Lala’s Cafe is Up in My Druckin Grill

Don't fry for me, Argentina. I'll have rice instead.

Though I am not the biggest WeHo fan, Melrose Street is, in fact, a treasure trove of gustatory and sartorial fulfillment. (Food + shopping = happy.)

There’s the fun and friendly Village Idiot, where I literally ran into Jay Leno taping a segment last week. There’s a Mao’s Kitchen outpost, if you’re into that. There are shops that sell the same designer knockoffs you’ll find downtown, considerably marked up but hey — they saved you a trip. And there’s the infinitely luscious Lala’s Grill. (Thanks to awesome pal Richard for introducing us.)

I usually get the 1/2 pollo a la brasa picante, and then eat it with my hands like a cave-woman and end up with attractive smudges of rust-colored picante sauce all over my face and forearms. SEXY!

But last week when I dropped in with awesome new pal David, I went rogue and got the Melrose Salad — chopped grilled chicken with lettuce, tomato, onion, feta cheese and warm rice tossed in honey mustard dressing — and it’s my new jones/soulmate. I ordered the full-size and ate the whole thing. I must have it again. Soon.

Cute lil Lala's.

Tomorrow, we need to talk about Manchego on Main in Santa Monica and Porta Via in Beverly Hills. (Mama had a busy weekend.) But for now I’m just gonna undo the button on my new skinny jeans:

How does this woman have no hips? Or is it a woman...

And dream about the new Double Down sandwich from KFC, which has (and this is no coincidence) the same initials as me. Happy Monday!

This is why you're fat. And HAPPY.

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