L.A. Restaurants

CHASEN'S — The legendary dining place of the stars was over at the corner of Beverly Boulevard and Doheny in a building that is now a Bristol Farms market. Perhaps, once upon a time, the food was the star attraction but by the time I began going there from time to time in the eighties, the star attraction was the star attraction...being able to say, "Gregory Peck was dining right across the room." My own most memorable experience there (recounted here) was a meal with Jimmy Stewart. I also lunched there the last day it was open and Nancy Reagan was in the next booth.

For this, one paid about twice the price of similar food almost anywhere else. I never found the meals worth the price and the service, if you weren't a regular or famous, could be downright curt. When Chasen's closed, there were many "end of an era" articles and tributes, all recounting the glory days when you might see Bogart pop in for a bowl of chili. No doubt the fact that it ceased to be "The Place Where the Stars Eat" contributed it its demise but I also think the price/value ratio had an awful lot to do with it. If you wanted to overpay for London Broil, there were better places to do that.

THE DOG HOUSE — Boy, I wish I had a photo of one of these places. It was a chain of very small restaurants around L.A., often on a piece of land that also held a large car wash. A Dog House was like a slightly upscale hot dog and hamburger stand inside a small building that vaguely resembled a dog house...and I vaguely recall stools that looked like hydrants. You could dine inside at the counter or outside in a small porch area with tables. Either one was cramped but inside, it was worse.

Outside, they often had waitresses and menus, and the selection was obviously limited by the size of their tiny kitchens. Basically, it was burgers, dogs and a few sandwiches and salads, and I think some of them also served breakfast. The food was not wonderful but I think it was a case of the cute decor making you expect something better than your basic hot dog/burger stand.

THE PLAYBOY CLUB — The original Los Angeles Playboy Club was opened on New Year's Eve of 1964 at 9000 Sunset Boulevard, where Playboy Magazine had its L.A. offices. At times, a large bunny logo was projected on the side of the building. That logo was a fixture of The Strip and it also said something about the changing times or the new sexual freedom of Hollywood...or something like that. I never set foot in the place but I always heard it was filled with middle-aged men who came to ogle the Bunnies and to act out the fantasy that being a member made you as hip as Hef. I also heard that the parking was abominable.

In 1972, when the ABC Entertainment Center opened in Century City, the Playboy Club was relocated to a lovely room nestled under the Shubert Theater. I was given a free membership in 1981 (courtesy of Hef himself) and I couldn't resist going a few times, partly to see the Bunnies, partly to see what the Playboy Club experience was all about...and partly to see some of the oddest dinner show entertainment in town. I dunno who booked the room or what was on their minds but the shows all evoked what I call the Springtime for Hitler look. At times, it was like they were searching for people who actually did the kind of thing Bill Murray had parodied on Saturday Night Live.

The oddest was a lady...and given her act, it's ironic that I don't recall her name. But I'd never heard of her before and I'm pretty sure I've never heard of her since. Her act was all what I call "Ego Songs." Every one was about her: "I've Got the Music In Me," "I've Gotta Be Me," "This is My Life," "My Way," "I'll Make My Own World," etc. It was a variation on what the eminent philosopher Daffy Duck once called "pronoun trouble." Between the songs, she talked about — surprise, surprise — herself and her career, as if any of that was of vital interest to us. Then for her closer, she pulled out all stops and performed what still stands as the single greatest example of Excessive Ego I have ever seen on a stage.

The great singer-songwriter Peter Allen once wrote a tune called, "Quiet Please, There's a Lady on Stage." It was about Judy Garland, who was recently deceased when he wrote it. She was also his mother-in-law. It's a nice little tribute tune that quietly asks that people remember Ms. Garland (even though she is not named in the song) and to understand that despite her occasional public shortcomings, she was a great person. A very touching number.

Well, the woman at The Playboy Club closed with that song. Only she changed some lyrics and the emphasis of others and made it about herself. There's a line that goes, "Stand for the ovation," and she kept singing it over and over, commanding us to give her a standing ovation. People finally did, just so she'd shut up and end the show. If we hadn't, we'd all still be there listening to her screaming out, "Stand for the ovation." Then she took a tearful, humble bow, left the stage and came around to each table for praise, to offer autographs and to pass out business cards that told us where we could order her new album. Even the Bunnies in the room were muttering, "How can she parade around like that?"

The entertainment at The Playboy Club wasn't all dreadful. I remember one peppy dance revue that included ten or fifteen minutes of great stand-up comedy by a young Hispanic guy I'd never heard of before. First time I ever saw Paul Rodriguez.

Food at The Playboy Club was a mixed blessing...edible but not worth the price. The best thing was the steak and it came with a lavishly-produced baked potato. Your Serving Bunny would roll a cart to your table loaded down with toppings — butter, sour cream, bacon bits, chives, salsa, etc. A very big deal was made out of having your baker dressed precisely the way you liked it. My Serving Bunnies were always disheartened that I just wanted a little butter and I sometimes let them add bacon bits not because I like them on a potato but because I couldn't stand to disappoint a beautiful woman. The service was pretty decent except that Bunnies always had to keep dashing off to other tables to join in a chorus of "Happy birthday" and the presentation of a little bunny cake with a candle in it. Some nights, it seemed every single table there was someone's birthday outing.

What I think killed The Playboy Clubs — or at least, that one — was that anybody could go to them. There was nothing special about the clientele. You didn't look around and see a younger, hipper throng. You saw a crowd that, apart from the absence of children, could have been at the Sizzler. I started to really feel like an exploited tourist when I went there. The name promised something more than a mediocre restaurant with bad entertainment and good-looking waitresses in what looked like uncomfortable costumes...but that's all you got. My research failed to turn up the date when the Century City club closed and I think I know why that information is so elusive. It's because when it happened, nobody cared.

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