Random & Mostly Pointless Celebrity Sighting

The Great India Cafe sneaks up on you, wedged between the highly-priced-and-uncomfortable-looking-furniture-palace and a we-can't-believe-they-let-us-open-a-porn-store-in-Studio-City porn store. We pulled up to a prized bit of after-hours street parking (!), waved to a bored-looking valet, and ambled toward the door.

Ahh, the Great India. The Christmas-light filled patio. The savory sauces, the sumptuous nan! The random A-minus pregnant celebrity in the corner! Wait, what?

Yes, indeed, a rather round Tori Spelling sat in the corner with a gent, presumably her husband. I did not recognize either, actually. My geekery tends toward politicos, not actors. But Donna, a clandestine reader of Star and US Weekly, certainly did, stage-whispering the sighting over shrimp tiki-masala.

That's nice, really. People in Wisconsin have bird-watching. In LA we have celebrity sightings. Of course, no sighting is really complete without a long (and completely subjective) discussion as to the rating of the sighting. Does Tori Spelling count as a A-list sighting? A-minus? B-plus? We settled on A-minus. No reason, really. Just seemed correct.

But it certainly raised the profile of the Great India Cafe in my mind... Not that it was bad before. Donna and I ate there about a six weeks ago, following a school-related cocktail party. (Yeah, I know. I went to public school.) It was full of good wine, wealthy private-school parents and little in the way of food. When surrounded by such people, the thinking couple drinks... and this thinking couple did just that.

And, because drinking more seems to make sense after heavy drinking, we stupidly got another bottle of wine at the restaurant. After seeing the results - uproarious laughter at fart jokes, mainly - the staff was kind enough to offer us a ride home. We declined, preferring the comforts of a taxi. But, damnit, that was nice. Especially after I accidentally spilled some sort of orange sauce on the floor.

Ah, LA.