Beverly Hills According to Pinky

I moved to Beverly Hills five years ago, and still, when I hop into my Bentley convertible with the roof down and cruise along the palm tree-lined streets, I vow to never take this for granted. I just love the way life flows here so easily … valet parking (if you give your keys to somebody in London, you’re pretty much guaranteed not to see them again!), shops that aren’t packed with frantic people, and weather that generally stays on automatic.

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Today I am going to have a facial with one of the best-kept secrets in B everly Hills, Kathleen Boniface (with a name like that you just have to be a facialist). Every four weeks I get her signature treatment, which consists of a silk peel and a dermal infusion that revitalizes my skin with all kinds of collagen stimulating goodies. I love it – my skin is plumped, glowing and smooth as a baby’s butt. I don’t know what she slaps on there, but it works miracles. She has a faithful following, so be sure to book her in advance.

When I told everybody that I was moving back to Beverly Hills, they said, “Beverly Hills? That’s not reality!” I replied, “I tried reality – and it’s not so good!”

After my facial I do a quick make-up fix and pop into Villa Blanca, my restaurant, for a quick lunch with my girlfriend. The lunch scene there is always very lively, and as the owner, I adore greeting and catching up with the regulars. I spy Janet Jackson and Tyra Banks in a corner, so I grab the table next to them and shamelessly try to eavesdrop on their conversation. Alas, it’s a fruitless task as the hum of noise makes it impossible – might have to study lip reading for the future.

Tonight I’m having a small dinner in my wine cellar for some visiting friends from London. I want to create a homey, cozy dinner, so I’m off to the cheese store on Beverly Drive to get ingredients for a rustic pasta. When I was little I visited the cheese shop in London, and I couldn’t wait to get away from the smell of old socks. I must have grown up, because now, as I enter and the aroma wafts over me, I feel like I’ve been transported back to the south of France where I lived for five years. Beverly Hills is so special because of its many unique shops that almost feel like a little village. And you can always taste everything before you buy – a dying tradition.

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