Hollywood
My kind of place
Joan Collins
0 rder an iced tea at certain restau- rants in Los Angeles, and such a colossal container arrives at the table that you half expect a mop to be sticking out of it.
In a land where quantity far outweighs quality right down the line, big is always better. Nowhere does this hold more true than in southern California. In every cine- ma, Godzilla-sized cartons of popcorn and hot-dogs with the dimensions of miniature dachshunds are wolfed voraciously, washed down with prodigious quantities of fizzy `beverage'. And try buying a simple Kit- Kat. These are now only sold in giant sizes, as are most other candy bars.
Fifty-five per cent of the American popu- lation are considered by their government to be officially overweight. I'm not sur- prised. A lightning circuit of Pavilions Hol- lywood or Gristede's Supermarket to the Stars, reveals shelves groaning with enough goodies to cause the salivary glands to shift into top gear. For someone like me — an admitted chocoholic — it requires supreme will power to reach the tills with only the basics. These, in any case, are either stacked too high or too low down, while at eye level you are assaulted by a cornucopia of alluring junk food. But who was it who said a temptation resisted is a true measure of character? Certainly no one in Beverly Hills.
A curious spectacle in many grand American restaurants is that of rich people still waddling out with half their dinner clutched in a foil container. They'll happily admit to not owning a dog but — what the hell — they'll snack on their swag while watching the Late Show.
As far as alcohol is concerned, order a glass of wine at lunch-time and you're stared at with as much horror as if you'd asked the handsome waiter to remove his trousers. It's acceptable to drink at night, in moderation of course, but more than two glasses and you'll receive pitying glances. As for ordering a dry martini or a Stoli-on- the-rocks, do so at your peril. My advice to anyone considering a tour gastronomique of Los Angeles is to order a strong drink and be damned, but only eat half of what is served to you and you won't have put on a stone by the time you fly home.
SUMMER WINE AND FOOD
There are two kinds of restaurants in Hollywood today: the gourmet and the 'Eat till you burst' variety. After appearing on some dawn chat show the other day, my hunger pangs sent me scurrying into one of the latter establishments.
`All you can eat for $1.65' was hung out- side the place in Day-Glo bunting. Here is what appeared on my plate: four fried eggs, six sausages, seven rashers of bacon, two fried tomatoes, four mushrooms, a sand- castle of hash browns and six 'silver dollar' pancakes. Somehow they found room to garnish this lot with a few strawberries, half a kiwi fruit and a modest sprig of limp parsley. Set beside this vast array was a selection of muffins, toast, rolls and Danish pastries accompanied, with hideous irony, by packets of low-fat spread and dietetic jam. My hunger satisfied after only a few mouthfuls, I left, having had my fill of life in the fast food lane.
`Gourmet' restaurants change fashion and favour faster than skirt lengths in Hol- lywood. Last year, unless you'd booked well in advance, you couldn't get a reservation for lunch at Drai's Cafe — unless, of course, you were a mogul, a model or a megastar. Six months ago, however, you could have fired a howitzer through the window and not have hit a soul. Last month I was told it had closed down, only to reopen in Las Vegas. The fickle nature of the palates of Beverly Hills should never be underestimated by restaurateurs.
Someone who has consistently got it absolutely right over the years is Wolfgang Puck. He is the culinary messiah of Califor- nian cuisine, with relentlessly high stan- dards of excellence in food and service. Spago, this charming Austrian's first restaurant, really hit the headlines when it became the annual venue for the hottest Hollywood party of the year. This was Irv- ing `Swifty' Lazar's bash on Oscar nights, when Wolfgang's Sunset Boulevard premis- es would be bursting with more movie stars than you could shake a breadstick at. We'd be plied with slices of sensational pizza, topped with smoked salmon, cream cheese and caviar, followed by what I still think is the best chicken dish in the world, served with double-blanched garlic and mashed Potatoes with white truffle oil.
The success of Spago Hollywood was so phenomenal that Wolfgang opened several more, including Spago Beverly Hills on Canon Drive, on the site of the old and once great Bistro restaurant, another which bit the dust. Within days of Wolfgang's opening party, the great and the good flocked to the new Spago, and Spago Hol- lywood was left to feed the tourists, Tinsel- town's lesser agents and the gynaecologists. Now Spago Beverly Hills is the place for those who want to see le tout Hollywood, and you can even smoke at tables on the patio. The food is terrific, and when a restaurant places a dozen different desserts in the middle of the table for everyone to share — well, that's my kind of place.
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