I didn’t expect to be walking toward Cole’s French Dip last Sunday afternoon. But, forgetting the hours at the Los Angeles Central Library begin at 1 p.m., and finding the doors closed at 12:30, I decide to get lunch before returning.
As I wander, it occurs to me that Cole’s is four blocks away.
You’ll recall that the oldest restaurant in Los Angeles, one with a claim on inventing the French dip sandwich, is closing soon due to slow business. On a Sunday afternoon last month, yours truly, seeking one last meal, showed up at 3 p.m. — and found a line down the block.
At the eleventh hour, everyone suddenly wanted to eat at Cole’s. Most people, I suspect, have never heard of it, despite its having existed in the same spot, at 118 E. 6th St., since 1908.
As a fellow who’d eaten there a half-dozen times, I told myself it was better to remember Cole’s in its traditional form: half-empty.
That was a rationalization. I secretly did want to go one final time. When the last day was moved back six weeks, from Aug. 3 to Sept. 14, the chances improved. Still, getting in on a Sunday afternoon doesn’t seem promising.
Arriving at Main and 6th streets, where I’d stood at the end of a long line three weeks earlier, I have an unobstructed view of Cole’s neon sign down the block. The sidewalk is empty. I keep walking. Is Cole’s open?
The front door swings. A family exits.
Cole’s is open.
Customers examine menus or await their orders on Sunday afternoon at Cole’s French Dip, which has been in the same location in downtown L.A. since 1908. The restaurant and bar is due to close in mid-Sept.. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)
I walk in. It’s 12:45 p.m. The place is half-full, yet brimming with vintage atmosphere, fixtures and signs. The greeter tells me to order and pay at the bar and take a seat anywhere.
I share my July experience. The greeter chuckles and says Cole’s at noon had a line to the corner of 6th and Los Angeles streets. Everyone is now inside and served.
He smiles and says: “You came at the perfect time.”
Half the bar seating is open. I claim a barstool, eye the menu and order. A half-sandwich, pork dip with Swiss; a pickled egg as my side dish; and, what the heck, an espresso martini. Might as well live it up — if half a sandwich and a drink that is half coffee qualifies.
I am unable to believe my luck.
A half-size pork dip sandwich and cup of au jus await at Cole’s French Dip, a downtown L.A. restaurant and bar that has a claim on having invented the French dip. Cole’s, open since 1908, is due to close in mid-Sept.. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)
My egg and my drink arrive. Within 10 minutes, so does my sandwich. The pork loin is thick, juicy and hand-sliced. I dip the roll now and then in au jus, squirt mustard bite by bite as I eat. This is a very good sandwich.
As reading material for Metrolink, my backpack contains Orlando Davidson’s second novel, “North of Foothill,” due out in March. He’d mailed me his sequel to 2023’s “Baseline Road” in manuscript form.
After polishing off my half-sandwich, egg and pickle spear, the espresso martini gives me license to linger and read. Had I planned to end up at an example of Old L.A. that predates even Musso & Frank’s, I might’ve brought a Raymond Chandler novel.
Still, Davidson’s book, set in 1974, is a noir mystery. I resume where I’d left off the day before. Jimmy Sommes, the San Bernardino County homicide sergeant who narrates, is dropping everything to head to a late-night meeting with a confidential informant.
“There are advantages to living alone,” Sommes is musing at the top of page 110. “I never had to explain to anybody where I was going and why. There wasn’t even a dog to feed and walk. I was a free agent. I guess loneliness had its virtues. That, of course, was self-serving bull—-, but who cared? I had work to do.”
We’re two solo operators, Jimmy and me, men with work to do. By the end of page 110, his contact, who turns out to be a woman, is back at his place, removing her coat. “Her figure,” Sommes reports, “is spectacular.”
I continue reading my book alone at the bar, occasionally pushing up my glasses.
Cole’s is a bit busier now, but seats are still open. Having limited myself to half a sandwich, I feel at liberty to get pie. The choices are apple or cherry. I hate cherry. It’s no choice at all.
“Ice cream?” the bartender asks. “No, straight,” I reply. She chuckles. “It’s bar talk,” I explain helpfully. “I like it,” she says.
A rock song is on the sound system. The bartender and the manager, who know the lyrics, begin lip synching silently but expressively. I use the Shazam app to identify it: “Semi Charmed Life” by Third Eye Blind.
Directly in front of me, another bartender cracks an egg carefully over a drink she’s making. I examine the menu to see what drink has an egg white. That would be a whiskey sour.
The egg white hangs suspended from the yolk for long seconds. We both watch. She gives up, using a spoon to divide the egg. The white plops into the cup. “It didn’t want to go,” she remarks.
Separation anxiety is real.
There is a tap on my left shoulder. I turn to my right, where the manager is setting down my pie. “Darn, I thought I got you,” he laments.
Among the vintage signs inside Cole’s French Dip: “Ladies, Kindly Do Your Soliciting Discreetly.” The restaurant and bar, in a building that was once the terminus for L.A.’s Red Car trolleys, is due to close in mid-Sept.. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)
The pie is not great, but it’s better than the apple pie at Philippe, which uses too much nutmeg. The pie and the plate are warm too. Ice cream might have been nice. But skipping it did keep the tab to just under $50 on what is already a splurge meal.
I keep reading until deciding an hour at Cole’s is long enough to occupy a seat. Before leaving, I get the manager’s attention to ask, on behalf of the reading public, if there is any pattern to the foot traffic. In other words, is there a good time to show up?
It’s unpredictable, he says. Saturday was busy until the kitchen closed. At opening time Sunday, 40 people were waiting. Now a few people are in line to order, but there are open seats.
“Since we announced we’re pushing it back a month…” he begins. “It’s calmed down?” I suggest. Bingo.
All I can say is that if you show up between 12:45 and 1:45 p.m. last Sunday, you’ll get right in. And have a great time.
brIEfly
Browsing recently at DTLA’s The Last Bookstore, I happened upon copies of Riverside writer Susan Straight‘s novel “Mecca” in both the Modern Fiction section (filed next to Elizabeth Strout) and in the Mystery and Suspense section (filed next to Rex Stout). More proof that the Inland Empire is everywhere. And that it defies easy categorization.
David Allen, an American dip, writes Friday, Sunday and Wednesday. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky.
Originally Published: August 14, 2025 at 12:39 PM PDT
Dining and Cooking