Newsletter #9
Hello diner enthusiasts!
First off, thanks to all who came to the Diner Theory Bash at Philippe's last Sunday! The turnout was incredible - definitely our most attended meeting yet - and it seemed to me like everyone had a great time! Special thanks to the management at Philippe's, who graciously gave us 10% off our orders, plus a free bottle of hot mustard for everyone. Use that stuff wisely, it really does get hot! I'm especially glad that we could get a few people out there who had never been to Philippe's before. If there's one place in LA that really feels like anyone who lives here should go once, Philippe's definitely feels like that place.
I love Philippe's not just because of their sandwiches, but because of how totally singular it feels, and a large part of that is just how little they have changed over the past several decades. Once commonplace traditions or features that could be found in many kinds of restaurants, like the sawdust on the floor or the cafeteria-style ordering counter, are now almost exclusively found at Philippe's, at least within LA. This has allowed Philippe's to cultivate an identity that is totally unique and original, and they do a great job of making apparent to anyone who walks in the value of integrity and of preserving things just as they are, for as long as you can. It's timeless! The experience my grandpa had of Philippe's is more or less the same experience that I know today, and that to me is something worth giving a hoot about.
In recent news, I'm very pleased to announce that The Original Pantry Cafe is returning! A new owner, real estate developer Leo Pustilnikov, has been identified, and it seems that the original staff will also be returning. No word yet on whether they will be bring back 24-hour service, but they'll be holding a little welcome back celebration on Thursday, September 11 (that's tomorrow from the time this newsletter is published).
Originally, the plan for October's meeting of the Diner Preservation Society was set for Tal's Cafe. We'll be putting that off until November, and instead we'll be meeting at The Pantry to celebrate its triumph over death! The city of Los Angeles prevails! We'll be meeting there on Saturday, October 4th at 10am, so mark those calndars!
In other news, there have been some interesting developments regarding rebuild efforts in Malibu following the Palisades Fire. The land that restaurants like the Reel Inn and Cholada Thai Beach Cuisine sat on is owned by the California Department of Parks and Recreation, and it was reported recently that they decided not to renew their leases. Instead, they were planning on allowing bids on the land for new leases. Thankfully though, there was an enormous internet backlash to these reports, with some pointing out that this bidding process would simply favor corporate interests or those with the most money. In response, the Parks Department has taken steps to work with the Reel Inn to eventually reopen, though it will likely take some time to restore water, power, and plumbing to the lot. Still, it's good to see that governmental forces can be pressured to listen to the needs of community when we raise our voices loud enough. It isn't clear if Cholada will be given the same opportunity, but I certainly hope so.
Cole's is still set to close with no news of a potential buyer - September 17th is supposed to be their last day. But maybe a buyer is still on the horizon or working behind the scenes - The Pantry managed to come back, so perhaps there's still hope for our institutions yet. I'm also sad to report that the Pasadena Sandwich Company, a fixture for both hoagies and a wide selection of bottled craft beer, has permanently closed. Or so it seems; a sign on the door states that the place is remodeling, but locals report little activity in recent months, and there are rumors that the owners have decided to retire. Mandarin Noodle House in nearby Monterey Park, which closed due to a kitchen fire last winter, has also announced its permanent closure, with the family behind it wishing to move on and rent out the building to another business. However, longtime manager and son of the owners, Denny Mu, has vowed to carry on in some form if he can.
Dan Tana, owner of Dan Tana's, passed away this past August at the age of 90. The former Yugoslavian soccer star-turned-restaurateur was a member of the La Scala Four (a name I just made up), a group of the original waiters at La Scala in Beverly Hills who all went on to found their own Italian restaurants. Dan Tana's is probably the most famous of these, and some of its own staff have gone on to found famous restaurants like Craig's. Dan Tana's is of course one of the 101 LA Legends I write about in my ebook of the same name, probably our city's most classic restaurant joint with a long, vivid history of hosting Hollywood stars and entertainment bigwigs. The legacy of the man named Dan Tana seems quite firmly secured.
A bit of minor news - Fair Oaks Pharmacy, which has for some time only been open on weekdays, was spotted accepting customers this past Saturday. I do love this place's old school soda fountain vibe, but as I don't live in Pasadena, it can be hard to make it out in the middle of the day on a weekday. Here's hoping they're expanding their hours so I can actually enjoy one of their excellent banana splits. Maybe someday they'll actually reopen their kitchen, too. A fella can dream...
