Growing up in Los Angeles, I frequently passed by the Arby's 10 Gallon Hat on Sunset Boulevard. I always viewed the fast food chain, known for its roast beef and cheddar sandwiches, with some curiosity, but never enough to venture inside.
Arby's came up in conversation over the years with my good friend Jo Stougaard, usually after a few libations. His first job as a teenager was at Arby's in West Covina. She was often stunned by the fact that I had never been there. “Actually?” “But you grew up in Los Angeles.” “Never?” “Still?”
We said that one day we would go together to the one we passed so many times on Sunset Boulevard.
Someday it never came and then it closed. Earlier this month, Arby's closed after 55 years in Hollywood, citing rising food costs, inflation and California's new minimum wage law for fast-food workers. The hat, which often seemed as high as the sky, was a landmark in the city. Even I idealized the restaurant, a true slice of a dying American style. Fans mourned the loss for the neighborhood, which was already a hyper-modernized area populated by salad and sushi chains down the block.
A cool Arby's Hollywood with plywood boards and wheatpaste art.
(Bryan A'Hearn / Los Angeles Times)
Stougaard fondly remembers his four years working at Arby's on North Azuza Avenue in West Covina. The year was 1979. He remembers having to answer the phone with a cheerful “America's Roast Beef, yes, sir.” She can still imagine the button he pressed with his hip to steam the buns and the way the pieces of raw meat arrived in plastic bags before being roasted in the oven and sliced. He remembers the giant plastic buckets of coleslaw he made and the potato cakes he fried. Back then, the chain served triangular hash browns instead of French fries.
And remember Arby's lovers, the name his colleagues assigned to the couple from the dentist's office who came to have sex in a van in the back of the parking lot. The dentist was married. The woman was much younger, his employee and not his wife.
When I heard about Hollywood's closure, I called Stougaard to inform him that we would never get our date at the Sunset Boulevard Arby's.
Arby's classic beef and cheddar sandwich.
(Jenn Harris / Los Angeles Times)
“My favorite was the classic beef and cheddar cheese on an onion roll,” he said. “It was so compressed that the cheese melted into the bun and meat. It was like a drop of comfort. And that horse sauce!
I like meat, cheddar cheese and onion rolls. Horse sauce sounds like magic sauce. Why had she been sleeping at Arby's all these years?
Spurred by a new determination to try the chain, I set out to find the Arby's closest to downtown Los Angeles. Without the Hollywood restaurant, you would have to travel south to Inglewood, further southwest to Long Beach or Huntington Beach, or north to the San Fernando Valley.
A feeling of nostalgia for a restaurant I had never visited led me to their Huntington Beach location. It is one of the few remaining boxcar-style buildings with its own neon-lit hat sign. There is a cow design on the tiled floor in the dining room. Like the Hollywood location, this one was also built in 1969.
The classic beef 'n' cheddar with Arby's “natural cheddar.” The cheese slice has a surcharge of $1.09.
(Jenn Harris / Los Angeles Times)
It's not as busy as the In-N-Out next door, but there is a constant line on Wednesday nights. I ignore the newer additions to the menu, like the fried chicken sandwich and wraps, and focus on the original sandwiches. I leave with a paper bag full of a classic roast beef, a classic roast beef with cheddar and a classic roast beef and natural cheddar (for an additional charge of $1.09), a small order of curly fries, a Jamocha shake and A quartet. mozzarella sticks. I don't think mozzarella sticks were available on the original menu, but I like mozzarella sticks and never hesitate if I see them on a menu.
I found a seat on the patio and unwrapped the sandwiches under the neon glow of the sign. Although the classic roast beef is advertised as having a sesame seed bun, all three of my sandwiches were served on an onion roll, its top burnished and dotted with flecks of toasted alliums. The parts of the bun that had been toasted before steaming were tough. The untoasted steamed pieces were pleasantly soft.
I never really understood the meaning of “thinly sliced” until that night. The roast beef was cut incredibly thin and the grayish-pink ribbons were almost translucent. The texture was slightly rubbery, like an indistinguishable cold cut. And there was a gush of salty liquid with every bite, without any of the chew I've come to associate with roast beef or any meat.
The beefy natural cheddar steak was topped with a soft slice of waxy cheese and the bottom bun was topped with what the chain calls Red Ranch sauce. It reminded me of an ultra sugary honey barbecue.
From left to right, Arby's Jamocha shake, curly fries, and four-piece mozzarella sticks.
(Jenn Harris / Los Angeles Times)
The classic beef and cheddar swaps out the slice of cheese for a pale sauce that tasted suspiciously like the cheese sauce made with milk and the powder packet from boxes of Kraft Instant Macaroni and Cheese.
Following Stougaard's instructions, I squeezed about half a packet of horse sauce onto each bite. The sting of creamy horseradish exponentially improved everything it touched.
I don't know if I've had nicer or curlier fry. Each featured a tight potato ring. I even counted 10 intact rings in one fry. I was tempted to save it, but decided to eat it. The mozzarella sticks were hard pieces of cheese in the middle surrounded by a thick, fat-saturated breading.
I had a drink of the Jamocha shake, which was advertised as chocolate and coffee flavored. I got to the bottom of the cup without ever detecting the coffee.
Turns out I haven't been sleeping at Arby's all these years. But I'm glad I tried it. And if I'm ever in the mood for some curly fries, creamy horseradish sauce, and a good coffee-chocolate shake that presents itself as chocolate, I know which wagon-style building to visit.
