Pacific Dining Car 24/7/365

Every time I'm in LA (which is far too often for my tastes - I just can't get my head around it) I must make a stop at the bar of the Pacific Dining Car in downtown Hell-A. It does not matter what time of day, what day of the week, what day of the year. Its there. Its open. Its pouring. And it serving a kick ass steak.

For a really detailed history Click Here.
Luis the barkeep knows me by now and, after exchanging pleasantries, he braces for my inevitable question, "Is 'The Dog' here?"

James "The Dog" Ellroy, a super-slick, sickly, sultry, seller of salacious stories and screenplays with a horrific, harried, harassed, heavy-handed, hellish history is one of my favorite authors. And while he no longer imbibes, and when he is Hell-A from KC, he does like to sit at the Car with his crew (usually retired cops) and chat crime over chops. Knowing this, I always pack one of his novels in the hopes I will catch him to beg for an autograph, buy him a club soda and say thanks for the work.

The man is a genius of brutality, angst, anger and redemption. His work speaks for itself, often in their titles like "Blood on the Moon" or "Suicide Hill" and his inner demons egg him on.

The brutal murder of his mother at age 9/10 and a gift of a crime novel including the story of the unsolved "Black Dahlia" grisly murder from his father hacked his path to hackdom. Check him out.

And if you see him at the Car, regardless of day, date or time, tell him I said, "Hey, thanks and cheers, Dog."

Cheers.