A private table in the corner of a nice dining room can never match the charm of a seat at the bar. Alone or with a date, social formalities are more relaxed on a stool, elbows resting on the bar.
Gaps in conversation feel less unbearable when your attention is occupied by other things: the bartender tending bar, the birthday drinks, the couple fighting, and the old man muttering to himself as he struggles with a crossword puzzle.
I appreciate the intimacy with the person serving my drinks and the sincere effort made to connect.
The surroundings and liquid courage give me a level of confidence rarely found outside of a Sabrina Carpenter song about low-quality caffeinated drinks. At the bar, my loved ones are on vacation.
This is the mindset I adopt in the dark, wood-paneled bar of Lawry's The Prime Rib on La Cienega Boulevard. It's a bar I've been frequenting since I was 8 years old. Before you start questioning my parents, hear me out.
This 86-year-old temple to prime rib was the place we went to celebrate birthdays and other milestones. It's as much a part of Los Angeles as street signs and movie studios. Was there a grander way to celebrate in the '90s than with a 600-pound silver cart full of standing beef ribs driven by a master carver in a chef's hat? Waitresses served frozen bowls of salad to the table! They called you “honey” and “sweetie” and wore brown dresses with white aprons and matching hats.
I can't recall an evening at Lawry's that didn't start with a visit to the bar. Most of my extended family are not capable of being punctual, so my immediate family would often wait at the bar for the rest of our group to arrive.
Crispy trout balls with smoked trout caviar are served at Lawry's bar.
(Palm + Ocean)
It was the most magical place, with a soundtrack of ice clinking in cocktail shakers, glamorous adults mingling, and enough free self-serve dumplings to ruin your appetite for dinner.
The meatballs were removed from the bar about seven years ago. Last week, my waiter told me it had something to do with all the people leaving with boxes full of them.
This sparked outrage and a Change.org petition to bring them back into use. David Kramer, one of six people who signed the online petition in 2016, wrote: “What am I supposed to do while waiting for my table? Not eat meatballs?!?!?!”
I feel you, David, but you can still get a complimentary plate of chips and, as a reward, a menu of bar food that is not allowed in the main dining room.
Here you'll find the prime rib katsu sando, which was introduced to the bar in early May. The 6-ounce cut of certified Angus beef prime rib is breaded with panko breadcrumbs and deep-fried. Though the exterior is crispy, the meat is still the luxurious hunk of beef you've come to expect from Lawry's, dressed in a sweet katsu sauce and sandwiched between two slices of thick, toasted pain de mie with the rinds cut off. It's cut into four large squares and finished with curls of fresh horseradish.
The horseradish hits like an electric shock and fades as it hits the soft bread and buttery meat. Cut into neat, giant quarters, it's like eating a tea sandwich meant for Shrek.
If you’re looking for something a little less refined and a lot more complicated to eat, the prime rib sandwich is guaranteed to get a splash or two of gravy on your shirt. The 6 ounces of prime rib are hand-cut into thin strips, buried under a siege of caramelized onions and melted Gruyere cheese. It’s served on a toasted bun along with a gravy boat of the restaurant’s signature sauce for dipping.
Lawry's The Prime Rib Sandwich.
(Jenn Harris/Los Angeles Times)
Bartenders have superhuman hearing and may bring you a freshly made martini with meat and potatoes shortly after you tell your date you want another. Or maybe they can simply read minds.
I'm not as particular about my vodka martinis as others, and I order this one mostly for the garnish. Floating in the chilled glass of Chopin Potato Vodka are three green olives stuffed with squares of prime rib.
For vegetarians, there are potato croquettes the size of giant Lego pieces, with impenetrable shells like crispy potato fortresses and a soft, shredded interior. You can also order one of the rotating salads, but without the one served at the table.
In 2018, the restaurant underwent some major design changes that included the creation of a window from the bar to the main dining room, visible behind the wall of liquor. You can see through it to the great room, catching just the glimpse of one of the meat carts. But the best view is from the two seats at the far right of the bar. From here, you can see the waiters dressed in brown smocks coming to collect drink orders from their tables at the service window.
There is live music on Fridays, but I never go to hear Ed Sheeran covers. I prefer weekdays, when I can listen to myself, there are never too many people and time stands still.
I would happily die on a Lawry-tufted leather barstool and embrace an endless procession of martinis and prime rib sandwiches in the afterlife.
