Lawry's: Same As It Ever Was

Lawry's The Prime Rib used to be the place we took grandpa when he visited.

Now it's the place we take me.

It's always the same.

Saturday night. You drive up to a crowded valet stand. You push through the crowded waiting area, glad you thought ahead and made reservations. (Lawry's saves 40% of the tables for walk-ins, attracting crowds of hungry live-for-the-moment types.)

While you wait you studiously avoid the free appetizers. Stomach space will soon be scarce; you don't want to waste it.

Your name is called, you eagerly push to the front of the waiting area. Your hostess smiles and you look past her to the sweep of the sunken dining room, filled with fellow carnivores.

You squeeze into your table (never enough space), open the menu, and wonder aloud for the 28th time why you bother. You always order the prime rib dinner. Everyone orders the prime rib dinner. The menu lists salmon, so you look up and tell your companion that maybe tonight you'll have the salmon. Before she can even roll her eyes, your waitress approaches from behind and snorts "yeah, right."

Lawry's does not employ waiters. The servers are all waitresses. They dress in 1950s-era uniforms with weird white bands in their hair and white nurse shoes. They used to all be older ladies. Now they seem younger. Or maybe you're older. In any event, the waitresses are all professionals. None seem to be the actress wannabees who occupy most server positions in Los Angeles restaurants.

It's time for The Famous Original Spinning Bowl Salad. Your waitress spins a large metal salad bowl in an ice-filled bowl. As it spins, she extends her arm up and out and then pours the exclusive Vintage Dressing into it from afar. She never misses. Elsewhere, you would never order a salad with this kind of dressing, but at Lawry's you wouldn't eat anything else.

You detach the feedbag for a moment and look around. Most of your fellow diners are celebrating birthdays, anniversaries. You're celebrating beef. Your fellow diners are a diverse lot -- they seem to represent every ethnic group and all but the lowest socio-economic classes in Los Angeles. Although Lawry's is a fancy restaurant, it's a fancy restaurant for the common man. If the typical diner at other temples of beef is a businessman on an expense account, the typical Lawry's diner is a family celebrating a life event.

Once the salad is done, your waitress returns. She tells you Eric will be your carver. Eric rolls one of the massive steel carving machines over to your table, revealing a huge slab of beef. You briefly consider ordering the "Diamond Jim Brady" Cut, but you settle on the Lawry Cut just as you always do. Your grandpa used to tip the carver in a (probably) futile attempt to get the Jim Brady for the price of the Lawry's cut. These days you can't get near enough to Eric to slip him anything.

The beef doesn't measure up to the prime rib you recently inhaled at L'Orangerie, but it's very good. The creamed spinach is very good. The Yorkshire Pudding is the best part. Your companion mentions to you that it's her favorite part. Somehow your waitress overhears and, a minute later, presents your table with an extra helping of the Yorkshire pudding.

The strolling Christmas carolers make it to your table. Your companion good-naturedly berates them for singing "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" earlier. They good-naturedly tell her that, no matter how evil the request from a table, they must comply. Your companion requests something more traditional to cleanse her ears and their vocal chords. They oblige with "Good King Wenceslaus."

You still have room for dessert. As always, you share the hot fudge sundae with your companion. As always, it's just okay.

As you leave, you decide that nothing at Lawry's The Prime Rib is the best, even the prime rib. But you happily return year after year because the Lawry's experience is unique. It's one of the few restaurants you've eaten in your whole life. It brings back memories of dinners long ago shared with loved ones long departed. Everything about it is good-natured. It's the ultimate comfort restaurant.

Comments

[David Sucher]

I wish we had one in Washington State!