At the eleventh hour, everyone suddenly wanted to eat at Cole\u2019s<\/a>. Most people, I suspect, have never heard of it, despite its having existed in the same spot, at 118 E. 6th St., since 1908.<\/p>\n As a fellow who\u2019d eaten there a half-dozen times, I told myself it was better to remember Cole\u2019s in its traditional form: half-empty.<\/p>\n 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<\/a>, the chances improved. Still, getting in on a Sunday afternoon doesn\u2019t seem promising.<\/p>\n Arriving at Main and 6th streets, where I\u2019d stood at the end of a long line three weeks earlier, I have an unobstructed view of Cole\u2019s neon sign down the block. The sidewalk is empty. I keep walking. Is Cole\u2019s open?<\/p>\n The front door swings. A family exits.<\/p>\n Cole\u2019s is open.<\/p>\n I walk in. It\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n I share my July experience. The greeter chuckles and says Cole\u2019s at noon had a line to the corner of 6th and Los Angeles streets. Everyone is now inside and served.<\/p>\n He smiles and says: \u201cYou came at the perfect time.\u201d<\/p>\n 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 \u2014 if half a sandwich and a drink that is half coffee qualifies.<\/p>\n I am unable to believe my luck.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n As reading material for Metrolink, my backpack contains Orlando Davidson\u2019s second novel, \u201cNorth of Foothill,\u201d due out in March. He\u2019d mailed me his sequel to 2023\u2019s \u201cBaseline Road\u201d<\/a>\u00a0in manuscript form.<\/p>\n 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\u2019s, I might\u2019ve brought a Raymond Chandler novel.<\/p>\n Still, Davidson\u2019s book, set in 1974, is a noir mystery. I resume where I\u2019d 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.<\/p>\n \u201cThere are advantages to living alone,\u201d Sommes is musing at the top of page 110. \u201cI never had to explain to anybody where I was going and why. There wasn\u2019t 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\u2014-, but who cared? I had work to do.\u201d<\/p>\n We\u2019re 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. \u201cHer figure,\u201d Sommes reports, \u201cis spectacular.\u201d<\/p>\n I continue reading my book alone at the bar, occasionally pushing up my glasses.<\/p>\n Cole\u2019s 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\u2019s no choice at all.<\/p>\n \u201cIce cream?\u201d the bartender asks. \u201cNo, straight,\u201d I reply. She chuckles. \u201cIt\u2019s bar talk,\u201d I explain helpfully. \u201cI like it,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n 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: \u201cSemi Charmed Life\u201d by Third Eye Blind.<\/p>\n Directly in front of me, another bartender cracks an egg carefully over a drink she\u2019s making. I examine the menu to see what drink has an egg white. That would be a whiskey sour.<\/p>\n 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. \u201cIt didn\u2019t want to go,\u201d she remarks.<\/p>\n Separation anxiety is real.<\/p>\n There is a tap on my left shoulder. I turn to my right, where the manager is setting down my pie. \u201cDarn, I thought I got you,\u201d he laments.<\/p>\n The pie is not great, but it\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n I keep reading until deciding an hour at Cole\u2019s is long enough to occupy a seat. Before leaving, I get the manager\u2019s 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?<\/p>\n It\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n \u201cSince we announced we\u2019re pushing it back a month\u2026\u201d he begins.\u00a0\u201cIt\u2019s calmed down?\u201d I suggest. Bingo.<\/p>\n All I can say is that if you show up between 12:45 and 1:45 p.m. last Sunday, you\u2019ll get right in. And have a great time.<\/p>\n brIEfly<\/p>\n Browsing recently at DTLA\u2019s The Last Bookstore, I happened upon copies of Riverside writer Susan Straight<\/a>\u2018s novel \u201cMecca\u201d<\/a> 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.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n Originally Published: August 14, 2025 at 12:39 PM PDT<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"I didn\u2019t expect to be walking toward Cole\u2019s French Dip last Sunday afternoon. But, forgetting the hours at…\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":145906,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5123],"tags":[1582,276,86338,2499,2961,86339,224,6080,5337,50,52],"class_list":{"0":"post-145905","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-los-angeles","8":"tag-ca","9":"tag-california","10":"tag-david-allen-column","11":"tag-downtown-los-angeles","12":"tag-la","13":"tag-local-history","14":"tag-los-angeles","15":"tag-los-angeles-county","16":"tag-losangeles","17":"tag-news","18":"tag-top-stories"},"share_on_mastodon":{"url":"https:\/\/pubeurope.com\/@us\/115028872784504973","error":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/145905","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=145905"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/145905\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/145906"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=145905"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=145905"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=145905"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"Customers](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/IDB-L-ALLEN-COL-0815-2.jpg\")
Customers examine menus or await their orders on Sunday afternoon at Cole\u2019s 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)<\/p>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/IDB-L-ALLEN-COL-0815-3.jpg\")
A half-size pork dip sandwich and cup of au jus await at Cole\u2019s French Dip, a downtown L.A. restaurant and bar that has a claim on having invented the French dip. Cole\u2019s, open since 1908, is due to close in mid-Sept.. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin\/SCNG)<\/p>\n![\"Among](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/IDB-L-ALLEN-COL-0815-4.jpg\")
Among the vintage signs inside Cole\u2019s French Dip: \u201cLadies, Kindly Do Your Soliciting Discreetly.\u201d The restaurant and bar, in a building that was once the terminus for L.A.\u2019s Red Car trolleys, is due to close in mid-Sept.. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin\/SCNG)<\/p>\n