L.A. Restaurants

ZUCKY'S DELICATESSEN — Zucky's Deli was located out at the corner of Wilshire and 5th Street out in Santa Monica and as I write this, it still is. At least, the building is. It's been empty since 1993 while the owners of the land and others who consider the place an example of significant historic decor discuss what to do with the place. This strikes me as an odd discussion. I don't recall the architecture and design being that special and the food certainly wasn't.

Opened in 1954 by Hy and Frederick Altman, it was named for Hy's wife, whose maiden name was Wolfine Zuckerman. She was often called "Zucky," as if it rhymed with "rookie." I did not know that during the years I dined at Zucky's but I know that now.

The main (for me, only) appeal of Zucky's when I used to go there was that it was open 24 hours and wasn't Norm's. It was a great place to take your date for ice cream or a snack after you took her to one of the movie theaters out on Third Street. It was also "the" place for breakfast and sometimes lunch for folks who worked in Santa Monica. It struck me as a place that wasn't very good but it drew a crowd for lack of alternatives. When better places to eat opened in the neighborhood, Zucky's floundered. I have some fond memories of going there but because of the people I was with, not because of the business establishment.

ZITO'S — A couple of years ago, I was asked to contribute an essay to an online survey of "My most memorable meals." I decided to write about Zito's and to write this...

My most memorable meals would probably have more to do with who was across the table than what was on it. Get the right dinner companion and a two-fer coupon at Arby's can yield a more memorable event than Passover with Wolfgang Puck.

But, looking just at what was on the plate, I can't help but think of the best Italian restaurant of my childhood — Zito's, which was on Pico Boulevard in West L.A., two blocks west of Westwood. Mr. Zito ran the business end and Mrs. Zito was in the kitchen, whipping up a dark, brown meat sauce, the likes of which I've yet to encounter. It was rich and obviously cooked slow and long...and if I knew what it contained, I wouldn't be writing this, I'd be downstairs whipping up a batch.

Zito's went out of business in the seventies and, since then, I trek from Italian restaurant to Italian restaurant, searching for anything even vaguely like Mama Zito's masterwork. I've had some fine meals in my quest but, so far, no success in locating a clone. (Sometimes, when I sit down to plate of spaghetti in some obscure town I'll never again visit, I am of two minds: I, of course, hope the meal will be wonderful...but what if I find a sauce comparable to Zito's in a dive well off the Interstate in Jerkwater, Michigan? When am I ever going to be back there? How will I drag friends to that wonderful restaurant?

So far, this has not been a problem because I haven't found it. I've also looked closer to home and haven't found it there, either. Zito's building stood empty for a year...then another Italian restaurant moved in. It was and is named Anna's and, of course, I went there and found perfectly fine Italian food. But not like Zito's.

I asked the operators of Anna's and they told me that Mr. and Mrs. Zito had both passed away, as had the other members of the Zito family. They knew because I wasn't the first Zito's patron to inquire. Some had even (apparently) called representing major food corporations, hinting there might be Big Bucks if someone could come up with the recipe for Zito's meat sauce. Alas, no one could.

I told this story once to a restaurant critic. To my surprise, he said, "It's just as well. The recipe probably wouldn't have yielded the same results in someone else's hands." Good food, he explained to me, can be created from a good recipe...but great food is a function of the person who prepares it. In other words, the secret ingredient in Mrs. Zito's sauce was Mrs. Zito. She spent all day making it, no doubt, stirring it, tasting it, adding a pinch of this or a dash of that. "It's like painting," he explained. "I can tell you what color to paint a vase of flowers but that doesn't mean you're going to produce a Van Gogh."

I'm afraid he's right. How sad to think that Mrs. Zito took my favorite meal with her to the grave. On the other hand, I'll bet God's eating well.

THIS IS THE COVER TO A VERY OLD MENU
TO VIEW THE INSIDES, CLICK HERE

OLLIE HAMMOND'S STEAK HOUSE — On La Cienega, across the street from where there's now a Tony Roma's. Ollie Hammond's was a great place to get a real meal at any hour of the day...at least until the place burned down. When Kate Mantilini's at Wilshire and Doheny opened up, it originally announced that it would emulate Ollie Hammond's with the same menu and 24 hour service. Then it didn't and I'm still feeling the disappointment.

I really liked Ollie Hammond's. Its prime rib was great...and I always thought it took guts to have prime rib on your menu when you're two doors down from Lawry's. The soup du jour seemed to always be a tomato concoction with ground beef and pasta noodles that people informally but not inaccurately called "spaghetti soup." On Sundays, they served a corned beef hash that still has folks salivating.

The other thing I remember about Ollie Hammond's is that they had a waiter who was a dead ringer for actor Bill Bixby. This was not just my opinion. Everyone mentioned it and he once told my date and me that some patrons refused to believe he was not that guy researching a role or picking up a few bucks between series or something of the sort. He said that Bill Bixby had come by a few times and gotten very spooked by the resemblance. I always wondered if anyone who wrote on any of the many shows in which Bixby starred ever thought to whip up an "evil twin" episode or something of the sort and to hire this waiter to play whichever role Bixby didn't play.

Below is an unassembled matchbook cover from when Ollie Hammond's had three locations in town and weren't open 24 hours. Until someone sent me this, I only knew about the one on La Cienega. The one on Wilshire would have been near the Ambassador Hotel. The one at Third and Fairfax would have been near me and I might be there right now having a steak or that great hash.