Filet of Soles

Wolfgang Puck and Hans Rockenwagner wear them. Claude Segal clomps around the kitchen at Drai’s in a pair. So does JiRaffe’s Raphael Lunetta. Along with a toque, a wire whisk and a breathtaking sense of entitlement, a pair of clogs purchased at Clog-Master--on La Cienega Boulevard just north of the Beverly Center--is now a fixture in the batterie de cuisine of L.A. chefs.

For more than 20 years, Cecilia Tidlund, Clog-Master’s Swedish-born owner, has shod everyone from superstars like Puck to the two young men happily pacing the store today in their new black clogs. “They work at a restaurant in San Diego,” Tidlund says. “They drove all the way up here because the chef where they work swears by my clogs.” Tidlund’s clogs are custom-made to her specifications; the most popular style with restaurant professionals, she says, is black leather with a wood base and nonslip sole, though she also sells them in purple, green and light pink.

Clogs are not new to the kitchen. In fact, clogs are not new, period. According to Tidlund, archeologists in Italy discovered clogs that were worn around AD 3. European chefs, who introduced the shoes to American kitchens, have long favored clogs for comfort and safety. “If you spill hot oil, you can slip your foot out and have cool water on the burn immediately,” Tidlund points out.

Tidlund is famous for her religious adherence to proper fit. “”May I look at you?” she asks, motioning to my feet. I remove my shoes, and after a moment staring at my socks, Tidlund calls to Paul, her assistant, “Bring out 09-13-36.” Paul places the black clogs in front of me and I put them on. They feel wonderful. Better than wonderful. They feel the way an expensive leather seat in a sports car feels when you slip behind the wheel. I picture myself slaving over an eight-burner Viking while my feet slumber in these inexplicably comfortable shoes.

Tidlund is not satisfied. “Walk around,” she commands. Her eyes follow my feet across the room and she frowns. “This pair would be instant gratification, but they’re a little too long. When the leather stretches, eventually the clogs will get too big.”

“That’s what we’re famous for,” declares the woman who 20 years ago starting putting chefs and clogs together like so much garlic and olive oil. “Looking into the future and knowing what’s going to happen.”