn't have told me if I had, but also because she probably didn't know herself. She stopped at one point and we got out of the car. She disappeared up a small trail you would barely notice, and I followed her up the mountain.