Booze: Going to Coachella. I think if you drink there you die. (Temp in desert 104)
Cigs: Will ask Radiohead not to smoke backstage yar.
Carbs: Going to try macrobiotic – just for s***s and giggles. Now need to understand Quinoa.
Exercise: Chewing.
Mantra: ‘Alicia Silverstone is a super vegan. Alicia Silverstone is a super vegan.’

It’s time to talk about the resurgence of cheese in LA. I’ve lived here for three years and when I arrived, I swear cheese was regarded as spawn of the devil. A slab of cheddar equated to a slab of full fat Anchor butter and any consumption was watched with abject horror; akin to the consumption of alcohol or nicotine. The things we Brits do without thought can silence a room here.

Irritatingly, it does give  food for thought – makes my inner teen want to walk the streets with five fags in one hand, a bottle of Scotch in the other and a mouth full of Wensleydale (until I realise that the army of tanned homeless in Venice are doing the same thing…).

When my male friends come over, they immediately change their eating habits. In the UK they live off cereal, while after a few weeks here they start haunting Whole Foods, buying vast quantities of protein shakes and pumping inordinate amounts of iron in Golds Gym. On arrival they are etiolated but within two weeks achieve a strange triangularity; all top heavy with bulging puppies for biceps, no arse and still skinny legs. There is no carbohydrate in their cupboards. Not a cracker. Men here eat like actresses.

My female friends, however, just stop eating altogether. The fact is, women are so beautiful, thin and young in LA that it puts you off your food. It’s the kale. I swear women in LA survive on the leafy green superfood alone. Have a pot-luck and you can guarantee every female will bring Kale with perhaps a single sunflower seed and no dressing. It’s the vegetable equivalent of chewing gum and bloody hard work. All mastication and no pay off.

So you can imagine my astonishment to find, in the last six months, cheese leaping off restaurant menus like the keys of a vintage Corona.  Raclette is rife at Bar Marmont on Sunset (the Chateau’s bastard baby brother) and The Wolf in Sheep Clothing (the pop-up restaurant on Abbot Kinney). There’s even an an egg muffin at neighboring GTA with melted cheese and hot sauce that sells out by 11.30am. The world’s gone fromage.

The Girl and her Eskimos having an egg and cheese muffin outside GTA, Abbot Kinney, Venice, CA.

One possible explanation is that, with 20,000 Brits now living in Santa Monica, Los Angeles has adjusted it’s eating habits. Or perhaps fear of our imminent demise has allowed cheese consumption thanks to The Rapture and The Mayan Prophecies. I prefer, however, my third idea – that cheese is the manifestation of pure rebellion against decades of food faffing. These are the restaurants that embrace full-fat everything, won’t give you anything on the side and will spit on you if you ask for an egg white omelet. I salute them. Let’s give a standing ovation to any woman who orders a grilled cheese sandwich or group fondue (and yes, I literally mean we stand and clap). It’s time to join Alan Partridge in his rallying cry (as he attacks his boss with a large piece of stilton): ‘Eat! My! Cheese!’

Disclaimer: As a macrobiotic I’m not actually eating dairy this week but I felt it was time I took Mou literally.

Gjelina Take Away [GTA], 1427 Abbot Kinney Blvd, Venice. [Gjelina.com]

Bar Marmont, 8171 Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles. [Chateaumarmont.com]

Wolf in Sheeps Clothing, 1616 Abbot Kinney Blvd, Venice. [Wolfinsheepsclothingrestaurant.com]

MOU fan? Please join us on Facebook, follow us on Twitter or visit our website.