I, along with 1500 others, trudged to the opening of the Obama Headquarters in West L.A. on Motor about two weeks ago. Listened to some great speeches by Eric Garcetti and Mark Ridley-Thomas. And we heard from state officers for the campaign.
It was inspiring.
A few days later I found myself cherry picking time to volunteer. My days have been unusually free, what with the unemployment and choice of acting as an actual career and all.
At one point I got hungry and I left to get something to eat.
Near the office.
In West. L.A.
You know the area I'm talking about. It's just below Cheviot Hills, that sort of sister to Beverly Hills section south of Century City that no one ever knows about or talks about or goes to. It just exists, as though if it doesn't make any noise no one will bother it.
Motor is that street that we all cross at some point in your travels in the sprawl. Either you got confused on National, with it's turns and curves or you thought you were on Westwood and you just plain weren't or you decided to cut through town when you came out of that audition for The Unit at Fox and kept going south on...you guessed it...Motor.
The trouble with this area of town, besides the fact that it's either impossible to find or it's just down the street, is that there is, at first glance, no place to eat.
I'm sure there are some fast food joints on Venice had I really searched, but I couldn't. I didn't have the time (Had to get back to calling angry Republicans in Nevada, you know) and I needed to get something fast and easy.
That was when I found Harvey's Sandwiches, with it's big sign on Palms advertising it's sandwich menu. Pastrami being at the forefront.
I loves me a good Pastrami. Johnnie's Pastrami, both of them, though not related, are responsible for some o the best taste experiences I've ever had. As well as the worst food-coma-hangover since college.
So, it was easy to see why I might be enticed.
I was, at first, charmed by this courageous little hole in the wall. It reminded me of Galco, the transformed supermarket-now-soda pop shop in Glassell Park. Like it was supposed to be something else but function followed form and this was what they were stuck with.
Yes, the cooking area is blocked by venetian blinds. That's strange but I've seen worse.
Yes, the storage/cleaning area is clearly visible through an opened doorway right next to the dining area. Hey, I'm not eating IN there, so who cares, really?
Yes, the menu signage look like it was purchased from a company that takes your name and logo and puts it on garishly oversaturated photographs of food that could, from a certain angle, look like your cook whipped it up. Advertising is hard. I know.
But, then there was the food. Ambience be damned (and it is) let's get to that Pastrami Sandwich with fries!
Or, I should say, let's sink our teeth into that--
Waitaminnit, is Pastrami supposed to crunch?
If it is burnt to almost a tasteless jerky, then yes.
This was barely a sandwich. It was more like a tasteless, salted meat product, on a toasted stale bun, slathered with condiments next to a bed of Ore Ida potatoes, fryalated to cholesterol-inducing overdoneness. The kind of fry that, when you bite in, your mouth is greeted with a generous promise of salted potato which is then immedaitely replaced by a splash of oil, fat and grease.
It was terrible.
Thank GOD the menu informed me that there was NO MSG!
Whew! Had me worried there for a second. After all, the first thing I tell EVERY sandwich maker, from Pasadena to Venice is, "No MSG on that Turkey Footlong, fucker!"
This is a shout out to restaurateurs in the LA area: There is no good place to eat on Motor between Palms and Venice and probably further. Open something and put this ptomaine festival out of business.
Background music: Generic top 40 pop and R&B crap with a 13 inch television on, sound off, on top of a beverage vend.
Suggested background music: Fox News.
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