The Duchy of Du-par’s

Everybody goes to the coffeeshop chain Du-par’s, or used to, anyway. It’s the kingdom of pancakes and the grand duchy of French toast, the place where your grandparents took you for chicken-salad sandwiches on raisin bread.

Neither quality-obsessed like Ship’s nor idiosyncratically funky like Burbank’s Eat N’ Park, neither homey like John O’ Groats nor impersonal like Denny’s, a Du-par’s is respectable, busy, more expensive than you might expect, and a near-anthology of ‘40s tearoom cooking. There are big, Frisbee-shaped omelets gilded with American cheese, soft rolls as large as spaniel ears, patty melts and chef salads, Swedish meatballs on Wednesdays and roast turkey with dressing. Coconut-cream pie is just excellent.

When I was a Du-par’s regular, I’d mostly go to the one on the Miracle Mile that got torn down a few years ago, and a short-lived branch near Bullocks Wilshire. A cup of coffee and an order of date-nut bread with cream cheese filled an afternoon. When those branches closed, I almost forgot about the chain.

The Studio City place is a clubhouse for gaffers in the early morning and high-school kids late at night, screenwriters pounding on PowerBooks, young moms with strollers, gray-haired couples holding hands, practically everybody in the Valley who prefers coffee with cream to grande skinny lattes--the thin veneer of yuppies having been stripped off by the branch of the Daily Grill next door.

Last week I had Swiss steak smothered in a brown sauce and served with green beans, a cup of grayish, hammy split pea soup and a giant mound of mashed potatoes. I sort of wished I had gotten the French toast instead. It’s not that anything was wrong with the Swiss steak exactly--I would compare it very favorably to the HungryMan Salisbury Steak Dinner--but the French toast looked pretty good when the woman at the next table got a side of it with her fried chicken.

At the Farmers Market Du-par’s, where you gaze into what in Los Angeles constituted an open kitchen before Spago, some of the regulars look as if they’ve been sitting at the same table since Governor Reagan’s first term. (On weekend mornings, the restaurant is, as a friend puts it, filled with young women in love and men who need pancakes.)

The last time I was in the Farmers Market restaurant, a tourist in a John Deere cap ordered a guacamole burger, pronouncing the word as if it rhymed with “Whack-a-Mole,” and the waitress took the order without blinking. Sometimes it’s difficult to believe this Du-Par’s is just across the street from the Olive.

“Ma’am,” I say to the waitress. “What’s Danish meatloaf?”

She thinks a second. “That’s meatloaf,” she says, “with gravy.”

So I try the Welsh rarebit, a bland, smooth cheese sauce spooned over a toasted English muffin and garnished with a watery sliced tomato. My friend Angela orders French toast, onion rings (doughy), canary-colored chicken pot pie, a side of hash browns, and a couple of glasses of orange juice.

“That’s probably enough food,” I say.

“But the special is macaroni and cheese,” she says, “and you’ve got to order the Nep-Tuna salad.”

It’s not easy for two people to spend $50 at Du-par’s, but I think we manage that afternoon.

* Du-par’s

12036 Ventura Blvd., Studio City, (818) 466-4437; also in Farmers Market, 3rd Street at Fairfax Avenue, Los Angeles, (213) 933-8446; Lexington Drive at Brand Boulevard, Glendale, (818) 240-5454. Open seven days.