Where to eat good food for less money in the San Fernando Valley
Gas costs a bundle – dining at these classic restaurants won't.
I recently went to a new hibachi restaurant in a mini-mall in a blue collar part of town, the sort of place where a meal shouldn’t have cost much. An order of tofu and noodles — no meat — was $23.90. Toss in some chicken, beef or seafood, and it went up into the mid $30s, and more.
A few days later, I went to a new Asian fusion hot spot in one of the beach towns. An order of fried rice was $50. A tofu appetizer was $28. And the place was packed, jammed, on a weekday. What these diners are using for money, I don’t know. But I got to tell you, eating out has gotten “really spendy” (as my daughter likes to say).
It’s bad enough that gas has gone north of $6 a gallon and keeps climbing. And it feels as if it won’t be long before neighborhood supermarkets offer estimates for your family shopping list. Life in SoCal has gotten so spendy, I have a relative who moved to Las Vegas because it was more affordable. There, gas prices might be lower. Ditto the cost of buying a condo. But who wants to live where temperatures reach 120 during the summer? I like Vegas — for a weekend. But living there?
That still leaves us with the conundrum of finding an affordable way to live here in SoCal. In April, I detailed some great local restaurants, the short drive to which would certainly save on gas. And most, if not all of them, were still reasonably priced.
Which brings me to the wondrous world of old-school eateries where the food is a throwback to what we used to eat before spendy words like “carpaccio” and “sashimi” became standard. And where the prices are, if not as low as they used to be, still low enough to remind us of the good times when gas was pumped by lads in logo hats (“You can trust your car to the man who wears the star”)…and your groceries were packed in paper bags at no extra cost, and even carried to the car.
Am I nostalgic for the old days? Of course I am. But thankfully they’re not gone — more or less — at some of the following good feeds…
Nat’s Early Bite Coffee Shop
14115 Burbank Blvd., Sherman Oaks; 818-781-3040, www.natsearlybite.com
Nat’s isn’t so much a restaurant, as it is a way of life. Those of us who have been around for a while can’t remember a time when there wasn’t a Nat’s on Burbank Boulevard — like Art’s Deli, it seems as if it was there before the Valley was the Valley.
Though Nat’s is open for both breakfast and lunch, and the lunch section of the menu is actually twice the size of the breakfast section, I mostly think of Nat’s as a breakfast joint. This is, after all, Nat’s “Early Bite,” not Nat’s “Lunch Spot.” And those early bites are a pleasure, awash with the sort of classic dishes that make the presence of several eggs Benedict variations (on a separate breakfast insert), come as a bit of shock.
Though the Benedicts are done Nat’s style, there’s a corned beef hash Benedict, a turkey sausage Benedict, and a California Benedict with avocado. The original Canadian bacon Benedict is found on the regular menu. I guess the newbies are separated to not mess with the regular menu’s relentless classicism.
The newbies run to a mix-and-match chilaquiles option, where you choose a salsa, and a meat, to go with the fried corn tortillas scrambled with eggs and onions. I think of chilaquiles as the Mexican equivalent of Jewish matzoh brie — which is also on the menu, made with matzoh instead of tortillas, and available for a little extra with salami and onions. It’s as much a dish from the old country as the chilaquiles.
Mostly, this is where you go for freshly baked cinnamon rolls and muffins; for a pair of eggs cooked any style (over easy for me, thank you); for bacon, sausage, ham, beef patties or turkey bacon; and for a terrific choice of ultra-crispy home fries, hash browns, Tater Tots or grits — yup, grits, just like Down South. And not expected at all.
Black Bottom Southern Café
4806 Vineland Ave., North Hollywood; 818-856-8532, www.blackbottomcafe.com
Black Bottom brings back warm and cozy memories of great soul food restaurants of the past — like Homer & Edy’s and Aunt Kizzy’s Back Pork (which carries on these days as Dulan’s Soul Food).
Those were the places you went when you needed the solace of smoked brisket and chicken, shrimp and grits, and some fine cornbread and hoe cakes. All of which you’ll find at Black Bottom, with its commanding sign over the small parking lot that reads: “Welcome to NoHo…J’eet Yet?” The answer is…no. But soon. And the sooner, the better.