Moving on from classic restaurant news, I'd like to explore something that I've long noticed but have yet to offer much theorizing about. Have you ever seen how at certain places we might call a "hole in the wall," you'l find a loyal following of firefighters, cops, construction workers, or assorted blue collar types wearing jumpsuits or visibility vests? And have you noticed that, when you do find places with such a customer base, the food is almost always REALLY good? Why is that?
For lack of a better term, I'll call the type of place that appeals to these hard working folks that make our city run the Regular Joe Restaurant. And I think the reason these places attract a certain type of customer boils down to a handful of distinct but interconnected points.
1) The first thing a RJR needs to be is affordable. It doesn't have to be the McDonald's Value Menu (does that still exist?), but a Regular Joe does not want to pay too much on his or her lunch break. Unless it's some sort of monster variant of a regular menu item, like a 5-lb burrito or a sandwich with 8 different types of meat, you will almost never find an RJR where a meal costs more than $20. You might find some hipster place that masquerades as an RJR charging those prices, but you'll notice a conspicuous lack of municipal workers here. Some places, like Roma Market in Pasadena or Vince's Market in Atwater, have prices so absurdly low that the disbelief over their affordability forms a distinct part of their mythos.
2) Related to the above point is the ordering format. Almost no RJR's are sitdown restaurants of the type that involve waiters and cutlery and handheld menus. Partly this is because workers might only have an hour for their lunch, or might even be on call, so they need the flexibility of ordering at a counter in case they need to eat and run or on the go. Part of this also is because workers might arrive in uniform, and depending on the line of work, uniforms can get dirty, which might not be suitable for a white tablecloth experience. This is why many delis become RJRs, because you can order at the counter, wait for your sandwich, and eat it anywhere, either at a table or in your truck. RJRs should always offer the option of taking the food to go. However, RJRs should be slightly more "formal," if we can call it that, than an out-and-out fast food chain, for reasons discussed below. A great example of how well this can work is Pinocchio/Monte Carlo Deli in Burbank. Though they are a sitdown red sauce Italian joint, they're popular with blue collar workers for their low prices and their cafeteria style ordering format, where you point at the pasta you want, they scoop it in a big pile on a cafeteria tray, and you take it and sit wherever you like. However, they do offer Italian subs and slices of pizza as well, for those in a hurry.
3) Although this isn't strictly necessary as many RJRs are only open for lunch, it helps if a place has very flexible hours. An RJR can gain a following for being open in the wee hours of the morning, as many blue collar types work overnight. The Original Tommy's walk-up stand on Beverly, the only one that's open 24-hours, attracts many overnight workers as well as other assorted nite owls. Many dive bars also benefit from this dynamic.
4) They're usually cash-only. It's as if these places simply can't be bothered to make the effort to update their operations enough to even install a card reader, in an expression of an old "if it ain't broke don't fix it" mindset. The Apple Pan was a well-known example, although under the ownership of entertainment mogul Irving Azoff, they've adopted the opposite stance and become a cashless restaurant, to the chagrin of longtime customers.
5) Despite their relatively low prices, RJRs have to be of a relatively high quality for the price to catch the attention of the blue collar worker. These guys may only have so much time, money, and patience to spend on going out for lunch instead of just packing a lunch at home. Whether it's trial-and-error or whether it's something inherent about these professions that gives them a nose for quality, the regular customer of the RJR demands a certain quality of the food. It might be simple, it might not be very refined, but you'll always leave well-satisfied if not downright impressed. I never have a bad experience at places like this. There's a reason Bill's Burgers, frequented as much by workers from local auto shops as foodie burger aficionados, is considered by many to have LA's best burger.
6) The type of food offered at RJRs can vary quite a bit, but they do share certain features. It's usually dense with calories, high in carbs and protein, and usually covered in some sort of signature sauce. Part of this is because those performing intensive manual labor actually need this kind of thing for fuel to get the job done the way they need to. El Tepeyac's Hollenbeck burrito, created specifically for police officers at nearvy Hollenbeck station, offers enough nutrition for mutliple squad cars worth of boys in blue. But the other part of this I think is...
