At Phil’s Real-Retro Diner, Noshing an Idiot’s Mish Mosh

“First time here?” the waitress said. “Everybody likes this.”

Wendy Hong speaks in an accent thick with her native Korea. She pointed at an item on the menu called “mish mosh.” Here at Phil’s Diner, $3.95 will get you “home fried potatoes, diced ham, salami, bologna, pastrami, American and Swiss cheese, 2 eggs, all scrambled together.”

Sounded tasty, but so did the “idiots’ mish mosh.” For just 40 cents more, I could get a mish mosh “with fresh spinach and fresh mushroom.” Now, that’s health food. As Popeye put it: “I’m strong to de finish, cuz I eat me spinach.”

Forty cents, I figured, was a small price to counteract the cholesterol and make my Olive Oyl happy. Now, such reasoning may not survive analysis, but clear thinking is difficult when your stomach’s grumbling. And it is only now, in retrospect, that I understand how this dish got its name. The sound of Wendy’s voice, calling out the order to her husband, the cook, echoes like an insult:

“ Idiot! “

*

Perhaps I should have told Wendy, “Go to hell.” But then, she would have just served me the “go-to-hell omelet.” The go-to-hell might be good, but the idiot was downright delectable.

Tucked away in a semi-industrial section of North Hollywood, Phil’s Diner is a semi-famous semi-secret among the eateries of Los Angeles. In this age of faux retro, Phil’s doesn’t have a phony bone in its body. You’ll find it on Chandler just east of Lankershim beneath a weather-beaten sign that lost its neon years ago. It’s a long, narrow, pink place that was built in the 1920s to resemble a railroad dining car.

The history is a little murky, but according to a 14-year-old newspaper article displayed on the wall, Phil’s first opened for business near the corner of Ventura Boulevard and Lankershim before it was relocated for freeway construction. Although the location may not be original, just about everything else is, from the arched oak-paneled ceiling to the French tile floors. The newest thing here might be the late ‘60s vintage pinball machine that occupies a corner, out of order. It’s been suggested that the decor was “preserved” by a succession of owners. Then again, maybe they were just too cheap to remodel. Cracks and cuts in the green vinyl stools have been sutured with masking tape. Phil’s just reeks of authenticity.

Hollywood discovered this diner long ago. The morning I dropped by, movie makers were scheduled to shoot here in the afternoon. Charles (Phil) Hong, whose accent is every bit as thick as his wife’s, takes it in stride.

“A lot of movies made here. ‘Hart to Hart,’ ‘White Shadow,’ ‘Friday the 13th,’ ‘Lou Grant.’ ” Then he paused and furrowed his brow. “Lou Grant was the actor. I don’t know the title.”

Phil Everly went solo with this diner. On the yellow wall is a framed gatefold album cover for the LP “Phil’s Diner.” The front shows the singer posed outside; the back shows him inside the diner. “Customer gave that to me,” Charles said. “That was before we came.”

Like so many little landmarks of commerce, Phil’s sells its own T-shirts. The slogan seems a bit off. “Extra ordinarily fine food,” it says. Do you think they meant extraordinarily ?

Charles acquired his business and his nickname 18 years ago, shortly after he and his wife immigrated to Los Angeles. Every Monday through Saturday, they rise and buy fresh vegetables on their way from their West Hills home to the diner, serving a loyal following of customers who live and work nearby. They also get a steady stream of first-timers like me, who’ve been intrigued by word of mouth or Phil’s occasional press clippings.

“Friendliest Heartburn” is how the L.A. Weekly summed up Phil’s in its annual “Best of L.A.” issue. “The signs--and even the window shades--hark back to the ‘40s, and are seasoned with a fine patina of grime,” the Weekly wrote.

“Phil’s remains the well-kept secret of truckers, plumbers, auto mechanics and movie-studio techs. . . . The minute regulars walk through the door, ingredients for their usual orders hit the stove . . . all without anyone saying a word. It’s that kind of place.”

David George, 26, and Kris Olin, 22, vouched for that. For six months, they’d been coming two or three times a week from their lunch break in their computer accounting classes at Singer Business College. “We only have 25 minutes for lunch, and the food’s excellent. It’s fast food, but it’s like home food,” Olin explained. “He knows what all his customers want.”

The L.A. Weekly captured the spirit, but there was one problem. Determined to chronicle L.A.’s best over a 24-hour time period, the Weekly recommended the diner for the 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. time slot. Actually, Phil’s doesn’t open until 9 a.m. It closes at 3 p.m. And it’s been that way for a long, long time.

The quirkiness of the hours serves the Hongs’ lifestyle. When they took over Phil’s, its hours were 7 a.m. to 2 p.m., but, as Wendy explained, they couldn’t get the kids ready for school and buy fresh vegetables at the same time. Now the kids are grown, but the Hongs, after 28 years of marriage, seem set in their ways. Located just a few blocks from the theaters and coffeehouses of North Hollywood’s touted NoHo Art District, Phil’s could probably do decent business over longer hours, but the Hongs seem content with the way things are.

Charles, who’ll turn 60 in a few months, figures he’ll keep at it a few more years. But if the right person walks through the door . . .

*

It’s not hard to imagine Bohemian night crawlers lined up in the wee hours waiting for seats at the counter. After all, you can’t get Phil’s steak sandwich at Eagles or Insomnia or the Boom Boom Room.

No, it’s not hard to imagine Phil’s getting too hip for its own good. Popularity ruins a lot of good things.

I was finishing my second cup of coffee when another customer walked in.

“Hey, long time no see,” Charles called out. “Idiot?”

He was right.

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday.