A Ship That Passed

I love the subject of restaurants. I love great restaurants that remain today. I mourn the ones that have passed. I love the royalty and the commoner. Ships was among the latter although enthroned among the former. I mentioned it yesterday but couldn't quite let it go.

Ships was a coffee shop in Westwood where I grew up. It was a hangout. Not the type where you sat with friends and had milkshakes or pop. Ships is where you ventured when you were old enough to meet friends for breakfast on a Saturday or Sunday morning. When you were too young perhaps to drive it was still accessible on foot or bike. When you were still building hours as a young driver it was in familiar territory, safe and close to home.

The food was coffee shop good. The memorable element, though, was the toaster located at each table. Every patron had the privilege of making their own toast to just the right degree of doneness.  The only catch being the toasters were not automatic. One had to pay attention and pop the toast up in proper time. We always  enjoyed watching a newcomer sitting there at his table, enjoying his coffee, reading the LA Times, oblivious to the tower of smoke rising from the unwatched small appliance. You felt smug that you knew better.

There are a few coffee shops around still. The Fountain Coffee Shop is one I love for breakfast on a Saturday morning when I'm in LA. Fuller's in Portland is another. They're out there and definitely worth the trip. And the wait.

Yaws and Such

R.I.P. Yaws in Portland

A week or so ago I wrote about committing dietary adultery when I strayed way off course and ordered french fries with gravy. From that little admission of trespass the story has morphed into one concerned with a classic old restaurant in Portland, Oregon called Yaws. Yaws first opened in 1926 and closed in 1982. Subsequently it appears to have attained almost cult status, although I seriously doubt people drive by and leave flowers at the site of the former restaurant as they would at the grave of a rock star or a certain platinum blonde of the 50's. Even so, it seems my family members who grew up in Portland and went to Grant High School all remain loyal in their esteemed memory of this lost icon of food, especially the cruisin' drive-in variety of the 1950's and early 60's.

Among the recollections of Yaws is that of the "Tootsie Roll cop," an off-duty city policeman hired to keep the cruisers under control and who was always quick to hand out one of the many miniature Tootsie Rolls he kept in his pocket. Thick shakes, french fries with gravy, and the Yaw's Top Notch Burger were all bricks in the edifice of this once popular eatery. If you read the link above you'll discover the restaurant owners were equally diligent in providing for both their customers and their employees.

I ate there once, probably in the mid 70's. I went expecting to find a glorious time piece from the 50's and, instead, found an ailing senior on life support. I don't remember much beyond disappointment. I think by then people had moved on, abandoning the old guard of the cruisin' era and moving into the era of the "next thing" where the old was out simply by virtue of age and predictability. I seem to recall a whole slough of fad restaurants in the late 60's and 70's. Restaurants like Yaws were left to atrophy and expire.

This lesson and its subject remind me of many others I've known over the years. Many, like Yaws in Portland and Ships in Westwood, are gone and missed by many. A few remain today. Old restaurants, stalwart institutions, that offer a slice of life and provide a million memories that stretch for several generations every day they're open for business. Some of the old timers have fallen off the mark but others remain true to their original commitment to quality and value.

If you're lucky enough to live within reach of one of the great old restaurants then do yourself a favor: Drop in now and then. With few exceptions, they won't be around forever. And you'll miss them when they're gone.

R.I.P. Ships in Westwood

Quality Forever

My friend Dan sent me a link to Men's Health Magazine which featured an article entitled "America's Eight Greatest Guy Foods."  I have to admit to never reading Men's Health Magazine.  That's not a slam, it's just that I barely even get my nose in the journals I should be reading. At the same time I'm not a huge fan of "the best," "the greatest," or even "top ten" ratings. In my experience they are usually commercially linked to the entities included and I usually think they're wrong to boot.

Not so this latest article.  Just because he's wrong about at least 5 of the 8 entries doesn't disqualify the author's opinion when it comes to hamburgers. As he describes in his piece, when you sit down to a juicy hickory cheese burger at the Apple Pan, all other hamburger experiences fall to the wayside. Actually, it happens even before you sit down.

Walking up to the Apple Pan is like approaching a Disney landscape: the perfectly proportioned, unassuming white sided house with the double wooden screen doors.  It looks like something out of the 1940's and that's because it is. When you step in you take a glance, figure your place in the lineup, and wait for your seat to open on one of the 26 red top stools that have supported some of the finest, and happiest, tushies in the City of Angels since 1947.

As with any great restaurant memory, much of it is owed the circumstances surrounding the experience; the friends you met, the staff you liked, the comfort of the surroundings. When it comes to the Apple Pan I can check all those boxes in addition to the one adjoining the comment "best hamburger." I haven't been eating meat for the past year or so but I reserve a spot in my cheating heart for these. No steer lays down his life for any higher purpose.

Make mine a hick-cheese, well-done fries, and a Coke.  Oh, ya, and a slice of chocolate cream pie.