Just a small sample of all the delicious food offered at @infatuation @eeeeeatscon held in SoCal this past weekend. Along with my pal, @sherriesavorsthecity we attended this one day event in a converted airplane hangar at the Santa Monica airport. Here, the top restaurants and establishments gathered in one place to give any true food enthusiast a real food coma inducing experience. Swipe ⬅️ : Lemon Meringue croissant & Brioche donuts from @mrholmesbakehouse (San Francisco); Margherita Pizza from @robertaspizza (Brooklyn); Coconut and Lime Sugar Masaladas & Yacht Dog from @liholihoyachtclub (San Francisco); No No Crack Mac & Cheese from @thewilliamsfamilykitchen & @pharellwilliams ; Smoked Salmon & Everything Bagel and Chocolate Babka from @russanddaughters (Brooklyn) So, what makes this food festival different from others is that each attendant pays a fee to get in, then pays for whatever food they wish to try. The event was really well run as there were speakers and panels related to the restaurant industry and influencers. I felt that having all of these amazing establishments in one place was worth the trip for me! I’m going to take the rest of the week to recover from all this deliciousness! #mrholmesbakehouse #robertaspizza #liholihoyachtclub #williamsfamilykitchen #russanddaughters #ineedasalad #letmerecover

#eeeeeatscon (@eeeeeatscon) was dope! Finally got to try @robertaspizza and had the pleasure of trying @fuku again, which makes me feel a typa way since we have similar names. #pizza #chickensandwich #infatuationla

my favorite breakfast in my favorite city😍

Great birthday weekend! Basically spent the whole time eating and drinking...think we did well!!👌🏻missing @mwalcek20 and @mightymelissaleon #doughnutplant #blacktapnyc #russanddaughters

My kind of breakfast 😋 herring and wine at a Jewish Cafe. In NYC since 1914 and still on the market with best herring ever😉 @ewa022 #russanddaughters #herring #shakshuka #brunch #wine #relax #nyc #breakfast #goodfood #happy #chill #nyc #onthetable

The kind of behaviour that would have The Felcher hissing Miss Manners gases from the ears, before flopping on the formica in a fit of the vapours. I’m alone at the bar with earbuds in. I can feel his thick digits, 96 miles away, twitching to rip, tear and toss them like tiny flailing bolas across the pampas of Orchard Street. But Gaucho Forajido, he ain’t here. Birgit Nilsson is. She growls ‘Muori dannato! Muori, muori ...’ like she has pebbles in her gizzard, and he is gone. Herring, Tosca, potato, Saturday night, 1968, shot of vodka, extrapolated downtown selfie. Together we quench his impotent rage.

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