Andrew's NoHo Diner May Not Be Gourmet, But It's Good In A Greasy Way

It is understood that American diners are not expected to be Michelin-star-rated eateries. At best, most of them are three-and-a-half stars on Yelp, and they're often seen as the dive bars of the restaurant industry. You know you’re at a “good” one when it’s only got one star.

– formerly Sitton’s – is one of those places, but it’s not to say the vintage greasy spoon isn’t a well-meaning establishment. I’m there late on a weeknight with my husband, and we’re among less than a dozen other patrons at the '50s-built spot. The brick walls are covered with hundreds of mostly black-and-white headshots of Hollywood stars past and present, and the cash register on the center counter looks like it’s been there since 1959, when the place opened.

We know what we’re getting ourselves into; people don’t come to places like this for a gourmet meal. Angelenos eat at this 24-hour diner to meet up with friends, to talk business (in this town, it’s most often their latest script or a recent TV show bit part), to fill their stomachs and sober up after painting the town red, or for a midnight snack. Here, travelers from the Greyhound bus stop just down the way are easily spotted with their oversized backpacks. Everyone’s got his or her favorite grease-soaked dish, and Andrew’s is the perfect spot to fuel up.

The menu offers everything from classic American fare (burgers, hot or cold sandwiches, salads), Mexican food, beer & wine, to breakfast served all day. We order chicken strips and a tuna melt sandwich to share. I notice the stained-glass windows with seemingly out-of-place pandas and bamboo. As far as we know, the place has never been a Chinese restaurant in its 53-year history.

Part of its charm is the hit-or-miss customer service. On one visit, our server corrected a friend when he asked for a side order of fruit. “It’s a bowl, not a cup,” he was sternly told. When he ordered chicken fingers, the waitress replied, “they’re chicken tenders.” Another time, the same friend ordered buffalo wings.  When he politely asked for buffalo sauce (the standard for hot wings), the waitress informed him that “buffalo” stood for the “the cut of the meat, not the sauce”... in short, there'd be no hot sauce for you, sir. We shrugged, accepted the fact that we’d probably be moody too if we were working past midnight, and proceeded to eat our food. I've since debated on asking for chicken meat in a "buffalo cut" at my local deli, but I have a feeling it'll just result in a blank stare.

On this particular night, our server, Cheryl, is a friendly woman who adds “honey” and “sweetheart” after every other sentence. She has dark hair and is wearing electric-blue eyeshadow, and looks to be in her '40s. We generally have a good experience: our food arrives at just the right time, and my sourdough sandwich is perfectly buttered, oozing with tuna and melted cheddar cheese on each slice of toasted bread. When my husband requests ranch dressing or Tabasco sauce, they’re promptly brought to us, along with refills of water. Our late-night dinner is what we expect: tasty, filling, and guaranteed to require a follow-up of Tums.

As we bring our check to the register, I ask about the curiously-placed pandas. Cheryl – after consulting another server who’s likely had a longer tenure there – tells us the owner installed them about seven years ago for good luck. She excitedly leads us to the restaurant’s west room and shows us the terra cotta-colored tile floor and mosaic suns on the tables. The owner commissioned a team of Russian dancers to install the tiling when he knew they were out of work and needed money, she tells us.

The restaurant was re-named after the owner’s son, Andrew, passed away before he could take over the family business, she tells us. We then hear the lead server call Cheryl back: someone needs to watch the front. She chuckles and apologizes for getting distracted, brings us back to the register, and rings us up. 

"You have to come back during the day!" Cheryl tells us. The light from the stained-glass windows looks beautiful on the floor when it shines at just the right time of day, she describes. And the piano in the other room is for anyone who knows how to play, she adds.

We tell her we plan on returning again for breakfast sometime. NoHo Diner is every bit a local's spot, and the food and staff – regardless if either's great or not – are the charm that keeps them coming back.