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Restaurant Review
A Life Altering Beef
Cole’s P.E. Buffet
6th & Main St.
Los Angeles
(213) 622-4098
The grand edict from my mentor: "I foresee an end to the salad days."
The words were originally uttered under a different context and over, I
believe, a warm pitcher of bourbon at a San Pedro waffle house (it was after hours). George's previous concern was the potential breakup of his six month old marriage; today's focus seemed to be strickly business. When mentally burdened, George could be a real drama queen.
Cole's P.E. Buffet is a few steps down from street level. The muted glow from the Tiffany shades obscured the dates at the bottom of each beauty-queen portrait on the wall... giving them an eternal quality. Just as the odor from the unswept sawdust on the floor helped one involuntarily relive someone else's ancient spilt beer.
The place was Vartan's idea and he was late. He couldn't shut up about the roast beef. I must admit it did smell good, necessitating a perusal of the dining options: Aforementioned roast beef, glazed ham, whole turkey, various potatoes and veggies and a decent dessert layout. My internal clock said food time, but we still had to wait on Vartan.
"Charles Durning! That impish son of a carney." George was already seated at a table made from one of the original Pacific Electric Red Cars. He pointed at something etched into the top's surface. Sure enough it was the man's name.
"Wasn't he the guy who got cornholed by hill trash in that one movie?" I asked.
"That was Ned Beatty. I'm quite sure Durning did try and punk Dustin Hoffman... Dusty was in drag, though." George paused. He then gave a thoughtful nod of his head, confirming that this was true.Taking off my coat, I gave a longing look toward the buffet and sat down.
George's young bride, Naticia, was born in Alaveri, Armenia. Vartan was also originally from the same area. Something about this on the surface crude Yank absconding with an innocent local nagged at Vartan. Behind George's back, he would claim she was mail order (trying to cheapen the relationship). In actuality, they met online at a Yo Yo Ma chatroom.
The waitress brought the cocktails George had ordered while I was drooling over the food bar. I knew this wasn't good. George never drank at lunch. Trying to lighten the mood, I raised my glass: "Drinks in front of us and jackets behind us, partner." I got nothing but the monotone stare.
The meeting with Vartan was over territory. He also was in the wayward grocery cart business. The ones he wrangled were offered up to local manufacturers who refurbished and resold
to the chains. We had chosen the Mexican black market. The same chains repurchased at a lesser rate and it spread the money where it is also needed... Robin Hood shit, you know. The territory in question was Highland Park. Vartan wanted north of York Boulvard. Earlier, George voiced that the change was inevitable. The current look in his eye told me that there can be such a thing as too much change.
"Give me 50 bucks, Ray." Without hesitation I opened my wallet.
At first George had supported Naticia's spread in Perfect 10 magazine. After it hit the stands he came to the realization that down deep he was very provincial and old fashioned when it came to matters of the heart. Firmly entrenched atop his moral high ground, George knew that soon he would abandon his once sacred vows.
It took over an hour to reach our destination. Finding an approximation for a pungi stick at a local lumberyard, George impaled the still warm roast beef on the spiked top and planted the warning at the York Blvd. exit of the 2 freeway. Yeah, it was an empty, symbolic gesture and George knew it. He just needed a smile.
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