We’re sitting in a French bistro in Culver City after spending the morning furniture shopping. (Side rant: why don’t any real furniture stores sell apartment-sized desks? Only IKEA seems to grasp that some people don’t want 60-inch-wide walnut monoliths. Ahem.) It’s Sunday, it’s the brunch hour, people are chowing down on crepes and croissant-based dishes.
The man at the table next to us is cut like a Calvin Klein model, and you can see every ripple of muscle on his fat-free body through his extremely tight T-shirt. The waiter approaches him and I eavesdrop on his order: “I’d like the chicken breast sandwich, but can you put the mayo and the bread on the side?”
Seriously. The man couldn’t just pick the filling out of the bread, no: he did not want to run the risk of any carb molecules even touching his luncheon meat. Pasta may be back in fashion, but low carb living is alive and well in Los Angeles.