The joy of Black Bottom for me is the smoked brisket, which is tender and ever so smoky, a bit of art made of meat, served in a sandwich, on either a Sally Lunn bun (rich with the flavor of yeast), or ciabatta bread, with sweet potato fries, the bun topped with mesclun salad, tomato, butter pickles, banana peppers, red onions and chipotle aioli.
There’s a pulled-chicken sandwich too, with vinegary “not yo’ mama’s slaw.” A shrimp po’boy, with more of that chipotle aioli. A smoked chicken wrap and a grilled cheese and turkey sandwich, with pimento cheese spread. Which brings us to one of the most iconic of Southern ingredients.
Traditionally, pimento spread is made with cheddar, cream cheese, mayo, garlic powder, cayenne, onion powder jalapeños and pimentos. It’s ubiquitous south of the Mason-Dixon Line. And pretty much unknown to the north. Like sweet tea, it’s a Southern dish you have to grow up with to appreciate. But with a bit of work, you can still find a love for the stuff — even if it could stop your heart in mid-bite.
The combination meals are called “Old School Meat & Three.” This is truly classic Southern service — smoked brisket, smoked chicken (referred to as “smoked yardbird”) and pulled chicken, served with three of the 11 tasty side dishes: mac and cheese (made with sharp cheddar, white cheddar and asiago, so revisionist!), Cajun dirty rice (a wonder and a joy!), hush puppies, tempuraed okra and more.
The collard greens are made with baby kale — so California! And so good! And as ever, soul travels real well.
Porto’s Bakery & Café
3614 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank, 818-846-9100; 315 N. Brand Blvd., Glendale, 818-956-5996; www.portosbakery.com
You can tell you’re coming up on the Burbank branch of Porto’s Bakery & Café about three blocks before you get there. That’s because you’ll begin to see bright-eyed acolytes, carrying multiple butternut yellow bags, filled with boxes of wonders and joys from the bakery.
Because of the crowds descending on Porto’s constantly, the good-sized parking lot next to this much-loved institution fills up quickly. And most are happy to park within reasonable walking distance. The walk doesn’t hurt, of course — the pastries in the boxes are gloriously rich. Though it would take a lot of steps just to cancel out the cream fillings.
Enter Porto’s on a busy day, and you’ll find an affable greeter at the door, who’ll direct you to the line that best fits your needs. The experience is a more than a bit like a warm summer’s day at Disneyland. The staff is relentlessly cheerful. The colors are bright. The lines are long, but everyone is good mannered. And there’s much looking ahead at the cases to see the joys that await.
The difference, of course, is that at Disneyland you take home memories. At Porto’s you take home boxes and bags filled with memories for later. And waiting on one of the several pastry lines (unless you were wise enough to pre-order, which sends you to a shorter line where happiness awaits with only a short wait — almost instant gratification!), the anticipation is palpable as acolytes moon over the Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake, the Milk and Berries Tres Leche, and the world-class carrot cake.
I’m glad to wait patiently for the house iced coffee, which puts Starbucks to shame. I figure they drink a lot of rum down in Old Cuba. But they probably put away a lot of coffee too. A strong cuppa goes well with the chicken empanadas. But then…everything does.
Robin Hood British Pub
13640 Burbank Blvd., Sherman Oaks; 818-994-6045, www.robinhoodbritishpub.com
Robin Hood is not a small establishment. It rambles from a large bar and dining room, into an adjacent even larger dining room. You enter through a bit of greenery and a gate that separates the pub from the controlled chaos of Burbank Boulevard — it’s a bit like stepping into Dr. Who’s phone booth, and finding yourself on a back street in London. Or perhaps, Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire, just to stay with the theme.
There’s a bit of Robin Hoodiana on the walls. My favorite is a framed poster of Errol Flynn’s “The Adventures of Robin Hood,” with Basil Rathbone, Olivia de Havilland, Claude Rains — and the wonderful Eugene Pallette as Friar Tuck. (They don’t make ’em like they used to!)
There are posters as well of the London Underground, a history of London buses, a bow and arrow on a wall, and five big screens showing the games of the moment — just to remind us that it is, after all, 2022, and not 1122.
Though the larger dining room is, no doubt, a perfectly nice place in which to have a meal, I lean, not surprisingly, to the bar — which in London might be called a saloon or a lounge; the points of difference can be a bit arcane. But to me, it’s simply the pub — a bar room in which locals gather for a pint of Boddingtons, Bass, Fuller’s ESB or Newcastle Brown, all on draft, along with a selection of beers from America, Mexico and Holland. (Sam Adams is listed as an “import.” I guess it is — it’s imported from Boston after all.)
