Popovers and Panties

Some time ago I interviewed Marion Cunningham, author of the Fannie Farmer Cookbook, among many others, and an ardent spokesperson for home cooking. In the course of several hours, we talked about food in many different capacities, and one of the more surprising revelations of the day had to do with where to get the best hot dog. Cunningham swore by the hot dogs at Costco — the kosher polish sausages. Some friends had taken her there specifically to try one. Had I ever had one? I was a Costco member, but no, I’d never partaken of their Hebrew National dog, Polish or otherwise.

Location Info

Map

Barney Greengrass Restaurant

9570 Wilshire Blvd. 5th floor
Beverly Hills, CA 90212

Category: Restaurant > Deli

Region: Beverly Hills

Photos

2 user reviews	Write A Review
Save to foursquare

Mauro's Cafe

8112 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90046

Category: Restaurant > Coffeehouse

Region: West Hollywood

Related Content

• Happy Hour: Hyperion Public in Silver Lake Happy Wings!
  April 24, 2013
• DUI Checkpoints Target Silver Lake Hipsters, South L.A. Drivers
  May 31, 2013
• Community Mixer at Cliff's Edge in Silver Lake This Weekend
  May 30, 2013
• Take The Bike Train to Work, L.A.
  May 21, 2013
• Eastside vs. Westside: 5 Ways of Looking At It
  April 30, 2013

More About

• Marion Cunningham
• Mariposa
• Beverly Hills (California)
• Eating Out
• Foods

I should, she advised. I might like it, especially if I liked hot dogs.

On my next visit to Costco, I ate one. And now, every visit to Costco includes an ongoing internal debate about whether or not I can afford the fat grams for the Polish dog. They are terrific-tasting dogs — but they are not low-fat. They are, however, a bargain: for $1.50, you get a hot dog or a Polish dog and a 20 oz. refillable soda. Foil-wrapped and steamed till the bun is soft, these plump dogs can be doctored with sweet relish, catsup, two kinds of mustard and onions.

Other people have other Costco passions: One person I know loves the pizza slices, and a 6-year-old friend of mine always has to leave with a frozen lemonade. One of the frustrations surrounding the Costco hot dog is, after deciding to have one, having to wait in line while people order enough pizzas to feed small armies.

Of course, you don’t have to visit the concession to eat at Costco. The vast warehouse markets are famous for their free samples. On any given day, you might find rotisserie chicken, baby-back ribs, a bakery item or two, and some kind of reconstituted powdered drink. The huge cluster by the frozen-food case? They’re waiting for the toaster oven to disgorge samples of Wolfgang Puck’s four-cheese or barbecued-chicken pizza.

When I’m standing in a checkout line, and the woman ahead of me has spent 10 minutes rummaging in her duffel-bag-size purse for her Costco card, the light at the end of a tunnel, the island of sanity on the horizon, the great pending reward, is a Polish dog, relish and yellow mustard, and a big, icy Diet Coke.

Fast foods, coffee bars, delis, cafés and even full-service restaurants can be found inside or adjacent to many â a store and shopping area, allowing hungry shoppers to renew their strength and energy and return to that most patriotic of all occupations, retail spending.

At IKEAyou’ve gone through living-room furnishings, bookshelves, entertainment centers, dining-room sets, kitchens, bedroom furniture and office furniture when a familiar steamy smell seeps into the air: It’s the smell of cafeterias, the smell of steam tables, steam tables holding some form of ground meat and a certain beef-flavored gravy. IKEA’s little upstairs café gives meat the form of walnut-size Swedish meatballs. You can order them in various quantities (10, 15, 20!), but the most popular way is the Manager’s Special: 15 meatballs, two plump, rosy-pink boiled new potatoes, a salad and a soft drink: $4.95. When I am retired and living on a fixed income, I will come to IKEA for these bargain meatballs, dragged through tart lingonberry jam, a couple times a week, at least.

Replenished, you’re ready to hit kitchen- and tableware, candles, bed and bath, curtains, carpets, kids’ furnishings, lighting, picture frames, storage stuff, closet stuff, garden stuff, the self-serve warehouse and, finally, the long lines of checkout. Whew! By then you’ll be droopy all over again, a fact that the savvy folk at IKEA haven’t ignored. Right there, on your way out, is a small food store of Swedish groceries and, serendipitously, a small counter selling hot dogs, and sugar in several uplifting forms: a fragrant, appealingly huge cinnamon bun and, my personal favorite, a big, fat cone of soft-serve frozen yogurt. That would be me, toting several unwieldy yellow bags en route to the parking lot, madly licking a floppy vanilla cone, with big drips running off my elbow.

Some big stores have such established cafés and restaurants that people other than shoppers come to eat there. Barney Greengrass on top of Barneys New York in Beverly Hills draws in a lunch crowd of sleek, well-heeled, well-dressed Beverly Hills citizens. Take the elevator to the fifth floor, and you’ll come across a deli case filled largely with cured and smoked fish, many of which look as if King Midas had touched them. Trout and whitefish and sturgeon — their golden color comes from the smoking process.

Indeed, if ascending through the etheric realm of ultra-expensive consumer goods doesn’t screen out the great unwashed wealthies, Barney Greengrass’ prices certainly will. This is really a deli for the rich; the food is good, but can any sandwich with a side of barely dressed coleslaw justify a $16 or even $18 price tag? I mean, the Nova Scotia salmon and silken sable are above reproach, but this is not a mile-high sandwich, or even a thick sandwich, nor is the commercial sliced multigrain bread artisanal or anything special. A whitefish-salad sandwich, a mere $11, is also good, but again . . .