Images: Celery’s snobby cousin and the metrosexual beer

Yes, I know, the title and related pix of this blog entry smack of the recent Newsweek cover comparing Clinton and Obama to beer and arugula (below: “Obama’s Bubba Gap”), but I swear it wasn’t intentional. Shit happens, and so do zeitgeists…

Last night–on “Tuesday’s the new Wednesday”–I stepped out for two Bev. Hills environs events, both catering to decidedly gay and metro crowds, however different in tone and intention. But as the night would progress, the aforementioned vegetable and cocktail combo would ultimately be their great uniter.

The first was the one-year anniversary for Murano, a chic little unobtrusive restaurant on Melrose, near Robertson. I used to pass this place all the time when I went to openings at the nearby M&B Gallery and wonder if it was a private supper club or something because there was no signage. To be honest, I thought that was kind of a cool touch for usually showy L.A. but I guess it caused some confusion so they added a sign. It’s a swank little spot with Italian bistro eats that boasts a Tuesday night special, the three p’s, pizzas, pastas and panini for a mere 12 bucks.

Their anni party drew a decent-sized crowd of the aforementioned metropolitan demographic…music was nice, decor po-mo with classic touches…Alas, following what I have noted as a trend in L.A. restaurant parties–there were loads of booze but only scant offerings of food…which is unfortunate since L.A.A. is not really a drinking town (it’s a drinking and driving town).

So at said events I often find myself clawing for a tiny piece of meat on a tray (or in the case of the latest trend: an endive with topping) along with the other drunken vultures, praying that I can line my stomach before it’s too late and I end up swinging from the chandeliers topless. So it was the case last night (though to be fair there was the occasional thin-slice of pizza, and bread tray), as I gulped down strong Cosmpolitans-a-plenty and searched for the well-heeled and upwardly mobile version of rice–the anorexic and manorexic-sustaining endive.

Later, tanked-up like someone’s cheap date, I meandered outside to a nice slim patio–the usual smokers’ exile. My friend and I chatted with some Spirited Americans, or rather those smoking the trendy and healthy native treat. Hailing from Miami, our now-Downtown-based carcinogen-puffing cohort then casually lit up his joint on a lovely late- Spring eve. Funny how L.A. has (like Amsterdam) become everyone’s private Tijuana…hey folks, anything goes here…

Then it was off to Saks Fifth Avenue’s kick-off party for the 7th Annual Chrysalis Butterfly Ball–a charity shopping and boozing event. Droves of fashionistas and the gay and metro men who love them were clustered on the 2nd floor, looking bored and unaffected by the loud pounding 4-4 beats of house music that punctuated the event. No metrosexually leaning party would of course be complete without the appearance of The King of Metros (NOT to be confused with the King of Beers, puh-leese, who drinks beer around these parts?), Sex and the City’s o.g. blond “hunk” (so 80s) Jason Lewis…present.

Again, the cosmos–traditional and exotically-flavored–were a-flowing, but familiarly that evasive silver tray carried none other than the upscale Euro version of celery: endives (this time with a smear of crab salad). I could see the size zeros (size 4’s on television) teetering in their stilettos as they attempted remain just sober enough to properly apply lipstick for photo-ops but just tipsy enough so as to be charming in a pixy-like, but not obnoxious way.

Not that I’ve got anything against liquid diets. On occasion, let’s face it, we all have our “Leaving Las Vegas” moments. But freshly rehabiliated from my recent trip to Europe and in the pink of health, I’m kind of hungry for substance all-around–the kind of stuff that satisfies and nourishes without making you want to sneak into the bathroom for an 80’s inspired yak.

Posted by Shana Ting Lipton