My dad was a class climber, the son of blue collar parents who married up across the railroad tracks. Unfortunately, he married a crazy psycho bitch from hell with evil parents to boot, so much of my father’s first marriage was spent lashing out in rebellion to his situation. Part of that lashing out was spending his way to happiness with material goods, so when my sister and I came along our childhoods were marked by having a father who bought cool stuff and a mother who hated being the one who had to save every penny for a rainy day. As an adult, I’ve had to reconcile my own class aspirations and happiness through conspicuous consumption with my career and life choices. I work with people who have, for all intents and purposes, infinite wealth, and sometimes acting as their proxy I can spend some of that money and briefly taste that lifestyle. Which is why I’ve spent more and more time in Beverly Hills. While I acknowledge that there is a lot of pretentious snootiness about the place, the resentment from the plebes is because the price of admission to the adult amusement park is high. Your wallet must be *this big* to ride. Sure, you can slag on the price of everything, but you’re paying for an experience and not just the base product. Those who still separate the two things are unwilling to accept the rules of a capitalist system. This is exemplified by The Farm of Beverly Hills. I’ve been consistently treated well whether dining solo, in pairs, or a group of six. They take reservations for all meals, but walk-ins are welcome. I’ve never had a bad meal here, most recently after a quick stop in at the Cheese Store next door. I had the turkey burger, which was moist and flavorful. The only better turkey burger I’ve had is at the Texas BBQ King at Figueroa and Caeser Chavez – an altogether different experience than The Farm. Our server was kind enough to ask how my friend wanted her Ahi tuna cooked with her Nicoise, which though I appreciated we both felt was kind of silly. In the past I’ve enjoyed their pizzas and sandwiches, especially their applewood smoked bacon with avocado and their BBQ beef brisket with grilled onions and cheese. Salads are also fresh, hearty, and generous, and once you get over the sticker shock, know that you could stretch one of them to a second meal. I finally had one of the giant Oreo cookies and my blood sugar swooned with delight. It might just be sweet enough to finally kill my diabetic biological mother. It’s easy to bitch about the prices of things, but I’m willing to pay more to get good customer service, friendly treatment, and quality products. My greatest joy is finding these things for bargain prices, but sometimes I just don’t want to work that hard. I’m OK paying more if I can be sure I’ll have a good experience. I’m not spending my way to happiness, but I recognize that working hard is meaningless if I curb my desires to save a few bucks and still don’t have a good time.
(310) 273-5578, 439 N Beverly Drive, Beverly Hills