So, I was like, driveen in the valley ‘n’ stuff? And I like drove
past a shop that said Artisan Cheese Gallery, ‘n’ stuff? And I was like
“wait, did I just, um, this is like the valley, ok? And I think I jist
saw sometheen with the word ‘artisan’ on Ventura Blvd.”. No way,
right? So, I go “maybe I’ll jist turn around and check it out, right?”
So, alls I wanted to do was see if I dint eemagine it?
So anyways, I turn around and park and go in. Let me tell you darlings, it was as if a magic wand was waved over me, imbuing me with all manner of sophistication. This was no ordinary cheese shop. It was a ‘gallery’ indeed. The light streaming in from the street reminded me of my days spent in the South of France (NOT). Wooden shelves lined with cheeses that were in their natural habitat of room temperature beckoned for my palate to take the journey. A sliver of Boschetto with Black Truffles from Italy brought on such a surge of ecstasy through my body, I could have used something to hold on to. A bedpost, perhaps? I closed my eyes with rapture as I allowed Brie Nangis from France to slowly dissolve on my tongue.
It has been a long time since I have been to a restaurant that actually inspired me to write about it. In the period of time from my last write up, I have been fortunate enough to go to a couple Michelin star restaurants, and those did not inspire me. They were great, but I think I expected it. My experience at the newly opened Saint Martha, stirred something in me that had been dormant for a while. Until now. My husband took me to Saint Martha on a Thursday evening, partly to treat me after having some tough work weeks, and partly to celebrate his birthday.
I'm pretty sure LA is the only place that it can be hard to find a restaurant marked by a gigantic neon sign. That's because in a city that's made up of a string of strip malls, neon signs are easy to overlook. And this one is tucked behind the parking lot of an unassuming boba place. It reads 'park' above an arrow pointing one way and 'drink' above an arrow pointing the other way, towards Beer Belly.
Merrick and I had the honor of attending a costume jewelry auction at
Decades hosted by the original Zoebot herself—Rachel Zoe. I die! Events
don’t get much better than that. The people watching was on another
level. Dresses from every decade, necklaces bigger than my head; heels
for which the word “high” doesn’t even begin to describe it; and Hermes
bracelets on every wrist in the house.
