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A&W DRIVE-IN — A&W Root Beer still has a thriving presence in the fast food world but as with so many dining landmarks of the past, it ain't the same.  For one thing, they're no longer drive-ins, at least in California.  The last one in the state, which was located way out in Ontario, closed on April 30, 2006.  No more car hops bringing you trays of burgers and A&W Root Beer.

When I was a kid, there were two kinds of A&W dining establishments in Los Angeles — the drive-in restaurants and the stands.  The stands seemed to be located primarily in the rotten parts of town.  As I was then prowling Los Angeles second-hand bookstores in search of old comic books, I often found myself near one.  They were cramped little hot dog and burger stands, usually manned by one employee.  For a nickel, you could get a frosty cold mug of root beer — and it was a real glass mug, not a paper cup.  They also had a pretty good orange drink which cost a dime and which almost no one ordered.  I never understood why the orange drink was twice the price of the root beer.

In classier neighborhoods, you had the drive-ins.  I remember one out on Santa Monica Boulevard in Santa Monica and another on Sepulveda just south of Venice Boulevard.  The standard meal was a burger, fries and root beer.  They had Coke and 7-Up and milk shakes but if you asked for one of those, the order-takers acted like you were the first person ever to not want the root beer.  The burgers ranged in girth from huge to a kid's size called the Baby Burger.  Some adults liked to order several Baby Burgers and wolf them down like White Castle slyders.

The main thing I recall about drive-in restaurants is how utterly awkward it was to eat a meal that way.  The server would bring your order on a tray that hooked onto your car window.  It was not easy to get your food on and off this tray and there was much spillage.  A lot of people probably lament the passing of the drive-in but I'll bet not many of them actually went to them.  More than once, at least.

HAMBURGER HAMLET — There are still plenty of Hamburger Hamlets around, not just in Los Angeles but in Virginia and Maryland, as well.  Still, I think of the ones that were in Beverly Hills and Westwood Village as "my" restaurants and since they're gone, I can put them in this section.

The first Hamburger Hamlet was opened in 1950 on the Sunset Strip by a lady named Marilyn Lewis...and it was such an immediate success that other outlets quickly followed.  They made a great flame-broiled burger and while you could order it with any of about a dozen configurations (toppings, add-ons, etc.), I thought the plain, unadorned version was a work of art.  It came in a little plastic basket with a handful of potato chips and it was just the perfect lunch.  If I was there at dinner, I'd usually order the same thing but with a cup of soup...usually their rich lobster bisque.

There were other great things on the menu.  The rotisserie chicken was particularly exquisite.  But it was difficult to go to Hamburger Hamlet and not order a hamburger.

Our family went once or twice a month to one of the two Hamlets then in Beverly Hills...and later, when one closed down, we gave all our patronage to the other.  I don't know how true this is but it was said that the Hamlet was the first restaurant in that city that actively hired blacks as food servers.  My father told me that, I think.  He once said he wouldn't want to give his business to an establishment that didn't, and I admired him for that view.

I also have two vivid memories of a Hamburger Hamlet that was in Westwood — on Weyburn, more or less where a Jerry's Famous Deli is now situated.  One is of lunching there just before my mother took me to see Bambi at the Village Theater, right around the corner, in 1957.  Over my Hamlet burger, I received cautionary words about not getting too upset if and when Bambi's mother was killed in the movie we were about to see.  I believe I said something like, "I won't.  Could I have some more ketchup?"

The other memory is of taking my first date there.  Her name was Karen and we ate burgers at the Hamlet in advance of heading down the street to a revival house that was showing the W.C. Fields movie, The Bank Dick.  As we were sitting there in the restaurant, Karen told me she was having a very good time being out with me but said something about how I shouldn't expect anything more than a good-night kiss.  I believe I said something like, "I won't.  Could I have some more ketchup?"

NICKODELL'S — There were two Nickodell's at one time.  The less-famous one, which closed before the other, was at Argyle and Selma in Hollywood.  No one noticed when that one went anyway...but everyone in town lamented the closure of the one on Melrose, built into the side of a movie studio.  The studio was at one time RKO Studios...then it became Desilu...then it assumed its present identity as Paramount.  For years, it was the place folks working on the lot escaped to for a mid-day cocktail, and many important deals were made at its tables.  When I Love Lucy was casting and they needed someone to play Fred Mertz, Desi Arnaz got a call from an actor named William Frawley and they arranged to get together and discuss the role over drinks...at Nickodell's.

Also right down the street was the studio of what was then KHJ (now KCAL), channel nine, a local TV station.  It was said that the KHJ News Crew practically lived at the bar at Nickodell's and wrote their copy on its napkins.

I only ate there twice, maybe three times.  The food was pretty straightforward American — steaks, chops, chicken — and you got the feeling the cuisine was of secondary importance to the libations.  But the meals were served efficiently by real, professional waiters (no aspiring actors allowed) and the whole place had a cramped, wonderful sense of Old Hollywood history.

Nickodell's closed with some fanfare in the eighties.  News crews showed up the last week, as did everyone who'd ever eaten there and wanted a last meal and a souvenir ash tray.  But then it suffered the ignominious fate of completely disappearing.  Paramount just moved some fences around and suddenly, not only was Nickodell's not there but you couldn't even see where the building had been.  When I drive by now, I think I know where it used to be...but I'm not sure.

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