Little Coffee (Power)House
1523 Griffith Park Blvd. (in Silver Lake)
Phone: 323-664-8811 | map | website

I've passed by here many dozens of times without taking a second glance, missing out for the last few years on what should have been my local-est coffee joint.

If people are waiting you'll have to shift around to find room. There's a comfy couch, a couple of small tables that you won't get because someone else's purse, smartphone and laptop are on them, several barstools along the window, and tables outside. At least three patrons will be parked in any of these spots when you arrive and when you leave. One of them will have a dog.

The owner, Julie, and one or two women with arm tats and spritely dresses bustling and hurrying in this space, somehow getting everything done. They do coffee, naturally, almost as a rebuttal to the eternally long line of Intelligentsia down on Sunset, and they do it superbly well. The Iced Hazelnut Mocha is a full-flavored wakeup call; the nice little powdery grit at the bottom feels almost intentional, like a childhood glass of cocoa. I prefer this iced version over the ice-blended mochas. They also do a Spanish Latte, which needs no sweetener.

Do this for your morning, and you'll thank Bianca and me. While you're still yawning, order a BBJ: Bagel, Butter, Jam. Simple, but devious. The bagel, its crust bubbled and brown, is heated and a bit crushed, and the butter (the amount of which depends on who makes it) is outside as well as in, resulting in finger-lickness and a lot of ohmygodding.

There's a Scramble on a Bagel, which is harder to eat but blended into warm simplicity: a folded quilt of scrambled egg, tomato, cream cheese, and a smidge of black pepper. It tends to squeeze out the sides, so don't eat this in the car.

There are other playful items, at least two of which are Elvis-themed (the Elvis Bagel has, as might be expected, peanut butter, banana and honey, and the Elvis Smoothie is mocha with PB & B).

I never thought I'd crave tuna salad. The Tuna Roll at Bossa Nova is something i have a hankering for here and again, but this superior sandwich might be my new favorite. The Tuna Melt (on a bagel or a croissant) is a spicy bully, beige with harissa sauce and little dried peppers. Even a caper or three is tucked away, adding bite. White cheese speckled with red blankets it, along with avocado, tomato, and slivers of red onion.

MorningsNights opens up at seven and closes at 8:30 in the evening, every day. Now that's a reliable independent coffee house.

I have a lot of catching-up to do.

They get Downtown
524 S. Main St. (Downtown between 5th & 6th)
Phone: 213-623-8301 | map | website

On a stretch of Main which manages to juggle wholesale outlets, aging brick buildings pretending to be lofts, and high-end dog spas, populated by thin girls with expensive bags, people just trying to get by, and grumbling homeless, the Nickel Diner is becoming a shining beacon of downtown evolution.

It is down-to-earth, but chefly more than seedy. The decor is newish but has a retro honesty: new vinyl and chipped creamer jugs, shiny dark brown panels and battered tin signs.

For breakfast, before rolling up my sleeves and going to work on the docks*, the 5th & Main is a well-constructed source of fuel.

It's spicy BBQ pork hash, tender shreds of pork with rounded wedges of just-underdone potato. A pair of poached eggs adorn the top, smeary ovoids with yellow goodness waiting to add its soft opinion to the hash. It comes with a sweet red tomato chutney and a drizzle of spicy barbecue sauce.

For less carnivorous pursuits, the Vegan Ranchero delivers much yummunence (I just made that word up). Two cylindrical cakes of tofu, fried just enough to make their surfaces scratchy, are dressed with salsa. The golden exterior barely keeps their contents in check; breaking through with a fork yields a soft blossom of tofu.

Surrounding this is the heirloom house beans, rich and meaty, perfect chili-style beans if I had them in my kitchen. A sliced wedge of avocado rests nearby, and two corn tortillas are folded at either end, tasty but too sodden to perform any taco-creation duty. A few distracted strips of yellow soy cheese colors the dish nicely.

On to lunch. The BLTA is technically a bacon-lettuce-tomato-avocado affair, but more interesting due to its being suffused with a spicy aioli instead of mayonnaise. The bacon is thick and crisp but subdued, the tomato and avocado struggling to be present and adding a tasty cushioning factor. The arugula lettuce is highly successful here, necessary to stand up to the power of the aioli.

The sandwich is buried under a lattice of crispy, whitish shoestring fries that are just fine. However, you won't finish them, because the dessert tray will pass by you at some point, and your eyes will follow it, asking silent questions.

