The Greasy Spoons that Made L.A. Great

Originally appeared in Vanity Fair April, 2002

BY: Amy Wallace

There are glitzy Los Angeles restaurants – Mortons, Ago, Mr. Chow – where Hollywood’s top stars and reigning moguls go to be seen. Then there are no-nonsense spots where the same A-list crowd goes to simply eat in peace: the Apple Pan in Westwood, Nate ‘n Al’s Deli in Beverly Hills, O’Brien’s Irish Pub & Restaurant in Santa Monica, and Pink’s in the heart of Hollywood. Click to continue »

Uni Bomber

Originally appeared in Vanity Fair May, 1997

BY: Amy Wallace

TODAY’S SPECIAL: TRUST ME! reads the hand-lettered sign on the wall of Sushi Nozawa. And chef Kazunori Nozawa, one of Los Angeles’ most temperamental restaurateurs, isn’t kidding around.

To occupy one of the nine seats at his counter, a waitress explains to newcomers, is to relinquish control. No ordering, please. You eat what he serves – or you’re out the door.

One hapless entertainment executive refused Nozawa’s tuna on the grounds that dolphins might have perished in the catch. ‘‘Out!’’ yelled the irate chef, who is known to ignore diners’ trendy requests (NO CALIFORNIA ROLL! reads another sign) and to bark instructions (‘‘One bite only!’’) at those whose sushi skills don’t measure up.

‘‘Grumpy doesn’t even begin to describe it,’’ says Robert Ward, a writer and TV producer (Hill Street Blues, Miami Vice), who is such a Nozawa devotee that he immortalized the chef in one of his novels. ‘‘He’s an artist. Asking him to make a California roll is like asking Van Gogh to paint a velvet Elvis.’’

Most nights, customers wait in line to be mistreated at the closet-sized restaurant, right next to a nail salon in a San Fernando Valley mini-mall. Nozawa regulars have spotted Jeffrey Katzenberg, not to mention actors Rebecca De Mornay and James Caan, sampling the albacore and risking the chef’s wrath.

But Nozawa – who once refused to serve singer-songwriter Carole King a second order of uni – doesn’t care who you are, as long as you adhere to his program for sushi Zen.

Originally appeared in Vanity Fair October, 1994

BY: Amy Wallace

Nestled into a steep Santa Monica hillside, 189 concrete steps are giving new meaning to the term ‘social climbing.’ At dawn, at dusk, even in the middle of the night, the fit and would-be fit battle for parking spots near the top of the well-worn stairs, which offer panoramic views of the Santa Monica Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. Leaving their bottled waters curbside, they move down the narrow zigzag and climb back up again, over and over until delirium sets in.

Desire for a tight derriere lures most people to the tree-lined stairway, where there’s more than one way to escalate. Arms swing or are clasped tightly behind the back. Legs kick forward or out to the side. Some people climb backward. So-called commandos, who do as many as 50 sets (that’s 18,900 stairs) a day, are easy to spot: they run the steps, usually several at a time.

But many who put on spandex and sweatbands to visit this neighborhood of million-dollar homes seek more than mere sinew. They want to be seen.

‘It’s a chic place to break a sweat,’ says Eric Moore, a real-estate broker who avoids the crowds by climbing during the wee hours. Habitues are still chuckling over the novice who used to do a few laps every morning and then jump into his Mercedes and make phone calls, as if on display. Some here have much more than exercise on their mind.

‘The pickup scene is everywhere – and her is no exception,’ says Daniel Paul, a production assistant at Paramount who claims that on his first visit to the steps he was approached by ‘a bunch of older Swedish women.’

Gloria Charles, a screenwriter, adds, ‘After 10 sets, nobody looks good. You’ve got to catch them coming out of their car.’ A regular for four years, Charles is an expert on proper form, both athletic and social. When passing, give a polite warning (she recommends ‘On your left!’). And never, ever wear perfume – it has a way of overpowering the fresh salt air.

Local homeowners, however, feel their neighborhood is overpowered by the climbers. The steps are a nuisance, they say, bringing traffic jams, noise, and loitering.

‘All the traffic – it’s a definite negative,’ says one real-estate agent who is trying to sell a house near the top of the steps. But even she hesitates to condemn the climbers – after all, she’s one of them.

‘Got to keep the butt up,’ she says.