On paper, the Venice Room sounds like one of Los Angeles County’s great hidden gems. A red-boothed dive bar reminiscent of type of establishment frequented by the likes of the Rat Pack in its 1960’s heyday or the cast of Mean Streets in its more current state. Similar to what I am told is the superior Turf Supper Club in San Diego; at the Venice Room you cook up your own steaks to perceived perfection on a communal grill.
Located in Monterey Park, the Venice Room is an unlikely destination for those outside of East LA or the San Gabriel Valley, but those within distance can find a place completely removed from Los Angeles and possibly your perception of reality.
After picking up some friends coming in from Sonoma Country (with (without exaggeration) at least 125 pounds of wine with them) – at Union Station, we drove aimlessly through the rain trying to find a food-eating establishment. All the while my goal was to have an excuse to finally get down to the Venice Room. Located a brisk 15 minutes from my home in South Pasadena, the Venice Room is located in the Chinese food Mecca of Monterey Park. The sign of the Venice Room (shown above (pun realized ex post facto but not intended, but since it works lets pretend like it’s intended)) shined like a beacon of hope through the hazy drizzling and my near faint inducing hunger. The mural painted on the side of the building, coupled with the signage and period architectural detailings, rang with a sense of authenticity, which is more commonly admonished than celebrated.
Upon our entrance the authenticity carried over to a more rundown effect. Admittedly I like this sort of place so I was pleased by it’s more austere nature and rough crowd. Crude paintings of gondola rides through the canals of Venice and a piano bar sans the piano man added such a sense of nostalgia it was easy to close your eyes and imagine this place in a better time until –
“You having food.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t eat in here, go in there.”
The waitress who could most kindly be described as “hard” directed us to a dining room. The small, roughly 12-table room was empty apart from an older man cooking up a steak for his lady friend, who left shortly after our arrival.
“So?”
“Can I have an iced tea and a…?”
“We don’t have iced tea.”
“Ah, okay let’s see, what do you have on draft?”
“No draft. Just bottles and cans”
“What do you have in bottles and cans?”
“….”
There isn’t much for service here, or services for that matter. As bare bones as it gets there is only one menu item; Steak Dinner - 14 bucks. This includes unlimited trips to the salad bar (the salad bar is a stainless steal cooler which would fit right in at a function at the local Senior Center), a baked potato, a loaf of French bread, and a pretty strong cut of, although clearly frozen, New York strip.
By the time I had kicked back a Tecate the grilling was ready to commence. A seemingly confused, smaller old man bused the raw cuts out to us which we promptly brought to the grill. Affixed to a brick counter/marinating station – which looked as if the Costco seasoning section had been raided with a bit of Emeril spices and Worcestershire sauce thrown in for good measure – the grill was in a constant state of readiness.
An epiphany, which came to us mid-grill, was to butter the French loaf and sprinkle the McCormick’s garlic powder for some garlic bread. As we grilled up our meats like real men do, the buser would mysteriously appear behind us with some item to include with our cooking that was more perplexing than necessary.Even though you can only blame yourself for the cooking methods in which your steak matches your palate, it must be said that I found the steak itself to be a bit limiting. Although I cooked it to what I deem as perfectly cooked and satisfactory to my palate, it came out a bit more average than expected.
The real story comes midway through the meal.
A group of about 5 guys, all in their 40s-50s, except for one younger guy around 25, came storming in with bottles of wine and what looked at be a wasted, 16 year old girl. Now when I say 16 I don’t mean she looked 16, I mean that I would bet a large sum of money that she probably isn’t a day over 17 maximum and more likely 15-16. Like a gomba mob they moved through the dining room as if they owned it with a definate Mob-like air. One of these gentlemen, a 5’4 Asian man in a trench coat, had the strongest Italian accent of his clearly Italian counterparts, making statements like “It’s like we in Goodfellas in heyer.”
We spent the rest of meal in a fairly uncomfortable state of shock, nausea, and debate. Our conclusion wasn’t too clear but what we were able to make out was that she was “with” a man who was around 48 years of age, in shape with a slightly protruding gut and a head of hair like a silver-backed gorilla. She was either:
A. Completely wasted. or
B. Completely wasted and drugged out on some form of barbiturate.
Her hands were constantly on him, if not his lap, then around his neck, where she would whisper drunken nothings while kissing his ear. Jesus Christ, it was fucked-up. The rest of the group acted as if she wasn’t even there, going insofar as to completely ignore her presence. One of the gentlemen at the table was from, what I think I heard was Corleone’s Tequila? A company I cannot find online so maybe I heard it wrong? Anyone with any info on that?
Near the end of our meal another young lady, this one around the age of 24, joined the group and began being the friend/mother figure to the 16 year old, but only vaguely so. When our waitress came to the table she was now a bit less hardened, rolling her eyes in regards to the situation as she came to our table. We mentioned to her that the girl at the table was clearly 16 and she dejected replied, “Yeah, that’s what it looks like. I wish I could do something but they are friends with the boss, so, there’s nothing I can do.”
The word “boss” hung in the air reflecting the group’s aura of organized crime. The girl was now kicking back a glass of red filled to the brim, progressively becoming sloppy to the point of what looked like an oncoming black out. This is when, with our tale between our legs, we left in disheartened amazement. The drive home was an on going debate of what she was doing out (it was a school night, Monday) and how the two would have ever crossed paths let alone go out with each other.
This story for me is the summation of the singular experience one can get from the Venice Room; one I won’t blame you for not wanting to have.
The Venice Room is located at: 2428 S. Garfield Ave, Monterey Park, CA 91754
Incredible.
Let’s hope the “boss” doesn’t search Google for ‘venice room’ and find your post.
Now that you mention it, I guess that wasn’t thought out too well. So “boss” if you are reading this, I am just kidding… hah, yeah, jokes are great. But wasn’t it nice of us not to call the cops or anything?
Yeah, see, good people when you really look at it.