48 Hours In Los Angeles

Jessica Mackin-Cipro

My husband Joe and I headed to West Hollywood for a quick 48 hours last week before flying back to New York after a family gathering.

We stayed at The Standard Hollywood. When I booked I didn’t realize that we checked in the same day as the LA Pride parade, which made it all the more fun at our pool.

The restaurant at The Standard is Croft Alley, opened by Chef Phuong Tran and Michael Della Femina, and it’s really fantastic. So good, we ate one dinner and two breakfasts during our quick trip. I definitely recommend açaí bowls by the pool in the morning. Also, the avocado toast was delish. I love an LA menu, so many antioxidants, which happens to be my favorite food group!

I also loved seeing the neon sculpture “Champ” by Zoë Buckman, which debuted in February at The Standard. The large-scale outdoor sculpture rotates on the strip for a year and it represents female empowerment (Google it. It’s fantastic!). I was able to write about and hear the artist talk at this year’s Guild Hall Visionaries Luncheon at Riverpark in Manhattan.

At a dinner, one of the waiters was in a mood, which I thought was pretty comical. He made a noise I’d best describe as a snicker every time I said something I imagine he thought was silly. The mock-able topics of discussion: 1. National Rosé Day, and 2. Astrology. I figured with these conversation points I should fit in great in LA, but I guess not. Unfortunately for me, Joe laughed with the sassy waiter and I was outnumbered.

Might I remind him that I’m an award-winning journalist (said in Bridget Jones’s voice) and maybe I’d like to talk rosé, astrology, the Kardashians, or any other subject he might deem silly while I’m on vacation from editing countless articles on art and culture.

I will stand up for silly girls everywhere who want to read their horoscope over a glass of rosé, eating Skinny Pop, watching “Vanderpump Rules,” all while flipping through People magazine. That doesn’t mean those same girls aren’t book club members, watching documentary films, fighting for equal rights (and pay), while spending afternoons at The Met. (Find yourself a girl who can do both).

I also won’t go to The Standard Hollywood without comparing myself to fellow New York columnist Carrie Bradshaw visiting LA. It’s the same hotel, with the same glass display case — called The Box — behind the check-in desk that contains a live person doing some sort of art. Instead of being told I can’t smoke, I’m told I can’t take photos. My answer to that: “I have an addiction, sir!”

Speaking of astrology and the Kardashians, the strangest thing happened. While walking through the Jet Blue terminal I swear I walked right by Lamar Odom (yes, the Jet Blue terminal. And from one tall person to a giant: I do hope you got the extra legroom).

Later in the trip, after a shopping spree at Fred Segal while channeling my inner Donna Martin (who is by far the best character on “Beverly Hills 90210”) I swear we walked right by Kris Humphries on Sunset Boulevard.

What is the cosmic coincidence that my only two celebrity sightings during our trip to LA are basketball players plagued by the so-called Kardashian curse? (Both seem to be doing just fine, in case you’re wondering). Also, by “shopping spree” at Fred Segal, I mean lipstick and a card game.

While we were in town, we also had a really great meal at Rosaline, a Peruvian restaurant with dishes as gorgeous as the decor. We had lunch at Obicà, which is also located in New York (and around the world). We split the bufala dop e pomodoro pizza and opted for the stracciatella cheese upgrade (we fancy!) and it was the perfect nosh. Joe and I also enjoyed time by The Standard’s signature blue pool, because that’s what vacation is about: sipping watermelon carrot juice on a lounge chair (I’m SO LA).

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