The French must tire of their tropes (see berets, baguettes). A trip to Paris reveals their cuisine has evolved beyond the bistro, with molecular gastronomy and multiculturalism shaking the house that Escoffier built. Perhaps it's nostalgia for summers and studies in Paris, but I still cling to the classics of French cuisine. I've got a bad case of Francophilia (she writes, sporting a marinière stripe romper).
Read MoreThere's something about Elizabeth Ray.
My sister noticed it first, observing how her brand-new daughter was, well, particularly porcine. Terms of endearment often take their cue from the animal kingdom; "Monkey" and "Bunny" are affectionate nicknames my friends dub their significant others. With babies, these pet names increase exponentially. Their newborn adorableness elicits even serious folk to coo "Lamb Chop" and "Chicken" in high-pitched sillyness.
Read MoreDrop it like it's hot.
Chef Eric Park cherishes chilies like Snoop digs weed. Moroccan harissa, Japanese togarashi and Mexican serranos pack the menu with piquant punch; Black H-O-Double G is the International House of Hotness.
Like its namesake--a black hogg is actually a year-old sheep--Black Hogg is celebrating its one-year anniversary. Even after liquor-license hiccups and a scathing L.A. Weekly review (which destroyed my trust in B-Rod), this carnivorous charmer is better than ever.
Read MoreThank goodness for girlfriends.
Mine are especially rad with their simultaneous beauty, sass, and smarts, traits that could induce extreme envy, but instead keep me inspired. Most of them enjoy eating (these aren't those "I'll just have a salad, hold the dressing" kind of gals), yet I'm admittedly the gourmandette: the one who insists on ordering multiple desserts, who finishes everything on our shared plates, and who has a penchant for all things porcine. Hence, my ladies let me pick the location for our monthly dinners. For my birthday, I chose the Parish.
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