HERMANO SEGUNDO LOST IN LA LA LAND: DAY THIRTEEN

Despite the fact that she is so short she looks like she should be protecting a ring somewhere and so slight she looks like a strong wind would sweep her off her feet, Sybil has a gargantuan appetite as witnessed when she demanded that we rush from her apartment for a mammoth breakfast at L.A.’s legendary Roscoe’s House of Chicken N’ Waffles.

The notion of combining those two ingredients, particularly when the latter as smothered in syrup, remains a mystery to me even after the meal, but it was mother’s milk to Sybil as she vacuumed up a plate of crispy chicken, collard greens and waffles leaving me to discover the delights of deep fried “popcorn” chicken giblets. In fact, I was quite delighted, these things are like poultry crack cocaine and I cleaned up over half a plate of them leaving little mounds of sawdust on my plate.

A breakfast like that needed some walking off, so Sybil pointed her car in the direction of uber-swanky Rodeo drive where we spent a happy hour or so people watching while guessing how much plastic surgery they had endured and on which body parts (Vagina as chin dimple, anyone?)

By some unfathomable method, Sybil was now hungry again and dragged me into a place called “Sprinkles” for something called a “cupcake” It displayed everything that is appalling about American food, basically being a means of raising insulin levels while bypassing taste. The yanks seem to love them though and were buying them by the tray load. Strange, strange people.

The afternoon was spent watching at taping of The Craig Ferguson Late, Late Show where Sybil had procured green room tickets and then we headed over to Korea Town to meet some more of her friends for supper. I do like American girlies. They too have huge appetites and there seems to be little desire to prod a few leaves of salad around a plate when they get together for food and, although they talk at a pitch which is likely to scare the neighbourhood dogs, I was happy to sit and listen to them talk about mascara while they left me alone to concentrate on a rather splendid Korean BBQ.

The wafting smells of marinated meat from neighbouring tables made me rediscover my appetite and thin strips of beef, chicken and pork cooked to a pleasing crispness were soon melting happily on contented tongue along with copious side dishes and a slightly stodgy seafood pancake.

I was, however, always one bite behind Sybil who was attacking the plates with her usual considerable gusto. I guess the fact that Middle Earth is now safe has helped her appetite no end.