A Real World Example of GE’s Restaurant Equipment

Submitted by Randall Radic as part of our contributors program.

Action/adventure author Wade Halverson recently moved from North Dakota (I know, I know, why would anyone in their right-mind live there?) to Bakersfield. Wade’s a food lover, so we drove south to L.A., where we ended up in Hollywood Hills. Wade said there was new restaurant there that served “genteel French cooking.” He paused for a second, giving me time to consider the ramifications of someone who looks like Wade (shaved head, full sleeved tattoos, muscles on his muscles) employing the adjective ‘genteel.’

“And, ” Wade continued, “the guys who operate the place didn’t scrimp on the little things. They went all out, even putting leveling feet on everything, in the dining room and the kitchen.”

“Sounds dead even,” I said. “How’s the food.”

“Epic,” he replied, turning into the parking lot.

The name of the place was Papilles, which is French for ‘taste buds.’ It’s a funky bistro kind of place that sits in a strip mall that sits across the street from a gas station. Take away the gas station and the strip mall and you can almost imagine you’re in Paris, maybe.

Walking into the place was the equivalent of walking into an olfactory war zone: fresh herbs, the odor of warm garlic bread, and the comfortable smell of Velveeta cheese, which they don’t serve, but that’s what it resembles. The walls were bedecked with some really bad artwork, the tables looked like they’d been purchased from Goodwill (but at least they were level), and the kitchen, which was open to view, had apparently been equipped by an amateur scavenger of local junkyards. No immaculate stainless steel here.

I took a closer look at the kitchen. Everything, all the equipment, even though it was battered and old was made by GE. When I asked one of the chefs about that, he said, “Oh, everybody knows GE makes the best stuff. There’s no competition.”

The place was already crowded, mostly young Eastside cool cats, the kind who actively seek out such restaurants. They want good food, reasonable prices and an atypical ambiance, something very near or right at wacky.

We found a corner table and sat down. A waiter appeared, placing butter and bread before us. He then proceeded to recite the evening’s menu, which encompassed thirty seconds. Basically, the choice was between a steak and the salmon almandine. The latter option piqued my interest for two reasons: first, I like salmon; second, outside of being undercooked, I figured there wasn’t much anyone could do to salmon to ruin it.

Wade perused the wine list, which, compared to some five star restaurants was not extensive. But it was adequate, and had some good selections, which, as usual, carried a four or five hundred percent mark-up. Turns out we had a $100 bottle of wine served in wine glasses that looked as though they’d been purchased at a garage sale.

Ahh! The food, though, was exquisite. Salmon with mango, sugared almonds contrasted with bits of red onion. According to Wade, his steak melted in his mouth. Cooked to medium, it was served sliced thinly and swimming in a white wine sauce, along with white asparagus dipped in tartar. For dessert: banana pot de crème, made with real bananas, not some flavoring out of a bottle.

They change the menu every so often, three or four times per month. And occasionally, there are specials. The meals were thirty-four dollars each, not including the wine. In L.A., that’s a heck of deal, one too good to pass up, even if the food were just mediocre. Since the food is glorious, eating at Papilles is tantamount to using an Oklahoma credit card.

So. The next time you’re in L.A., take a jaunt over to Hollywood Hills and eat some very “genteel” French cuisine off of level tables.