In Los Angeles, waiting in line has transformed into a competitive sport, with residents eagerly queuing up for pizza pop-ups, sneaker drops, and exclusive sales. However, a slow-moving line that recently extended along 6th Street towards Main in downtown LA tells a different story entirely. This line is not filled with people eager to experience something new, but rather those hungry for a taste of the past.
It’s a bittersweet scene as patrons gather to bid farewell to Cole’s French Dip, the city’s oldest bar and restaurant, renowned for its French dip sandwiches and classic Old Fashioneds. “It’s kind of heartbreaking to hear about something 117 years old, survives two World Wars and a pandemic, and now it’s all coming to an end,” says Davis Desmond, who traveled from Burbank on a recent Saturday afternoon.
Desmond, like many others waiting over two hours, had never visited Cole’s until he learned of its impending closure on August 2. This urgent sense of loss prompted him to think, “I’m going to regret not going.”
His sentiments resonate with the crowd forming outside, prompting reflection on how often people take these cherished establishments for granted. “It happened with Greenblatt’s in Hollywood, it happened at The Pantry; the same thing,” comments Brian Ehrlich from Tarzana, who has frequented Cole’s before. He notes the unfortunate truth: “Everybody thought, ‘Well, maybe we can save it’, but too little too late, I guess.”
The past couple of years have seen an alarming rate of closures among Los Angeles’ long-standing restaurants and bars. Many never recovered from the pandemic’s devastation. Rising costs of food, rent, and labor, along with inflation, gentrification, and supply chain issues have compounded the challenges facing these establishments. Additionally, fires have damaged or destroyed others, and recent ICE raids have diminished business, emptied bustling streets, and left some venues in precarious financial positions.
“You can’t take any of these places for granted,” asserts Jake Hook, who occupies a booth at Cole’s, surrounded by rich dark wood paneling and striking red wallpaper.
He’s among a group of 20- and 30-somethings enjoying their French dips, spiced up with zesty pickles and mustard. This gathering is part of the Diner Preservation Society, a collective focused on supporting and promoting historic restaurants in Los Angeles. These venues, often adorned with neon signs, generous portions, and long-serving staff, find themselves increasingly at risk of closure.
“It’s really cool being part of a group that’s trying to combat the sterilization of L.A.,” says Marina Aligh, who stumbled upon the Society through Instagram and has attended several meet-ups since. “We’ve lost so many very cool historic spots this year, and the best way that we can kind of prevent that is with our dollars.”
Hook initiated the group last December after hearing about the 67-year-old Norm’s on La Cienega facing eviction by Raising Cane’s, the property owner. Although public outcry helped Norm’s stay for a bit longer, it highlighted how vulnerable many of these storied establishments really are.
For nearly a year now, the 31-year-old, widely recognized as Diner Theory on social media, has dedicated himself to writing about historic eateries, sharing insights, and hosting meet-ups aimed at supporting them. The latest gathering was originally intended for Nate ‘n Al’s, the 80-year-old Jewish deli that may soon have to relocate from its Beverly Hills location. However, when news regarding Cole’s broke, he quickly adjusted plans, demonstrating the unfortunate frequency of needing to shift focus.
With these meet-ups feeling increasingly somber, the group reflects on their recent outings, like witnessing the closing of 77-year-old Papa Cristo’s in May or waiting seven hours to dine at The Pantry before it shuttered. “We went to Cole’s just with the mindset of like, let’s go have a drink, let’s have a nightcap. Let’s keep supporting these old-school classic institutions,” states J.J. Figueroa, another member of the Society.
Figueroa observes the strange irony that follow-up visits to other cherished establishments could also see them go dark. “It’s kind of a weird foreshadowing that when one closed, we came here, and it ended up being one of the next places to close.”
Reflecting on Cole’s, it encapsulates the narrative of a changing downtown Los Angeles. In its early 20th-century heyday, it attracted traders from the now-defunct L.A. Stock Exchange. A plaque immortalizes the traders’ names, recounting a tale where the bar owner installed a direct phone line to the trading room floor for their convenience.
During the time the L.A. Stock Exchange thrived, so too did the Pacific Electric Railway Company, whose red car terminal was located right above Cole’s, even boasting a stairway that welcomed passengers directly into the restaurant. Leandro DiMonriva, a bartender and unofficial historian at Cole’s, recalls that era, emphasizing the establishment’s significant role in the bartending renaissance praised by late critic Jonathan Gold.
Gold lauded the cocktails served at Cole’s, particularly the “superb rye Old-Fashioned” and cocktails from the adjacent speakeasy, The Varnish. This venue has since shut its doors, yet its influence remains, symbolizing a peak period of food and drink culture in downtown Los Angeles.
Unfortunately, the golden age seems to have slipped away. With news of Cole’s closure, unusually large crowds flock to the restaurant, painting a somewhat surreal scene reminiscent of Disneyland. On a bustling Saturday, it’s evident that the pressure is mounting as the kitchen struggles to keep pace, often running out of their famed sandwiches. To manage the chaos, staff implemented breaks between food orders and halted takeout.
“This is chaotic,” noted one bartender, reflecting on the sudden influx of customers. “Where was everybody at when we needed them?” The sentiment among staff captures the conundrum: many people are drawn to the allure of nostalgia only when faced with loss.
As the Diner Preservation Society wraps up its gathering, they must relinquish their prime booth, yet they remain reluctant to leave just yet. Hook proposes heading to Golden Gopher, a nearby bar boasting 120 years of history and owned by the same hospitality group involved in Cole’s fate.
However, Figueroa recalls the last time they visited a bar post-meet-up and the semblance of ominous timing it carried. They had not anticipated the subsequent closure of that establishment.
Despite the eerie coincidence, the group decides to embrace the risk and join Hook, aligning with their mission to support historic venues by sharing a drink together, hoping to preserve the past in whatever small way they can.
image source from：kcrw
