Collapsing time in a red leather booth

A winding exploration of the timeless with Musso & Frank, Stripmall Serenity, and some other nice things

May 15, 2024

Welcome back to Half Empty.

Sitting down and looking around with Musso & Frank

Last week I had the distinct pleasure of dining, for the first time, at The Musso & Frank Grill. The storied Hollywood Boulevard institution has stood the test of time for over 100 years. On the Tuesday night we dined there, it wore its age like a gleaming badge of honor, effusing charm while packed to the gills.

As Anthony Bourdain once put it, stepping through the door at Musso & Frank feels like coming home. The menu covers the classics of 20th century American dining: steaks off of an ancient grill, shrimp cocktail, pastas, French fries two ways, hollandaise and béarnaise sidecars. Some deeper cuts (excuse the pun) — calf’s liver, lamb’s kidneys, Welsh rarebit, oyster stew — remain on the entrée list as well.

While we didn’t opt for the off-cuts, we did go for the steak tartare, shrimp cocktail, asparagus and hollandaise, and the ribeye. We washed the food and our troubles down with a martini (ordered the only way a martini should be ordered, in my very humble opinion: gin, absolutely filthy) and a negroni, both were perfect. The food was good, but it’s not what I left thinking about. What has stayed with me in the days following our dinner is a question of why – why Musso & Frank? What is the enduring appeal of this place, after 100 years, that continues to draw everyone in? The young, the old, the artist, the businessperson, the epicurean, the food disinterested, the cool, the anti-cool; everyone wants to sit down with a frigid drink in the gentle light and warm caress of a Musso & Frank booth.

This only led to more questions. What does it mean to be timeless? How does a restaurant transcend time the way Musso & Frank has so deftly? It’s a wriggly, difficult thing to answer, but I will share a few thoughts I had in response.

If you try too hard to escape time, to be timeless, you will fail. The same way it seems like those who live longest are often those who, throughout their lives, don’t think about longevity at all. They do things they enjoy, with people they enjoy, they drink a Dr. Pepper every day until they reach 110 years old and then go gently into that good night. But I also think that while you can’t be too conscious of wanting to live long, the circumstances in which you are brought into this world can have a major impact on your longevity. If you’re born on a Cycladic island you might have a better chance at breaking 100 than some less blessed individual elsewhere. I think the same theory extends to restaurants, design, art, really any trend-susceptible area of modern life. Musso & Frank, for example, was born into an early/mid-20th century design ethos and food universe that had, and continues to have, an unusual staying power. A menu that hasn’t changed for over 100 years because (apparently) it hasn’t ever not been what we’ve craved, and a dining room that — adhering to tenets of design that continue to be beloved today: soft lighting, dark wood, understated but statement making — will never not look and feel so profoundly stylish.

Musso & Frank also lucked out in that it was born at the center of a confluence of forces shaping Los Angeles and the country’s media landscape. In a sort of symbiotic relationship, the authors, filmmakers, creatives of all types that helped make Hollywood what it is flocked to Musso & Frank’s and, in turn, helped make the restaurant the icon that it is. The timeless isn’t just relevant through changing trends, though, it rises above those trends. Sure, trendsetters have always dined there, but trendsetters go to a lot of places. There is something more complicated happening here.

Dare I say that dining at this old steakhouse is a bit like going to church? While thinking about all this, I couldn’t help but think of centuries old sanctuaries, ancient Italian churches, Japanese temples, places built with the intention of bringing people closer to the sublime. These are the ultimate examples of the timeless. They will forever inspire awe, and I don’t foresee St. Peter’s Basilica going out of style anytime soon. I acknowledge it’d be a stretch to say that any restaurant could approach the grandeur of a Renaissance cathedral, but in my mind they help to serve similar purposes. Humanity has gotten in touch with itself for time immemorial through all manner of cultural and religious tradition. Could it be, maybe, that in a city where so little is considered sacred, the only thing we have are these hedonistic temples?

We all want to be a part of something bigger than ourselves, and a place like Musso & Frank serves as a conduit through which we can connect with that thing. I think this could be both cause and effect of timeless nature. The timeless, somewhat paradoxically, connects you with time and space, with history. In Los Angeles, a place with a history so amazingly complex and layered, a city built in part around an industry that abstracts life from reality, sitting down in a banquette is a way to get back in touch with the world as it is and was.

I might venture to suggest that these old-school, “old-man” institutions are experiencing a (re)surging popularity with the youth. The frenetic pace and fragmented nature of trend cycles in our internet age have left our minds in a jumbled and constantly shifting state. What better way to rearrange my fractured brain than to step into a room where nothing has changed for generations and take part in something that will (hopefully) always be a part of the zeitgeist. It’s a relief. Walking into Musso & Frank is like entering into conversation with the city of Los Angeles, with a culture that often feels so elusive.

Stripmall Serenity
Sonoratown 208 E Street Los Angeles, CA 90014

Sonoratown is a rare, beautiful bird. The northern Mexican-style taqueria has reached major levels of success and notoriety among the foodie and the nonfoodie alike. They always seem to have a line out the door and they’ve been able to open a second location. During my visit to their original downtown storefront last week, I stood in line with a group of patrons as diverse as LA. I even spotted a few tourists (we can all tell) waiting for their food. When visiting any eatery this sort of popularity for a small operation, very generally, sets off some alarm bells for me. I worry about potential sacrifices of quality for quantity. It goes without saying that I wish nothing but success for any homegrown business like Sonoratown, but in the same breath I worry in the same way anyone who loves a small-timer fears the dreaded “sell out.”

In my estimation, however, Sonoratown has lost nothing with its popularity. The tacos, served on flour tortillas made with lard and accompanied by powerful salsas, satisfy deeply. I opted for the mesquite-grilled carne asada and rich, braised cabeza. The caramelo, a larger flour tortilla folded in half and stuffed with meat, cheese, beans, a poblano pepper that’s then grilled, was wonderful. This place is popular with everyone for a reason: it’s damn good. If you’re anything like me, it’s important to put aside one’s presumptions about popularity, about a spot being “blown out”, and believe in the power of an exceptional taco to draw in the crowds.

Other nice things:

My bro brought some Tunnock’s tea cakes across the pond from the UK. I love the way they’re wrapped and packaged. Do I really love to eat to them? No, but they’re fun. Marshmallow has never been my thing.
The universe aligned around this newsletter this week when out for a pizza dinner at famed American pizza icon Pizzeria Bianco’s Los Angeles location. In addition to very exceptional pizzas they were serving, what else did I find on the menu but a take on farinata. Of course we ordered it, and it was… good, but not what I was looking for. It had some onions and was quite cheesy, seemed like they’d loaded the batter with parmigiano. Farinata to me is all about purity, three or four ingredients at most. Still nice though.