We walked to the tiny cafe attached to the new Catherine Malandrino boutique on La Cienega, in between a string of furniture and interior design shops. The patio has a handful of marble-topped tables, anchored by acid green chairs and barred in by a row of topiary trees to give it a little privacy from the sidewalk. (Today some orange-vested community service workers were sweeping out the gutters while we ate. They were wearing white T-shirts over their faces, presumably to hide their identities.)

I was at the store earlier this week for a party hosted by Gen Art and fell in love with the current Malandrino collection. Before that night, I was guilty of thinking crocheted tops, espadrilles and other various things I would never wear when I heard the name "Catherine Malandrino." I was clearly wrong to do so. The store is a trove of silk pantsuits, impeccable and smart jackets, appliqued leather accessories, and one nude, feathered and be-crystaled dress that was simply made for Las Vegas:

The food at the cafe was lovely, probably because the chef there is from Little Next Door. I had a gooey, flakey leek and gruyere tart and my boyfriend had smoked salmon on brioche with tzaziki, which was almost too beautifully assembled to actually eat. The nicest surprise was that the service was worlds apart from the 3rd Street location. (Zero attitude, dishes brought out at the exact same time, hot food still hot, no prolonged wait for the bill--really none of the hallmarks of sub-par service that Little Next Door is notorious for.) Best of all, it's still undiscovered, quiet and just blocks from my place. Coupled with the fact that it's attached to a fantastic clothing store, this makes it an automatic new favorite for me.

On the walk home, a bird shit on us. I mean really let loose. We have since remained indoors.