Hold the Hype

For a year or so after it opened, I ate at least once each weekend at Kokomo, which is the neon lunch counter in that odd part of Farmers Market between DuPar’s and the place where they grind the horseradish, far from the souvenir toilet-seat cozies and the gristly vats of pork chow mein. Kokomo had--still has--a rack of things like Interview and the Star to read as you guzzle chocolate malteds, loud rock ‘n’ roll blasting from the kitchen, and a great line-up of “celebrity” photos, the most recognizable of which is the guy who plays drums for Celebrity Skin.

Budding actors tend the counter. Coffee, dark and strong, used to be served in surplus AMA mugs. Kokomo has the kind of hipster populism out-of-towners expect from L.A.: You might see Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth eating pancakes next to a Fairfax grandmother, or members of Faster Pussycat sitting elbow-to-elbow with bus drivers, Iowans, and what seems like every junior studio executive in the world. The glamorous rock ‘n’ roll contingent of the local N.A. chapter likes to hang out here; so does the occasional young movie star. That’s why Kokomo is prominent in any glossy round-up on the Hollywood eating scene.

But the food at Kokomo also has something of a reputation, especially the salads, the vegetarian black-bean chili and the “famous” BLT, for a sort of rough-hewn, diner elegance. And the cooking hasn’t survived the hype.

When I was still going to Kokomo a lot, I ordered the grilled-cheese sandwich every time I went in--” torta de queso al carbon “--a toasty thing with smoky gobs of pureeed chiles and sun-dried tomatoes, a sprinkling of cilantro, plenty of melted Cheddar and provolone cheese, all bursting out of crisped, really sour bread. It was even better when it came with a couple slices of chewy, double-smoked bacon grilled inside, and with a big heap of Kokomo’s fresh Suzy Q potatoes, dusted with something that tasted a little like barbecue-potato-chip seasoning, on the side. To drink, a bottle of intensely herbal Barq’s root beer, flown in from New Orleans and available nowhere else in L.A. (OK, the bar at Duplex in Los Feliz serves it too), or a tall glass of limeade smuggled in from Gill’s ice-cream stand around the corner. For dessert, I snagged a sip or two of my wife’s chocolate malt. At the time, it was about my favorite restaurant meal in town. And the pancakes and salads and wacko New Orleans egg dishes were also pretty good.

Other people obsessed on one Kokomo dish as well: one friend never ordered anything but the BLT, another always got a chicken burrito plumped out with extra black-bean chili and the house’s weird pineapple-basil salsa. Mmmmmmm . . . pineapple burritos!

Around 18 months ago, though, the counter personnel seemed to completely turn over, the table-seating policy--which had been casual--became maddeningly formalized, and the quality of the food took a precipitous dip. Patrons faced a half-hour wait on weekends, and the food was often indifferently prepared. I recall pancakes with liquid centers, rock-hard poached eggs--and cheese sandwiches that arrived congealed, low on chile, with watery, fresh tomatoes in place of the sun-dried ones, and sometimes with the cheese actually unmelted. I shrugged, and transferred my Saturday-afternoon loyalties to City Restaurant’s avocado club sandwiches instead. Kokomo became more crowded than ever.

Anyway, people have been telling me that Kokomo is back up to form, and I revisited the lunch counter several times last week. And after eating my way through two-thirds of the menu, I can safely report that the place is . . . better than it was, but not as good as it used to be, Zatarain mustard, Barq’s root beer or no.

The vaunted BLT, for example, sandwiched Kokomo’s excellent bacon with pasty bread, greenish tomatoes and several inches of iceberg lettuce, packed as tightly--and as tastily--as a wad of twenties. (OK, there was a seasonal disclaimer on the menu, but the sandwich wasn’t muchbetter last August.) A great mound of chopped chicken salad, a couple of pounds of it at least, underdressed, picked up its only discernable flavor from a handful of fried onions that had been scattered on top, and contained far less chicken than it did, say, zucchini or cheese. The cheeseburger was greasy and bland; the underseasoned black-bean chili turkey dog was as delicious as it sounds: not very, and unpleasantly soggy. Eggs sardou, tough poached eggs set atop poached artichoke bottoms with hollandaise and creamed spinach, weren’t much better. Senate bean soup was bland. The pineapple burrito was weird as ever, though tasty in a certain light.

In fact, if not for the fine chicken sandwich, a marinated breast grilled until it caramelized, then tucked into a bun with roasted peppers and frizzles of fried onion, the only delicious thing would have been a bowl of spicy Japanese-eggplant soup. That and the newly improved cheese sandwich, served more or less hot and restored to full chile strength. But as at that other tourist attraction Yamashiro, the food still isn’t quite up to the view.

Kokomo, southwest corner of Farmers Market, Third Street at Fairfax Avenue, Los Angeles, (213) 933-0773. Open Monday through Saturday, from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., Sunday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Cash only. No alcohol. Takeout (if you call in advance). Lunch for two, food only, $8-$15.