Bennett: No cloth napkins here, just homey nostalgia, carbs and sauce
Everyone who lives near an Old Spaghetti Factory is inevitably flush with deep-rooted memories of gorging on carbs and red sauce at the old-school Italian(ish) chain.
More curious, however, is the fact that those of us who harbor those deep-rooted memories swear that the Old Spaghetti Factory is a uniquely hometown institution, something that could only exist in our city, that could only have invented our favorite pasta dish, that could only have welcomed our family and friends into its dimly lit alternate universe, that could only occupy that one historic building that it’s always occupied.
And these thoughts all exist, even after we dine inside similarly refurbished trolley cars at Old Spaghetti Factories in other cities — the ones in other counties and other states — while acknowledging that the families there experience the same ornate, wood-paneled vintage charm and three-course meal deals that continue to keep us coming back to our own location.
In an era when chain restaurants still plop the same pre-fab, turn-key-ready versions of their regionally nonspecific concepts into soulless shopping centers across the country, the Old Spaghetti Factory continues to be a harbinger of nostalgia and comfort that feels like home.
That’s how it was for me when I grew up near the now-shuttered one in Hollywood, and it was the same when I moved to Orange County and started having Sunday dinners with my then-boyfriend’s family at the one built into the old Fullerton train depot. It continues to be true as my recent cravings for the warm embrace of a heaping plate of mizithra and brown butter pasta found me back at the sprawling Fullerton location or O.C.’s only other Old Spaghetti Factory, in Newport Beach.
It doesn’t matter that I am a third-generation Italian American who only eats like a true Sicilian on Christmas Eve (the rest of the year, my Boyle Heights-born grandmother cooks better Mexican than Italian food). It didn’t matter that my ex’s family was about as doughy white as a Utah bakery. It definitely doesn’t matter that the friends I’ve taken with me on my recent quests for noodles and sauce are Vietnamese, Latino, black and everything in between.
There’s something beautiful in how the Old Spaghetti Factory has turned my dreams of Italian-style family dining into a universal American pastime over the last 48 years. Unlike the Olive Garden — which tries way too hard with a constantly reinvented menu that still somehow just blankets every dish in mozzarella cheese and charges Red Lobster prices — and unlike the hyper-corporate behemoth of Buca Di Beppo — which defends its exorbitant prices with sharing portions while hammering its fake Italian roots over your head by surrounding you with a movie set made from thousands of stock photos — the Portland-founded Old Spaghetti Factory has always stayed true to itself (even if being itself sometimes means looking like a dusty Palermo Hogwarts).
The secret partially lies in the red velvet armchairs, fake Tiffany lamps and electric candelabras that create an air of faux luxury amid intimate pockets of tables at which you dine. This feeling of part-way-to-opulence is compounded by a once-common offering that’s now available only from high-end kitchens: a filling multi-course setup that comes standard with every entree ordered.
For less than the cost of a burger and fries at most restaurants, Old Spaghetti Factory still promises all-inclusive three-course meals that come with a minestrone soup or side salad to start and a cup of partially melted spumoni ice cream for dessert. In between, you’ll likely annihilate one of the many Italian classics (like lasagna and ravioli) or plates of noodles topped with one (or two or three) of the dozen different sauces. If you count the wooden platter of crusty bread that comes before you order, it’s almost a four-course meal. Consider one of the colorful, creamy Italian sodas, served in a souvenir cup like the mai tais at Tony’s on the Pier in Redondo Beach, and it veers into five.
Who cares if the tomato sauces probably come from a can or the salad is solid iceberg lettuce? The Old Spaghetti Factory is not where I’ve ever gone for cloth napkins or locally sourced, chef-driven cuisine. (If the surprisingly decent wine cellar was anything more than a fridge by the hostess stand lined with rose colored neon lights, I would be disappointed.)
In fact, besides my mild obsession with the Greek mizithra cheese that comes unmelted and slatered in sweet salty butter in my favorite pasta dish, I’m not really traveling there for the food at all. For a chain restaurant that’s remained basically unchanged for nearly a half century, the Old Spaghetti Factory still delivers on its most important lures — a place for getting nostalgic, feeling fancy on a budget and making more deep-rooted memories while gorging on carbs and sauce.
SARAH BENNETT is a freelance journalist covering food, drink, music, culture and more. She is the former food editor at L.A. Weekly and a founding editor of Beer Paper L.A. Follow her on Twitter @thesarahbennett.