Every passing May that finds us, unfortunately, not on some lacrosse field-sized yacht docked off of La Croisette makes us tristesse. Why are we sitting in our dingiest casuals and not waving at the paps in our finest, most photo-ready Dolce? Why are we not outrunning the press as we head into a standing o inside the theater where our next hit film is about to be screened? Pourquoi? Someone please. We need answers.
Oh, we'll get over it. Because Los Angeles is still a very lovely place to be, and is not all that unlike Cannes, with its sky-reaching palm trees and the shoreline and the occasional grand dame hotel and paparazzi everywhere. And movies. Actually, the two water-close burgs are very alike in some ways.
So today, in honor of the many locals who are over in France promoting l'infernale out of their flicks, we're off to three of our favorite France-favoring spots: Monsieur Marcel at Farmers Market, for its beautiful fromage and wine, Figaro Bistrot on Vermont, which makes long to dress like Amelie, and Taix, because we'd marry pomme frites if the law would let us.
