RESTAURANT REVIEW : New Beadles Wins Uncle Jack’s OK

My Uncle Jack, a retired management wizard who now consults all over the world, is furious that the old Beadles Cafeteria in Pasadena is gone. “That place had atmosphere and history, and when you get to be my age, you appreciate those things. Not everything has to be brand spanking new.” When I told him that the whole block had been torn down, he winced. “You kids used to love that long wooden corridor you had to walk through to get your tray,” he said. “You used to call it the monster’s tunnel. You remember that?” I did.

“What do I want to go to a new Beadles for?” he kept ranting. “I know what happens when restaurants move and remodel. They get an inflated view of themselves. They hike up the prices. They cut corners on quality. They’ve got loans to pay off, contractors to settle with. And who do you think absorbs those costs? Who else? You and me and all the pensioners, that’s who.”

His mood didn’t improve any when I pulled up into the parking structure under Beadles’ new building--gone was the old parking lot with its familiar staff of valets who gallantly escorted the elderly and infirm to the cafeteria door. “I always lose my car in these places,” he grumbled.

The elevator door slid open to a bright new room. Gone were the ravelled edges, the years of cooking smells, all the oldness. Still, this well-lit, spanking-new hall was unmistakably Beadles. You know how we could tell? By the food and the service, and by the clientele.

New green signboards announced the day’s menu in easy-to-read white letters. Still entrenched were the turkeys and roasts and hams carved on the spot, the poached salmon steaks and the chicken croquettes, the lamb stew, egg foo young, baked beans. . . . The assortment may vary day to day, but the basic flavor never shifts; this is the food so many of us were raised on--homeland, heartland food. PTA potluck food, church social food, grandma’s food. June Cleaver’s personal repertoire.

We threaded our way through the new wooden maze. As I took a tray and a bundle of silver rolled in a napkin, I became aware of a pressure just under my left shoulder blade. It was Uncle Jack’s elbow nudging me along. He had his eye on the last wedge of what we’ve always called jewel Jell-O: multicolored Jell-O cubes suspended in a sour cream-lemon Jell-O base. The server was just coming to help us, but Uncle Jack’s arm snaked in and snagged his prize before she got there.

I was already suffering with my standard Beadles’ malady--indecision. I love Beadles’ short ribs more than anything else offered, but they only appear once in a blue moon. When there are no short ribs, I have to decide among a dozen other offerings, and if I’m not up to the task I always settle for the same thing: a consistently definitive macaroni and cheese and whatever vegetable is fresh, not frozen. I thought fast and picked the salmon steak. And macaroni and cheese. Uncle Jack took a plate of very rare roast beef and mashed potatoes.

“See, Uncle Jack,” I said as we sat down. “The prices haven’t gone up. The food’s the same.”

He frowned and grudgingly agreed. “Yeah. They must have gotten some kind of redevelopment subsidy to build this place.”

Whatever complexity may be lacking in Beadles’ food, is amply compensated for in Beadles’ clientele. Here, as in the old Beadles, the Human Comedy plays nonstop, seven days a week, but the light’s brighter, all the better to see that there are families of every size and color, old couples, dating couples, and odd couples. There’s Mr. RTD drinking his coffee reading his romance novels, and displaying his thick stacks of bus schedules. There are hairdos from the ‘40s and hairdos from Mars. There are ancient dapper gents and elegant older ladies and young babies throwing spoons on the floor. In one evening at Beadles, I see my English teacher from the seventh grade and a famous artist whose work I’ve always admired.

Uncle Jack and I ate in silence, except for the clattering of skirmishing forks when he tried to spear a chunk of my truly delicious salmon. His roast beef was blood rare and helped out by horseradish. The Jell-O was sweet, the macaroni and cheese just the bit of childhood heaven it always was. Uncle Jack downed a slice of gooseberry pie, went to get us some coffee and came back with a huge wedge of Boston Cream Pie. “For a buck twenty-five, I couldn’t pass it up,” he said. He sat, leaned across the table, and whispered, “You know, this place gets a few years on it, a little patina of age, and it’ll be as good as ever.”

Beadles, 825 E. Green St., Pasadena, (818) 796-3618. Open daily 11 a.m. to 7:45 p.m. No credit cards accepted, check or cash only. No alcoholic beverages.

Recommended dishes: macaroni and cheese, 90 cents; jewel Jell-O, 85 cents; baked salmon, $7.50.