It's been written about already, so I'll let others pontificate on the devilishly crrayyy-zay charms of the Maple Bacon Donut. We have other goals.

For instance, Bianca is automatically in love with well-made red velvet cakes, and the version at the Nickel Diner is a lovely accident: a box of Valrhona chocolate balls had apparently fallen into the frosting, but they were stirred in anyway, and the effect is a properly moist, layered red velvet cake with crunchy ricey bits between frosty layers that are just sweet enough not to hurt anyone. It is insanely, eyes-fluttering-backward good. My only regret is a failed, blurry photo.

While I sputter in disbelief over the divinity of the red velvet cake, I also cannot help but acquire a homemade Ding-Dong. I mean, come on. Ding-Dongs. The king of snack cakes in my personal realm. And these are on. I crack through the chocolate armor to a gently moist, white-striped brown cake, my childhood screaming in envy from across the fence.

Co-owner Kristen Trattner came by to describe the delights, and nodded at my Ding-Dong-induced smile: "This made you wanna watch cartoons, didn't it?"

They make homemade pop tarts too, by the way...

The coffee here is quite good, hot or iced.

Nickel Diner is constantly reconsidering its menu and its hours, but is currently closed Mondays, open at 8 the rest of the week until 11pm, with a brief afternoon break. A large and gated parking structure lurches conveniently across the street.

* I'm slipping into some kind of turn-of-the-last-century industrialized humanity-as-commodity kind of mode here, don't mind me. I've been taking a lot of nineteenth-century literature classes.

Just another lost angel, city of night
8909 Sunset Blvd. (@ San Vicente, in West Hollywood)
Phone: 310-652-3100 | map | website

Please keep all hands and arms inside the bus during this quick tour: Duke's Coffee Shop opened in '68 as part of the Tropicana Motel on Santa Monica Blvd., hence the kitschy signs hanging above the cash register. The Tropicana was demolished, and Duke's moved to Sunset where it replaced London Fog, or maybe Sneaky Pete's*, which explains why the interior looks like it was once a smoke-filled nightclub.

Old faux-wood tables teeter on dingy red carpet worn to paper thinness. The walls are a hodgepodge of movie posters, signed band flyers, and black and white photos; David Bowie and Echo and the Bunnymen glance loftily at Starship Troopers and Urban Dance Squad. Your water appears in old-school butterscotch-colored plastic cups.

Duke's uprooting from its original location sort of dilutes the history flowing through its veins, but still, it's tucked between the Whisky a Go Go and the Cat Club on Sunset, wallowing in Hollywood, unconcerned with whether it's cool or not. It's a dive, and needs no flashiness.

You're here for a late breakfast or an afternoon lunch after last night's shenanigans. For the former, I've had good luck with the Vegan Breakfast Burrito.

It looks woefully dry and scratchy, but put some pico de gallo and Cholula on that and dig into the rich glow of soy chorizo, soft tofu and enough soy cheese to provide cohesion. The hash browns are loosely shredded and grilled nicely, not too burnt. The omelettes are also simply presented but wholesome and puffy; Bianca likes them with tofu, mushrooms, red peppers and a melted square of jack cheese atop.

Lunch is also part of Duke's post-party palliation. The Tomato Basil soup, perhaps unexpected in a humble diner as this, is thick and pumpkin-colored, with a slightly sweet tomato bite like a pasta sauce. Coupled with a Vegan Grilled Cheese sandwich (where somehow they've figured out how to make soy cheese melt and then stop melting) and a handful of thin, crispy sweet potato fries, it makes Bianca happy indeed.

It's a bit inapt to describe the dishes of an L.A. diner by sampling only vegetarian things, so I try a Spicy Blue Cheese Burger, a broad-shouldered madman, custom-ordered with a ghost-white, thumb-thick turkey patty. Crumbled blue cheese hidden under a shredded mass of lettuce adds a sneer to this burger. The bun is shiny and comfortable, and might be egg bread.

When I'm not getting the no-nonsense coffee on ice, the Green Tea Smoothie will do me well, a pile of minty slush that needs no stirring. The chocolate shakes come in a statuesque metal tin, and are what they need to be: a nice raspy-around-the-edges ice cream with a casual tangle of whipped cream from the can.

