You heard it here first: it’s peanut brit­tle. Or but­ter crunch. Pie? There were at least four pie ven­dors. Maybe cot­ton candy—we tried jalapeño.

We spent a good chunk of the day (and our stom­achs’ real estate) at Arti­sanal LA and I can also share with you that I have drunk the future and it is Mex­i­can Coke with cold-brewed cof­fee cubes. Trust.

(Sorry for the lack of pho­tos. There was plenty of eye candy, excel­lent people-watching and a ton of peo­ple milling around with iPhones snap­ping away. I hate those peo­ple. Espe­cially when they are block­ing my access to sam­ples of marsh­mal­lows.)

And before I forget—my cook­ing com­rades have been kick­ing out some deli­cious jams lately. (Speak­ing of which, there is def­i­nitely a jam thing hap­pen­ing.) Moroc­can but­ter­nut squash stew—file under “Things I Will Eat When the Squash-Hater I Love Isn’t Around.” Cheese straws, spiced pecans and sug­ared bacon? Can I eat that for din­ner? Because I didn’t fill up on brittle.