Philippe The Original

The Details:

1001 N Alameda St
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(888) 328-1404
Mon-Sun 6am-10pm
Cash Only

The Los Angeles Foodie Rating:

5 out of 5

The Summary:

Philippe’s is my favorite restaurant in Los Angeles. This should have been the first review ever to appear on this site, but I’ve been putting it off for fear of not doing the place justice. In my opinion, everything about Philippe’s is good including the food, the building, the location, and the people. If you don’t live downtown, it’s worth making a special trip. You’ll get more out of it than just a good meal. Phillipe’s serves happiness. If you don’t believe me, stand in line and watch each diner as they receive their trays filled with french dips, salads and pies. Every one of them will walk away toward the seating area with a big silly smile on his face. It’s true.

The Place:

Let’s get pronunciation out of the way. The full name of the restaurant is, of course, Philippe The Original. But many people refer to it as either Philippe’s (pronounced “phil-eeps”) or Philippe’s (pronounced “phil-ee-pays”). All of my friends, including the native Southern Californians who first introduced me to Philippe’s six years ago call it “phil-ee-pays,” so that’s what I call it too. It was originally opened in 1908 and recently celebrated its 100th anniversary. But in 1951 Philippe’s moved to its current location to make way for the then-new 101 freeway. The new location is rumored to have once housed a brothel, but I have never seen that fact verified. It makes sense if you have ever been upstairs because the series of small rooms would have been ideal for short-term visits.

The ladies who serve the food are called “Carvers,” and each Carver has her own line. If you want your food faster and you aren’t ordering a sandwich, line up at the express counter at the far right. Here you can order drinks, sides, and anything else on the menu that isn’t a sandwich. Be prepared to wait in a line on weekends and before Dodgers games, but Philippe’s is efficient, so you won’t be waiting for very long.

It’s true that there is sawdust on the floors, and all of the seating is community-style with long tables and benches. This kind of dining always encourages conversations about the neighborhood (Chinatown) and other Los Angeles landmarks. The is a small train museum all the way in the back, and a great old-fashioned candy and news counter is located near the entrance. Philippe’s is cash-only, but there is an ATM on the premises.

The Food:

Like Coles Pacific Electric Buffet, Philippe’s claims ownership of the invention of the french dip sandwich. It’s unlikely that this debate will be settled any time soon, but that’s OK. Every town should have a food feud. If you have never been, try the double-dipped beef sandwich with blue cheese. My ideal plate also includes a pickled egg (pickled in beet juice), cucumber pickles, cole slaw, iced tea (along with the lemonade, still just 25 cents), and occasionally a cup of coffee (still only 9 cents). Don’t forget to add some “hot but good” mustard, available at every table. The health department finally got after Philippe’s (for better or for worse), so the iconic mustard pots and spoons are no longer on every table. Instead you’ll find squirt bottles of the potent stuff.

Nearly everything is made fresh, on-site. The only notable exception is the chili, which is Dolores brand. Wine and beer are served.

The Service:

Being served at Philippe’s is like being served by your grandparents (if your grandparents like you). The ladies behind the counter are friendly, but at the same time, they go about assembling your order in an efficient and no-nonsense fashion. For the most part, the same people have been working there for the six years that I’ve frequented the place, and I suspect many of them pre-date me quite significantly. Those familiar faces contribute immeasurably to the warm sense of community and family that merely stepping into Philippe’s stirs inside its regulars.

Personally, one of my favorite moments is when the man (always the same man, as far as my experience indicates, though I fear I’ve never asked his name) emerges from the back with a giant brown paper bag, heaping with fresh baked rolls. He bustles from station to station, replenishing the Carvers’ bread supplies. Even if I’m not initially planning on ordering a sandwich that day, his mere appearance is usually enough to change my mind.