I realize Duke's is probably trying to reinvent itself into a hipper, more urbane, less "I need some ham and eggs after all that acid" persona; its website has some new graphics and a more conscious attitude toward its history. Duke's is still Duke's, and I don't let it cramp my cultural high; I just go.

* Lots of people say it replaced London Fog, but London Fog was at 8919 Sunset. Or was it? An aerial shot seems to show London Fog where the Melody Salon is now and Sneaky Pete's a little further up. Maybe the addresses were split up into several businesses. I don't know, but whatever the solution to this Hollywood mystery, the fact remains that I was still born almost two decades too late to catch Morrison and the boys telling me about the End.

Our new wellspring of rejuvenation
124 West 4th St., (in the Harlem Place Alley, Downtown)
Phone: 213-617-7006 | map | website

Finding it was like a smile from a long-lost friend, hiding in a dingy alleyway in a particularly San Franciscan manner among the gloomily aged buildings of downtown.

It's an art gallery, a living space, a local coffee house like you remember before the corporate beaneries sprouted, that quietly absorbs the soul of Los Angeles. Small chairs and tables lurch uncertainly in the open space. The tiles show the war wounds of past drywall. Open pipes snake through the ceiling above knobby plaster, as if the building grew here over millions of years. The industrial hum of air conditioning muffles the reggae playing overhead.

They do crêpes here in a big, quesadilla-esque way, a slightly burnt experience that is more savory than fluffy. They have the expected Nutella-or-fruit inclusions, but my current guilty pleasure is the Pizza Crêpe; a thin veneer of marinara brings together pepperoni, salami and mushrooms with mozzarella, cheddar and parmesan. I have a knife but prefer to shred it into wedges with fork and finger.

Sandwiches come on sunbread, a pilipino [sic] pandesal bread with a powdery tang, more sweet than salty. The Tuna Melt is a pillow of cuteness, hidden under a cap of melted pepper jack and OMG good, made zesty with a slice of tomato and light mayo. The lost souls here also do wraps.

There are teas of serious nature here--Yerba Mate, Plum Oolong, French Lemon Gingergrass--but I always dart straight to the blended beverages. The Cookie Monster is a creamy epiphany of a deep asphalt hue, with toddy coffee (concentrated cold-brewed, coffee), vanilla, milk and annihilated Oreos. The Ube Shake is lilac-colored and lighter than The Oinkster, with a smack of sweetness at the finish. Bianca and I drink these far too fast and have to go get a bottle of water to accompany the food.

There are counter goodies, and we are blind to most of them because of the red velvet cupcakes, and ridiculous cookies with Reese's peanut butter cups jutting from them like ancient ruins. While you're considering, peruse the flyers and pamphlets dotting the small table against the wall

Fourth Avenue is one-way going east, so come down Spring and park in one of the public lots. When you're done with your crêpe ritual, consider crossing the street over to Bar 107 and soaking in some kitschery.

When I need a little something better
13565 Ventura Blvd. (east of Woodman)
Phone: 818-385-1448 | map | website

My typical mode of thought:
"Watercress? Even more, Watercress: A Café? Look, I don't even like potpourri, yarn caps and Jane Austen novels. I don't have time to sit for hours in a sun hat with a teabag string dangling from a cup. Where can I get some carnitas around here?"

Since I've been eating in a fairly destructive manner lately, I decide to look for something organically oriented and farmer's market friendly, the culinary equivalent of a spa massage and exfoliation.

Not pretentious as expected, Watercress is a step above a coffee house, like Auntie Em's in Eagle Rock. A chalkboard menu hangs above the coffee prep area. Chocolate walls contrast with white; clean square tables are placed just so with woven reed chairs, producing an overall "Hippie IKEA Roman" effect. The menu still makes too much use of that Papyrus font, but that's a malady from which everyone suffers.

Iced mocha is not on the menu, but they kindly make me one when I ask. It's chocolatey and decadent, which is a descriptor I hate to use*, but it is perfectly made, and just what I need. When I'm not doing coffee I get their lemonade, which I like because it's very lemony, sort of mean and won't let sugar play with it.

Watercress makes a lot of paninis, another warning sign of pretentiousness which they avoid by making them absurdly well. The Prosciutto Panini, for instance, is elegant and inspired, with tenaciously stretchy mozzarella and a robust bite of aged ham. Purpling the bread is a layer of raspberry-jalapeño preserves, which are a "no, honest, this is an awesome combination and you'll have to trust me" concept, sweetness tempered by spark. It is balanced and exotic, like a champion unicycling contortionist.