7) The RJR should have a certain air of total unpretentiousness about them, sometimes to the point of being a little rough to the outsider. Some places, like the old Oki-Dog, are so bare the walls might be completely bare, or even show exposed plywood. These places should feel like a welcoming and familiar place to the blue collar worker, a place where not only are they not judged, they're celebrated. It's a place they can let their hair down a bit. So the RJR should feel like a place that isn't afraid to be a little gruff, a little grimy perhaps, but they get the job done right. In some ways, it should feel like good food is a reward for enduring a little homeliness or lack of frills. In fact, it's like this - from the RJR perspective, effort put into bells and whistles and notions of decorum is effort that could have been out into making the food taste good, so why bother? Just a few black and white pictures of the owner with some stray celebrity should suffice. This is why RJRs tend to be old, well-established places, since they can wear their lack of interest in modern amenities quite openly, though they need not be ancient.
8) Despite this, an RJR should be a place to congregate to some extent. There should be at least a few tables, or at least a standing counter along the wall like at Santa Fe Importers, for people to linger, if only a bit, swapping stories and engaging in some friendly ribbing. In this way, a certain culture forms around these places, traditions and tall tales and such, that lends an air of mythicality. They become larger than life in a way; the food is almost a pretense that draws these working stiffs in and encourages camaraderie and fellow-feeling.
#) The cop addendum - an exception or perhaps a qualification to all of the above is the nature of police presence at these places. If you see cops gather in the same places as other types of municipal workers, this does not automatically mean a restaurant is bad. However, I have noticed that establishments that cater only or exclusively to cops seem to be of uniformly low quality. I'm not entirely sure why. The exact opposite is the case with firefighters; in spots where they form the large majority of the clientele, the food is likely some of the best you'll ever eat. Maybe it's because they crave the smoky flavor of a good BBQ joint or char-broiled burger stand. Police and firefighters seem to be at the opposite ends of the scale when it comes to taste. For this reason, when in doubt, search for lunch near fire stations. That's how I found Marty's Hamburger Stand on Pico.
Now all of this may or may not make it clearer why certain places attract Regular Joe's working union jobs or some kind of trade. But how is it that these Regular Joe Restaurants come to be valued by the rest of society? Surely the blue collar workers who serve as canaries in the coal mine for the rest of us must groan with anxiety when they see some yuppie waltz into their sanctum santorum. But what is it that causes their paths to cross in the first place?
Well, many of us might first be exposed to these places because someone we love happens to be a Regular Joe. These places serve as secret handshakes for those in the know. You know you're a real PAISAN if somebody turns you onto one of these spots. You have earned the respect of someone who works for a living. And so maybe you tell your friend, who tells their friends, and so on.
But particularly in the Internet era, there's a certain type of person that actually seeks these places out, whether or not they have any organic connection to it. Perhaps they're looking for an "authentic" experience, somewhere that isn't trying to do the latest trendy thing, that isn't trying to justify charging high prices for flashy mediocrity. Blue collar workers often have at least some type of community in the camaraderie they have with their fellow worker, embodied in physical space by the RJR. In the modern urban environment, many of us feel an absence of authentic community, and we get a momentary high from intruding on spaces that really seem to have this to offer.
In the worst cases, this can border on gatekeeping and exploitation. Now there's nothing INHERENTLY wrong with gatekeeping, as long as the thing you're gatekeeping has enough business to survive without expanding their demographic. After all, exorbitantly long lines at a restaurant are prohibitive for people on their lunch breaks, so I could see why they might want to keep things hush-hush. But gatekeeping in order to gain clout online is particularly lame. I mean the people who seem to cherrypick places that might be RJRs and try to judge them by a certain arbitrary standard. I hate when online reviewers go to one of these places and have the nerve to leave them a bad review just because bad reviews get engagement.
I've always taken the approach that if I don't have anything nice to say about a place, I usually say nothing at all. But unfortunately, online engagement has real consequences, and acting as cultural gatekeepers by judging which spot is "worth the hype" and which one is supposed trash can seriously impact the mom-n-pops out there. It's not like the food influencers out there have some sort of sincere concern for making sure everyone eats quality food; they're doing it out of self-interest, and often don't care what happens as a result.
It can also feel exploitative in the sense that someone from outside a particular cultural context, instead of producing something of their own, is seeking out the products of that other context and appropriating it rather than contributing to it or trying to understand it. I don't mean "appropriate" in the sense that people throw around the term "cultural appropriation," where you are directly and materially profiting off of another culture's customs. I mean it in the sense that in the process of identity formation, when you try to incorporate something alien to your own understanding as a part of your self-conception just because you see it as "authentic" in some vague or generic way, you misunderstand both yourself and the thing you're trying to approrpiate. I think in general, the best way to avoid this is to approach these places with humility and an open mind, and try to appreciate them on their own terms rather than because they seems like your picture of "authenticity."
- Diner Theory