This is what happens when London rag The Evening Standard sends a cheerfully clueless writer to Los Angeles. She discovers an “alternative Los Angeles,” one where, “You'll even find that rare Los Angeles sighting — the non-collagen-implanted, surgically unaltered human being.”

You know where we find that kind of neighborhood? Everywhere.

On one hand, writer Eddi Fiegel seems to genuinely enjoy the city and the neighborhood, heaping praise on Cafe de Leche, Galco's, The Coffee Table, Swork, The Luggage Room and Vertical Wine Bistro. On the other, the story is rooted in the dumbest L.A. cliché of all time.

To be fair, Angelenos have their own stereotypical notions about British food, so let's acknowledge that cultural cluelessness runs both ways. But only Brits immediately think of David Hockney when you say “Los Angeles.”

You'd think from Feigel's story we'd never had a Reyner Banham (born in England) or a Mike Davis. If you start with a baseline perception of Los Angeles as a shallow, soulless city filled with collagen-addled zombies, the real L.A. will always look better.

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