The wines are almost all from California. And, yes, there’s Guinness for those who want to dwell on a pint all evening; I’ve never managed to put away any more than that. In terms of the food, it wanders from serious British pub grub — heavy and substantial, the sort of chow that needs beer to get it down — to American interlopers, like a BLT, a patty melt, and an avocado and alfalfa sprout “Health Nut” sandwich.
But then, wherever possible, a bit of the Old Country is inserted in a dish — as in the very old school Marie Rose Sauce on the dinner salad, and the bay shrimp sandwich. (It’s traditionally a mix of mayo, tomatoes, lemon juice, Worcestershire and pepper.)
Not surprisingly, the defining dish is the fish and chips, served in sundry permutations — two pieces with chips, one piece with chips, or fish only. The fish is an impressive creation — smallish slabs of Icelandic cod wrapped in a lot of very crispy batter, which seems to have swelled to grand proportions in the deep fryer.
This is more an exercise in the wonders of batter than in the cooking of fish; the cod is what Hitchcock used to call a McGuffin — a trigger for the rest of the dish, whose presence is easy not to notice. Especially if you douse the fish with lots of good malt vinegar. By contrast, the chips could be a lot crisper than they are. But then, British chips are rarely very crispy; like British bacon, they’re served a bit pale.
CiCi’s Café
18912 Ventura Blvd., Tarzana; 818-881-6704, www.ciciscafe.com
The menu at CiCi’s Café has to be seen to be believed. It has to be experienced, first hand. It’s 28 pages long — and that’s not 28 pages of big type. It’s so long, the pages are actually numbered. It could probably do with a table of contents at the start, and an index at the back — with footnotes.
The section dedicated to pancakes alone is five pages long, with some 65 options, each of which is ornately Baroque — complicated enough that you have to wonder how anyone in the kitchen keeps track of them all.
And I’m not sure the folks seated in this strip-mall eatery, which hardly seems big enough to accommodate a menu of a quarter this size, really care. When you’re digging into a sugary, buttery, whipped cream topped pile of wonderment — carbs uber alles — the difference between chocolate chip buttermilk pancakes and chocolate red velvet pancakes may not matter that much.
The chow arrives, and it’s time to feast. Which is not a point of criticism, goodness knows, this place is too good to cavil about strawbs versus blueberries — they all taste good. But it is to note that there are so many options, your head may swim, and you’ll just point randomly to one of the options. Or, to be more specific, the wait on a weekend can be considerable, and by the time you finally sit down, they could bring you a sashimi pancake with wasabi sauce, and you’d eat it happily.
Watching the food fly out of the kitchen, it’s hard not to get crazy hungry. The menu is buttressed, front and back, with beauty shots of two orders of pancakes, in tight close-up — the very essence of food porn. It’s hard not to get hungry just looking — staring! — at the pix. (They could put out a pancake calendar, and I’d buy it!)
But first of all, you’ve got to decide on a beverage, of which there are — yes! — four full pages in small type. That includes 12 hot teas, and three or four times that number of coffees and exotics. Iced green tea latte? Why not? You can also get a regular “cup of joe” — that’s what it says on the menu. Or a banana peanut butter shake. For breakfast. Once again, why not?
The pancakes, amazing creations, are built around buttermilk, green tea, red velvet, mac nut, wheat bran, coconut, apple and more. But really, it’s the toppings that move them from mortal to heavenly. If you can imagine it, they probably make it — along with a few you never imagined.
There are German pancakes as well, all puffed up with Teutonic pride; they take an extra 20 minutes to do their puffing. There’s a page of soufflé pancakes, which take 30 minutes, along with a page of waffles, two pages of French toast, and two pages of crêpes. And yes, Virginia, there are eggs as well — six pages of them for the love of Mike!
You ever run across a Thai beef Penang breakfast burrito before? Me neither. Though admittedly, I haven’t been looking.
Out of curiosity, I ordered the huevos rancheros, a dish that usually sticks to a well-established script. Not here. It was…immense, a meal for two big appetites. All the usual ingredients were there — only more so, lots more so. When it arrived, the folks sitting around me all stopped and stared. I gaped. Then, I ate.
Merrill Shindler is a Los Angeles-based freelance dining critic. Email mreats@aol.com.