Lifestyle
How to have the best Sunday in L.A., according to Phil Rosenthal
Phil Rosenthal likes to sit at the counter of Max & Helen’s, the diner he recently opened with acclaimed chef Nancy Silverton, and chat with people while they eat.
“I sometimes feel like the mayor of Larchmont,” Rosenthal says over the phone as he greets diners who notice him at the counter. “When people come in and realize I’m involved, they’re always surprised to see me. It’s a bit like being at Disneyland and running into Goofy.”
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Rosenthal is probably best known for creating the popular TV show “Everybody Loves Raymond” and hosting Netflix’s “Somebody Feed Phil,” which is moving to YouTube in 2027, but he is more than just a famous foodie. He’s now touring the country for his live show, “An Evening With Phil Rosenthal,” and he recently published his second children’s book, “Just Try It! Someplace New!,” which he wrote with his daughter Lily. (They’ll sign books at Barnes & Noble at the Grove on March 14.)
“The book series started when my daughter called and said, ‘Kids love your show. Why don’t you do a kids’ book?’ “ he says, before adding with a laugh: “I told her, ‘Yes, if you’ll do it with me.’ That’s a dad trick to get more time with your daughter.”
Rosenthal believes stories about kids feeling nervous or afraid to try new things connect with both children and adults. “When you write a kids’ book, you realize that it is not just a kids’ book,” he says. “It’s really a book for everyone.”
Although he travels a lot, Rosenthal likes to spend Sundays close to home. He enjoys walking his dog Murray to Larchmont Village and hosting movie night with friends at his place in Hancock Park.
Here’s what his perfect Sunday in L.A. looks like, with lots of good food along the way, of course.
This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.
7:45 a.m.: Coffee with Murray and neighborhood friends
Every Sunday morning, I walk my dog Murray to Larchmont Village and stop at Go Get Em Tiger. It’s our daily ritual. Over time, we’ve built a great community there, and I always invite others to join us. We sit outside, talk and have become close friends. I usually post a photo of Murray on Instagram each day. He’s a rescue mutt, and I like to joke he’s part Pyrenees, part psychopath.
9 a.m.: Shop for produce at the Larchmont Village Farmers’ Market
After about an hour, I head across the street to the Larchmont Village Farmers’ Market, which is held on Wednesdays and Sundays. I usually pick up some fruit for the house. It’s a great community spot.
9:30 a.m.: Breakfast at Max and Helen’s
Next I walk down the street to Max and Helen’s, the diner my family opened. I’m about to order the L.E.O., which is Gingrass Smoked salmon lox, three eggs and onions. So if I sound like my mouth is full, you’ll know why.
One of my favorite things on the menu is the sourdough waffle Nancy [Silverton] created, topped with butter mixed with maple syrup. I also love the hot chocolate, and the tuna melt is a special, more romanticized version of the classic. If you eat there every day, it’s smart to pick something healthy, like I’m having today — high protein and no carbs.
11 am: Browse titles at a neighborhood bookstore
I love visiting Chevalier’s Books, the oldest independent bookstore in Los Angeles. I’ve been going there since I moved to Los Angeles from New York in 1989. It’s just two doors down from the diner and feels like our community bookstore.
Noon: Hit the gym
Afterwards, I walk home and fit in a workout. I have to exercise every day because I eat a lot. If I didn’t walk everywhere, I’d probably weigh 300 pounds. My gym is simple — just some weights and a bench — but it works for me. Since I travel often, I stick to a routine I can do anywhere.
1 p.m.: Enjoy a surprising meal at a Michelin-noted restaurant
If I weren’t hosting movie night, I’d love to stop by République. It’s an amazing place, maybe the best restaurant in L.A. Every menu is great. I usually eat just about anything there, and sometimes I ask them to surprise me. It’s an all-day restaurant and I’ve gone for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Their egg dishes are excellent, the burger is top-notch and the roasted chicken, which is cooked over an open fire in the kitchen, is superb. I often let the chef decide what to bring me, especially when I’m with a group. It’s fun to be surprised and try shareable dishes.
I also really enjoy Connie and Ted’s in West Hollywood, Michael Cimarusti’s casual spot. The seafood is just as good as it is at Providence, his fine dining place. Their fresh Maine lobster roll is excellent, and they have the best oysters in L.A. It’s pretty awesome. Check before you head over there, though, as I’ve heard it’s for lease.
3 p.m.: Go for a hike
I used to hike more before I started traveling so much, but I still enjoy it. After all, this is L.A. While other places deal with bad weather, we get to be outside. I love hiking in Runyon Canyon and Griffith Park. It’s great to make the most of the outdoors here.
6 p.m.: Movie night and Pizzeria Mozza at home
On Sundays, we host movie nights at home. We have a dedicated screening room, a wood-burning pizza oven in the kitchen and a chef from Pizzeria Mozza, who comes over to make pizza. The best part is that someone connected to the film often joins us. Sometimes we watch new movies, other times old favorites. Aaron Sorkin came for “The Social Network,” and when we screened “Tootsie,” Elaine May, Dustin Hoffman and Bill Murray joined us. We usually have about 25 to 30 people.
I really love my neighborhood and the people in it. One of the best things about traveling so much is that it makes you appreciate home even more.
Sunday Puzzle
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This week’s challenge
Today’s puzzle is a tribute to Mimi. Every answer is a familiar two word phrase or name in which each word starts with the letters MI-.