One would think that the concept of "pressed sandwich" would be incompatible with, say, meatloaf, but somehow they hit a home run with this as well. The Homemade (Turkey) Meatloaf Panini is almost a turkey-salad texture, with dijon mustard on pressed pumpernickel. Watercress's bread is delivered fresh daily, and it's noticeable. The sandwiches come with salad greens topped with a tangy, nut-brown vinaigrette, sharp and opinionated but not bitter.

Be sure to get one of Christian's cookies: thin, pliable discs of warm bliss, or as the friendly individual behind the counter tells me, "like crack."

* It's a terribly overused word, universally spouted while gushing over desserts. Especially hot fudge: "ZOMG try this DECadent hot FUDGE cake. It's SINful." Meh. Come to think of it, I think it used to be pronounced de-CAY-dent. I learned this from a voiceover seminar taught by June Foray, and she's the voice of Rocky the Squirrel and a goddess, so I accept this as truth, and so should you. Back to your normally scheduled review.

An old friend we just met
206 W. Colorado Blvd. (between Brand and Central, in Glendale)
Phone: 818-246-0244 | map | website

Achieving kitsch nobility without an ounce of Googie architecture or neon, Foxy's holds out across the street from the abominable Americana.

The building is a hulking A-frame of deep brown wood; an inverted peaked ceiling creates the effect of having dropped a ship's keel onto a ski lodge. Twin brass-hood fireplaces gleam from each end, like we're in an Anglo-Saxon longhouse and Grendel's mom is bringing over cookies. The ample covered patio is ideal for large groups.

Brutal iron chandeliers and orange lamps in iron wall sconces further the ambiance, although '80s-era blonde wood furniture sort of knocks it ajar. A brawny white bagel toaster sits at each booth, along with a bowl of about twenty-five tubs of Half & Half.

Foxy's has been one of those not-so-hidden Glendale treasures since three years before I was born*, and since Chef Alfredo started in 1979, they've been doing the sandwiches/burgers/wraps/melts/croissants/breakfasts/salads/faux-Mexican thing with a great deal of flair. It's comfort food, done somehow better than the majority, its demeanor like a diner, the menu vast like a deli.

The soups strike me as spectacularly homemade. The Cream of Mushroom soup? Sweet Lord. I think it's the best CoM soup I can remember, lush and thick with a long finish. The mushrooms seem fresh and hand-cut, not canned. And there's a "Spaghetti and Meatballs" soup? Okay, I'll bite. It's not dissimilar to a cup of albondigas, except with noodles, and the meatballs are looser and more pasta-style. I notice how very tomato-rich it is without being salty.

The crab cakes are light on batter and smooth as a crooner, needing no dipping sauce. The simple Chicken Sandwich could use a little mustard and barely fits on the round whole wheat bun, but otherwise its thick strips of slightly charred chicken meld grandly with the Swiss cheese, with avocado for padding. The Chili & Avocado Melt is a concoction of meat chili, refried beans, tomatoes, diced onions, and more of those fresh mushrooms piled on a flour tortilla, in a bowl with tortilla chips dotted about like crispy monoliths. It's like chilaquiles, but, um, not. It's sort of a "chili and veggies on the run from the law" dish.

For sides, Foxy's has homemade potato chips, resplendently crunchy and airy and which seem "healthy" in a tasty but nonaddictive sense. The fries are airy and crisp too. Neither is heavy on the sodium.

Let's see... Barbacoa? For breakfast or lunch? Indeed. A murky, spicy tangle of shredded beef seasoned heavily with an acidic, saucy tang, it would do quite well on a sandwich. It's surrounded by fairly good rice and plump refried beans with a web of melted cheese.

Ah, a Cappuccino milkshake. It has a deep chocolate presence, and hides actual coffee beans to happily crunch until your heart starts beating like a pair of timbales.

What else... Carne asada Mondays for $5.95? Hells yeah.

Foxy's opens early, stays open until 11 most days, 10 on Sunday and I think midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, but that's not what their website says. However, the website starts playing Dean Martin's "Volare" when it loads, so I forgive them.

* That's two years after Tom & Jerry first aired, and two years before Monty Python.