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kyburgNick's Cafe was scary from the outside. Broken and slightly askew cinderblock construction, completely fragged asphalt parking lot (teeny), bars on the windows, bars on the doors, everything hand-painted...enough to make my guests say "are you sure about this?"
Me in all my bravado - "We're up for an adventure!"
"Since when?" Jim pipes up.
"Since we got up this morning. If it's too awful, we'll go back to Little Tokyo and kill the Nisei Week guy who recommended it."
And we go inside.
One big counter. Horseshoe-shaped. The two tables against one wall are the waiting area if there's no room at the counter. Under the counter at the front of the horseshoe is one of the most ancient Coca-Cola chest coolers I've seen in ages. It even has bottle-openers on each side and could hide a small kindergarden inside. And it's still in service - outstanding. It's older than I am, and half again that much.
The three of us sit down at the counter, reach for the menus stored at the napkin holder, and begin reading.
It is a total pork fat thang. Looking up, I see pigs. Ceramic, glass, painted plaster - along with model police cars. Lo-jack novelties.
And my coffee arrives in a mug emblazoned with a bail-bond company's logo and phone number. There is one waitress and she is hopping. The place is nearly full. And the cook is a busy boy right now.
We order. We wait. I check out the place. Wood paneling like they used to do back in the early seventies. Tons of photographs of Los Angeles against the mountains during the winter, covered with snow - oooh. Memorials to a retired policeman who was a "friend to everyone at Nick's." Photographs of Nick's in the (I'd think) sixties, or earlier.
It's been here a long time. Next door is a warehouse store, doing a brisk business in things going elsewhere.
It's a truck stop, in other words. Next to Chinatown, speaking four languages and serving the best American chow in town. You can have applesauce instead of hash browns - "it's ready, but it's still real hot..." made fresh daily.
The busboy shows up, running faster than the waitress, who is a total hoot, BTW. The best kind. The busboy is wearing a t-shirt with another bail-bond company's logo on it.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
caitlin and I just grin and start laughing.
The food is excellent and plentiful. The homemade salsa is fantastic. And I am reminded of why I love Los Angeles so much. We have no majority here in places like this - there are whole families here early in the morning to eat, just like I'd see over at Spires. This is the city. And if you're with Nick - hey, you're okay!
The Nisei Week guy gets to live another day.
Me in all my bravado - "We're up for an adventure!"
"Since when?" Jim pipes up.
"Since we got up this morning. If it's too awful, we'll go back to Little Tokyo and kill the Nisei Week guy who recommended it."
And we go inside.
One big counter. Horseshoe-shaped. The two tables against one wall are the waiting area if there's no room at the counter. Under the counter at the front of the horseshoe is one of the most ancient Coca-Cola chest coolers I've seen in ages. It even has bottle-openers on each side and could hide a small kindergarden inside. And it's still in service - outstanding. It's older than I am, and half again that much.
The three of us sit down at the counter, reach for the menus stored at the napkin holder, and begin reading.
It is a total pork fat thang. Looking up, I see pigs. Ceramic, glass, painted plaster - along with model police cars. Lo-jack novelties.
And my coffee arrives in a mug emblazoned with a bail-bond company's logo and phone number. There is one waitress and she is hopping. The place is nearly full. And the cook is a busy boy right now.
We order. We wait. I check out the place. Wood paneling like they used to do back in the early seventies. Tons of photographs of Los Angeles against the mountains during the winter, covered with snow - oooh. Memorials to a retired policeman who was a "friend to everyone at Nick's." Photographs of Nick's in the (I'd think) sixties, or earlier.
It's been here a long time. Next door is a warehouse store, doing a brisk business in things going elsewhere.
It's a truck stop, in other words. Next to Chinatown, speaking four languages and serving the best American chow in town. You can have applesauce instead of hash browns - "it's ready, but it's still real hot..." made fresh daily.
The busboy shows up, running faster than the waitress, who is a total hoot, BTW. The best kind. The busboy is wearing a t-shirt with another bail-bond company's logo on it.
caitlin and I just grin and start laughing.The food is excellent and plentiful. The homemade salsa is fantastic. And I am reminded of why I love Los Angeles so much. We have no majority here in places like this - there are whole families here early in the morning to eat, just like I'd see over at Spires. This is the city. And if you're with Nick - hey, you're okay!
The Nisei Week guy gets to live another day.
