Only In LA?

I'm putting together a lunch to bring to one of the homeless guys at the courthouse, the one who makes me laugh every morning when he tells me to Stay focused! It would be easier to just buy him a Subway giftcard, but this is a guy who I suspect will appreciate just the idea of someone cooking for him. He actually thanks me when I stop to say good morning. Though he's a smart hustler, there's an element of profound sincerity in his interactions with the courthouse regulars. Everybody likes this guy.

So I'm making up a bag that will get him through a few meals: a big bottle of juice, a half dozen oranges, a box of granola bars, a pair of ham sandwiches, a bagel with cream cheese, and a big green salad. I tried to keep things simple because I don't know his preferences, but the green salad looked so plain that I sprinkled gorgonzola on top. Then I had a moment of pure panic. Do elderly homeless men know about gorgonzola or is this poor man going to think I'm serving him moldy cheese?

The more I think about it though, the more I'm coming to conclude that he not only knows gorgonzola but at least three other imported blues. This is LA. There's a Patina restaurant across from the courthouse. There's a steakhouse. There are a cluster of yuppie cafes. He's always eating people's leftovers. The last time I brought him my leftovers, it was a half of a proscuitto panini with arugula and a garlic aioli. So I'm taking my chances with the gorgonzola crumbles on the green salad. I'll let you know how they go over.