The Borderline, Freddy Fender and Ry Cooder

In 1981, Melrose Avenue was a funky, hodgepodge of appliance repair stores, tattoo parlors, hair salons, and a few  small, beyond trendy, LA-style shops. l.a. eyeworks was the first bad kid on the block, wedging itself in between a vacuum cleaner repair store and a travel agency. Fred Segal, which opened as a "just jeans" store in 1960, was across the street and down the block. Barbara McReynolds, partner and founder of l.a. eyeworks, leased the small space next to the eyeworks and hired Susan Feniger to make sandwiches to sell during the lunch hour.






Susan soon had a thriving business and persuaded her friend Mary Sue Milliken to partner up and open City Cafe. They operated without the use of an oven, using a hotplate and an illegal hibachi set up outside in the alley. Anyone that needed to use "the facilities", wound their way from the small eleven table dining room, through the tiny kitchen, around the even tinier prep area, down a few stairs and into the restroom. Cuco the dishwasher, Bernardo the butcher, Mary Sue and Susan formed the entire staff. Shortly before Bob and I moved from Vashon to Los Angeles, I read a review about City Cafe in a 1981 Gourmet Magazine and vowed to eat there someday.

In the spring of 1985, I was working for Dennis, my first L.A. boss, at his new Stratton's Grill. For the first time in years, I had no one to boss around—no dishwasher, no breakfast guy, no janitor, no sensitive saute cook, no "IswearI'llneverbelateagain" lunch guy—it was the job of my dreams. I came in early, organized the walk-in, set up the daily specials menu, made soups, sauces, stews, staff meal and did the ordering. Home by 6:00, weekends off, no after-hours emergency calls, I had found the perfect spot for a forty-three year old non-union cook.

Susan called me one day at work and put a stop to that. I knew who she was, knew that she and her partner were opening a larger restaurant, but didn't know that they wanted to use the old City Cafe lease for a Mexican street food restaurant. We met, we fell in love, and we kicked butt at the Border Grill for six months while the new, improved City Restaurant took shape. The illegal hibachi was retired and a highly organized, however still illegal, stainless steel prep area took its' place in the alley behind the kitchen. Once City opened, the girls left me and the Border Grill to our own devices and worked non-stop down the block at 190 La Brea.

The health department felt the need to check in on Melrose Ave. regularly, so we developed a fool-proof routine. There is no parking in L.A., even for bureaucrats, so the inspector had to cruise the block, find a spot and come in through the front door. Tom the manager, smooth as a Johnny Walker neat, headed them off at the reservation desk—"Had they seen the new bar area?", "Weren't they hot and thirsty?—while Raul the busser sped for the alley. We had every food scrap of evidence stowed neatly within legal boundaries by the time the inspector got to us.

The long, hot, summer days took the edge off our paranoia and eventually the inspector skipped the stall at the front door and came around to the alley. There we were, knives poised over red snapper and pork butts, masa waiting to become tortillas, fresh salsa half done, blenders buzzing, tamales steaming on the hot plate. Gotcha!

They didn't close the restaurant, levy a big fine, or haul us off to a Mexican jail, but Barbara did have to spring for a closed in storage unit to replace our al fresco preparations. Shut inside a closed, semi-dark unit with little air, we did long for the good old days of prepping in the alley. Below are two of my favorite Milliken/Feniger recipes from the original Border Grill on Melrose.

Rajas

3 sweet peppers (combination of red, yellow, & not-too-many green)
3 poblano peppers
2 T. oil
2 onions
½ c. heavy cream
¼ c. grated anejo cheese
¼ c. grated Monterey jack cheese
Roast peppers until they are lightly charred on all sides. Put them immediately in a plastic bag until cool to loosen the skins. Peel peppers and remove seeds.

Slice onions in thin julienne. Sauté gently in oil until golden brown.

Slice peppers in same size julienne and add to onions.

Add cream, cheese and season to taste with salt. Cook on a simmer until mixture just begins to thicken.

Cream of Pinto Bean Soup

• 1 ½ c. dried pinto beans
• 2 diced onions
• 6 c. chicken stock
• 3 T. butter
• salt and pepper to taste
• 2 c. heavy cream
• Sour cream and fresh salsa for garnish

Cook pinto beans until soft. Sauté onions until golden brown, add cooked pinto beans, stock, salt and pepper. Simmer until beans are very soft. The pintos must be very soft without any hardness or the soup will be gritty.

Puree beans in blender and return to heat. Add cream and bring to a simmer. Adjust seasoning. Serve with fresh salsa, diced avocado, chopped cilantro and sour cream.