Jack N Jill's, Beverly Hills, USA
Jack N Jill's
342 North Beverly Drive
Beverly Hills CA 90210
USA
+1 310 247 4500
www.eatatjacknjills.com
by Des Ayuno
I hadn't seen C in 12 or 13 years, and we were never really friends. But when my mum ran into his mum at the shops and reported back that he was now a wildly successful soundtrack composer in Los Angeles, I was curious. While I had sneered at the tall, tanned bullies in our class, C was their nerdy, eternally good-natured tagalong. “Wow, you're coming to LA! It would be great to see you!!” he emailed, friendly as ever, and suggested Jack N Jill's, a Beverly Hills joint considerately close to my lodgings.
Jack N Jill's is a long, clattering, airy room full of identikit ageless blondes in bikini tops, denim short shorts, golf ball-sized diamonds and pneumatic busoms. Whilst the rest of our classmates are busy hitting 30, bearing unattractive children and going soft round the edges, C was skinnier than ever, the wire-framed glasses that must have looked so punchable on his 13-year-old face now lending a thoughtful air. His girlfriend was not just LA-standard gorgeous but also funny, sharp-tongued and immediately likeable. All boded well.
I ordered a Mexican-ish scramble, perky with tomato and coriander. The tortillas were a bit soggy, but the fruit in the accompanying salad - strawberries, pineapple, kiwi - was lusciously ripe. The girlfriend had a similarly sprightly-looking scramble with tomato, feta and parsley, which she sweetly pronounced “delish”. C's plate, though, was breathtaking: a Matterhorn of Reese's Pieces pancakes, with melting chunks both embedded into fluffy half-inch-thick cakes and carpeting the top of the stack like gravel on a drive. Butter and maple syrup were also piled on generously, for a textbook heart attack on a plate. C made a noble effort and got halfway through before collapsing in distended delight. He also insisted on treating me, mentioning a recent, slightly cheesy box-office number one I hadn't seen. “Yeah, that paid for my new studio,” he said a bit sheepishly. “It can pay for breakfast too.” We all sat back and admired one another for a moment, me at least reflecting, blessed are the geek, for they shall inherit the earth.
342 North Beverly Drive
Beverly Hills CA 90210
USA
+1 310 247 4500
www.eatatjacknjills.com
by Des Ayuno
I hadn't seen C in 12 or 13 years, and we were never really friends. But when my mum ran into his mum at the shops and reported back that he was now a wildly successful soundtrack composer in Los Angeles, I was curious. While I had sneered at the tall, tanned bullies in our class, C was their nerdy, eternally good-natured tagalong. “Wow, you're coming to LA! It would be great to see you!!” he emailed, friendly as ever, and suggested Jack N Jill's, a Beverly Hills joint considerately close to my lodgings.
Jack N Jill's is a long, clattering, airy room full of identikit ageless blondes in bikini tops, denim short shorts, golf ball-sized diamonds and pneumatic busoms. Whilst the rest of our classmates are busy hitting 30, bearing unattractive children and going soft round the edges, C was skinnier than ever, the wire-framed glasses that must have looked so punchable on his 13-year-old face now lending a thoughtful air. His girlfriend was not just LA-standard gorgeous but also funny, sharp-tongued and immediately likeable. All boded well.
I ordered a Mexican-ish scramble, perky with tomato and coriander. The tortillas were a bit soggy, but the fruit in the accompanying salad - strawberries, pineapple, kiwi - was lusciously ripe. The girlfriend had a similarly sprightly-looking scramble with tomato, feta and parsley, which she sweetly pronounced “delish”. C's plate, though, was breathtaking: a Matterhorn of Reese's Pieces pancakes, with melting chunks both embedded into fluffy half-inch-thick cakes and carpeting the top of the stack like gravel on a drive. Butter and maple syrup were also piled on generously, for a textbook heart attack on a plate. C made a noble effort and got halfway through before collapsing in distended delight. He also insisted on treating me, mentioning a recent, slightly cheesy box-office number one I hadn't seen. “Yeah, that paid for my new studio,” he said a bit sheepishly. “It can pay for breakfast too.” We all sat back and admired one another for a moment, me at least reflecting, blessed are the geek, for they shall inherit the earth.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
11:26 PM |
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home