la.foodblogging

I can admit to a certain Neiman Marcus obsession. I have an NM card. I’ve used it. Heavily. And I’m outing myself here by saying that yes, I’m a foodie, but goddamn, I love me an NM throw-down.
Wait! I can explain!

Let’s start with the good part. At the Beverly Hills location, the top floor (men’s department) has a wide open, oval-shaped bar called Bar on 4. It’s always staffed with super-hot, and in some cases, equally sweet male bartenders, and more plastic surgery devotees than you shake a martini at. I find the scene so fascinating - power-lunchers in suits; there to buy another, husband hunters with wrinkle-less foreheads and chihuahuas in tow, and the occasional oddball - like, well, me. There’s a gigantic window by the bar that let’s you enjoy the BH view, and it’s flooded with golden sunlight up there - makes me feel lucky to live in this crazy metro. Maybe it’s the mean cocktails they’re whisking up that’s blinding me here, but it is *the* perfect place to take a couple of girlfriends to, get drunk by noon, and shop like the LA girls we are. The huge bonus - I’ve had extremely tasty food here. No, really. The Lobster Club is divine. The Caviar service - overpriced to the hilt but worth every last egg. I can’t help it, people, I love it here. I’ve made friends with a couple of the bartenders (like Adam, featured below, whom I just adore), and, you know, I guess it’s the wanna-be rich girl in me that just delights in this excess. Plus, there’s the cocktails - they make ‘em tasty AND strong.

That’s Adam up there - bartender, documentary filmmaker, and mega-hottie with a sublime taste in music AND cocktails. What’s not to love?

Well, go one floor dow, and the answer is: plenty.

Yesterday, I had what I’d call an NM double-hitter. My girl Hollz and I arrived early for the Last Call Sale and for a little Veuve Cliquot. We’re smarties, we first sailed down to the bottom floor and scored two large chocolatey treats. Then up to the top for a our champagne toast. So far, so good. We had hair appointments across the street at some chi-chi salon (free gifts, folks, this is not the Normal Life) so after our locks got love, we headed back for lunch. And shopping. Having already graced the Bar on 4 chairs, we opted for a never-before-frequented spot on the third level - The FreshMarket Assuming the foodstuffs in this joint likely came from the same kitchen, we figured only the ambiance would be different. Ahem, wrong answer. The menu was vastly different (just a few salads and sannies) and what we opted for - An open-faced tuna melt and an Egg salad on wheat - were abysmal. SERIOUSLY bad. Bland, fatty, stale bread - all kinds of icky. And to think, we were one floor away from bliss. We even tried a cake slice - lemon bundt badness. All sugar, no citrus - AHHHH!

Lesson learned, believe that. There’s a bottom floor restaurant called Mariposa - I will likely never have the courage to put a toe in there. I guess I’ve learned a valuable lesson here - go where the cute bartenders are. If the food sucks, at least the view will still be top-notch. ;)

By PoetKitty (see more of her posts). You can find more of PoetKitty's writing at her own website OMG Food!