“You can’t lose with La Luz”
It was 1960 and the family was out on the occasional Sunday dinner at Olvera Street in downtown L.A. Three rascally little boys ages 7, 5 and 4 are kneeling down on the stairs looking through the railings at the kitchen activity below. The red tile floors and hand painted tile murals on the walls told of a different culture still unknown but somehow familiar. The ladies below in colorful aprons are grinding masa and slapping the little balls of the dough into thick chewy tortillas in silent toil. The hot stove is cooking the flat cakes until they bubble up, then being turned by the bare hands just in time before being added to the ever disappearing stack. The rhythm of the ladies slapping the tortillas by hand could be heard from outside. It’s hypnotizing to the boys as they watched from above, almost forgetting how hungry they were. I was the 5 year old. Jeff was seven and Derek was a year and a half younger than me.
Dad always ordered for all of us from the sparse menu at the front of the line. It was a good thing as Mom didn’t know the difference between carnitas and nopales and couldn’t speak Spanish anyway. Dad spoke Spanish when he ordered and to the waiter that carried the trays of food to the table that Mom had found in the small dining room. When the table was set with dinner, we raced down the stairs to eat. We watched Dad as he tore the tortillas in half and filled them with the fresh chopped carnitas, refried beans and salsa. We copied him like we did at Sunday morning breakfast when he mixed hot sauce with his poached eggs. And when he used chop sticks at the Chinese restaurant in Chinatown.
The rice at La Luz was like our grandmother made, moist and fluffy with just the right amount of tomato sauce. A spoon full of guacamole completed the Carnitas plate. And Dad always ordered a variety of dishes like picadillo (beef stew with red chile), tamales and chicharon tacos. After dinner we walked through the stalls on Olvera Street selling thrilling delights that were irresistible to little boys. We would look and dream as such frivolous delights were unattainable. If we were lucky and pestered Dad enough, we might get an Astro pop, the hard candy multi-colored pop shaped like a slender cone. Twirling it just right and resisting biting it would result in a sharp point that was a great threat to each other.
La Luz Del Dia has not change much over the years. Some of the staff has retired and the owner passed the restaurant down to his son. They added a dining room and outdoor seating years ago. And occasionally, the prices would go up. By the time I was 21, I noticed that they served beer. It was a unique place to take a girl and for $20 I could tell in one date if a girl was worth seeing again. The hand shaping of the tortillas has given way to a press, but they are just a thick and chewy as ever. Of course Betty loved it as did Dana and Lia. So it has remained a family favorite for 50 years. Where else to meet with friends and family on my 55th birthday celebration, but La Luz Del Dia in Olvera Street?
Thanks to all who rode the train, paid $9 to park or drove all the way from San Jose to wish me a happy birthday. I am deeply touched.
