Sqirl is dear to my heart because it's the place that really ignited my "let the hate flow through you" level of loathing for LA hipster cuisine. Friends tried to take me there the first weekend I was back in LA for the season; being told that I had to wait in line in order to see a menu in order to get in line to sit down in order to get food but not there, prole, two sidewalk squares over earned "nope, outtie" from me and I walked away from my two friends in the general direction of where I was staying. I'd made it six miles by the time they got menus, were seated, ordered and ate their precious fucking ricotta toast. Meanwhile I dived into a Ralph's for some toothpaste and maybe a sandwich because of course Sqirl is in a neighborhood without so much as a goddamn Wendy's for miles. They got ahold of me in the parking lot and sheepishly took me to Astro, which is only hip in an Ironic Trucker Hat kind of way as it's pretty much been preserved in cosmoline since LBJ was president.
So yes by "dear to my heart" I mean "place that drives more rage in me than anywhere else in Los Angeles including fucking Intelligentsia and that bullshit place that serves french bread pizza by the fucking inch".
LA Hipster food is basically "If I had my shit together I might have these ingredients in my fridge but even if I did I have nowhere to cook and absolutely no fucking idea how to boil an egg so I'm going to pay one of my cohort $18 to deconstruct that thing my grandmother used to make back before the whole family forgot how to cook because that way I'll convince myself that this is progress rather than capitulation especially if I post it to Instagram to prove to everyone that I sat in the goddamn line for 90 minutes to eat fucking ricotta on toast NO I DO NOT WANT TO MOVE BACK TO IDAHO FALLS"
The British think Welsh rarebit is a delicacy, Scotch eggs are breakfast and an Aga is a stove so pretty much anything they think about food is entirely fucking wrong, as any viewing of the Great British Baking Show will prove, considering it consists invariably of Rule Britannia former colonists and their hazardous ideas about "spice" and "flavor" are subtly pooh-poohed by the ruling class so that Cassie the Toothless from Colchester can win with her fuckin' milk-flavored crumpets in the end.