The Scene : Simply Irresistible

“I’m glad they did this, man” a muscular 20-year-old tells his buddy as they wait in line to place their order. “Most of the spots I know like this are out in the Valley.” His friend nods in agreement and reaches for a “ginseng boost” from the refrigerated display case.

We’re standing in the middle of the new Simply Wholesome at Slauson Avenue and Overhill Drive. Last month, the health food restaurant--long a Windsor Hills landmark--moved across Slauson into what had once been a Wichstand. The old restaurant was no bigger than a closet and the wait was always long. The new quarters have 5,000 square feet of indoor and outdoor dining space as well as an aerobics room and a produce market. With 35 more tables and twice as many employees, owners Percell and Lystra Keeling had hoped that they would be able to cut down the lines. But from the beginning, the new restaurant has been jammed.

After 15 minutes, I take my usual seat beside a picture window overlooking Slauson and dig into a tofu scrambled breakfast. A middle-aged woman at the table across from mine asks where I bought my copy of the Los Angeles Sentinel. When I tell her that they sell them here, she instructs her husband to fetch one. Turning her attention back to me, she says, “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

For a second, I’m not sure what she’s referring to. The weather? Her husband’s obedience? But she means the palm trees, the geranium flower beds, the airy dining area. “We’ve just opened a West Angeles City Library too,” she twinkles. Her red corsage perfectly matches her shiny red pumps and purse as well as her cherry lipstick and nails. The restaurant and library are one and the same in her mind: Crisp new books. Healthy food. A psychological haven as well as a culinary one. A chance to shatter the myth that says colored folk must--genetically, biologically and instinctively--prefer ham hocks and chitterlings to, say, fruit shakes.

A cluster of teenage boys gathers around four tables. One works a tuna sandwich and a bag of chips, while tap-tapping his foot to the reggae beat on the sound system. Another talks in low tones into a cellular phone. A boy who barely reaches the counter top peels three singles from a roll of bills and exchanges them for a slice of freshly baked carrot cake. “When I was his age,” owner Percell Keeling says, “I wouldn’t know what to do with a dollar. They come in so grown nowadays.”

In the adjoining health food market, a young charmer rests the upper half of his body across the check-out counter as he studies the label on a two-inch vial. A half-dozen customers are scattered throughout the store--checking out the produce, scanning the latest issue of Jet. No one is in a hurry to be rung up.

“What does it do?” the young man asks, holding the vial between his index finger and thumb.

The cashier, a cheery-faced teen, hunches her shoulders up and back down again. “It gives you energy,” she says.

“But what kind of energy?” Her hands make exasperated mini-circles in the air. “Whatever kind you need.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it. A new library. Healthy food. And any kind of energy you need, too?