Ex. Assignment for soldiers –> MILITARY MISSION
1. Pageant title for a contestant from Detroit
2. One of the Twin Cities
3. Nickname for the river through New Orleans
4. Super short skirt
5. Neighborhood in Los Angeles that contains Museum Row
6. Just over four times the distance from the earth to the moon
7. Goateed sing-along conductor of old TV
8. American financier who pioneered so-called “junk bonds”
9. Little accident
10. Land-based weapon in America’s nuclear arsenal
11. In “Snow White,” the evil queen’s words before “on the wall”
Last week’s challenge
Last week’s challenge comes from Benita Rice, of Salem, Ore. Name a famous foreign landmark (5,4). Change the eighth letter to a V and rearrange the result to make an adjective that describes this landmark. What landmark is it?
Answer
Notre Dame –> Renovated
Winner
Chee Sing Lee of Bangor, Maine
This week’s challenge
This week’s challenge comes from James Ellison, of Jefferson City, Mo. Think of a popular movie of the past decade. Change the last letter in its title. The result will suggest a lawsuit between two politicians of the late 20th century — one Republican and one Democrat. What’s the movie and who are the people?
If you know the answer to the challenge, submit it below by Thursday, April 23 at 3 p.m. ET. Listeners whose answers are selected win a chance to play the on-air puzzle.
This story is part of Image’s April’s Thresholds issue, a tour of L.A. architecture as it’s actually experienced.
A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” We identify our cities with their landmarks, and because we identify with our cities, we identify with the landmarks too. They are us and we are them, mirroring each other through eternity. A city like New York or Chicago, with the Chrysler Building, the Bean, etc., has landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention.
The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova. Merging on the 110 South from the 10 East while the sunset burns and traffic thickens is a miracle in more ways than one, and in the spirit of compulsively performing the sign of the cross when you pass a church on the freeway, this billboard is deserving of its own acknowledgment.
It may not be the landmark L.A. asked for, but in Sayre Gomez’s painting “Vertigo,” you begin to understand why it’s the one we deserve. At the opening for “Precious Moments,” Gomez’s solo show at David Kordansky, the room was vibrating. A game of energetic ping-pong unfolded underneath the gallery’s fluorescent light, beams of identification, recollections or stabs of grief bouncing off each piece in the exhibition. People were seeing hyperspecific parts of a city they love reflected in a hyperspecific way — for better and for worse. Recognition has two edges and they both happen to be sharp. Gomez twists the knife deeper for a good cause: He wants you not just to look but to really see.
In his work exist iconic signs of beloved local establishments — like the Playpen — the blinding glint reflecting off downtown’s skyline, telephone poles regarded as totems. The line to see Gomez’s replica of L.A.’s graffiti towers, “Oceanwide Plaza,” snaked through the gallery’s courtyard. Once inside, at least three graffiti writers whose names were blasted on the replica pointed it out proudly, even gave out stickers to take home. The truth can be beautiful and it can be ugly — in this case it’s both — on the flip side showing up in the form of smog, tattered flags and an abandoned graffiti tower that starkly represents the pitfalls of capitalism and greed, a neon arrow pointing to the homelessness crisis.
Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave.
— Sayre Gomez
In the main gallery, I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side, wearing cat ears and a tiger bodysuit as flush as second skin. The model made the kind of eye contact that felt dangerous — might cause an accident if you’re not careful. “#1 Halloween Destination … FASHION NOVA,” it read. I knew her, anyone who has driven through the two main arteries of Los Angeles knows her. The black-and-white smiley motif of the Vertigo, an events space, sat right next to her face, just happy to be there, it seemed, above a painted sign that says “Ready to Party?”
The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. Something rancid about it. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined at the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks — creating their own shrunken skyline in front of the Vertigo, signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.
Even angels exist within the context of their environments. Our Fashion Nova baddie hangs off the Vertigo, a building that has used its ad space as physical clickbait and political posturing for over a decade. It’s promoting the kind of fast fashion brand that’s been regarded as a case study on the industry’s environmental impact. In the years the billboard has been up, it’s looked over dozens and dozens of car encampments like the one depicted in Gomez’s piece.
She feels dubious, yes. But no less like ours.
Julissa James: I’ve lived in L.A. for 13 years now. For me, the city and the architecture of the city is less the Frank Lloyd Wrights and Frank Gehrys — there’s that — but other landmarks that signal, “Oh, I’m home.” The Fashion Nova baddie above the Vertigo has always been that for me. Your piece is layered and there’s so much more to it than just that, but that’s the first thing I saw and was like, “Whoa. I need to talk to Sayre. We need to talk about ‘Vertigo.’”
Sayre Gomez: It’s like L.A.’s Statue of Liberty. It’s the city of anti-landmarks, you know what I mean? I mean, there’s the Hollywood sign, which I think is so telling, because it’s the remnants of a real estate venture. The city is built by real estate schemes and 100 years later we’re feeling the effects of it. You’ve got empty skyscrapers and a massive homeless catastrophe. L.A. doesn’t really have real landmarks. It has anti-landmarks.
JJ: When did the Fashion Nova billboard above the Vertigo click for you as something that felt representative of the city, or something that you wanted to depict?
SG: My studio is in Boyle Heights, so I pass that billboard multiple times a week. This is my 20th year in L.A. and that building’s always been a big mystery to me. It was empty when I moved here before this guy Shawn Farr bought it and turned it into Casa Vertigo. I think he probably makes more money on it with the ad space than anything. I know nobody who has ever been there. Very mysterious to me. So that’s what I was drawn to.
(Paul Salveson from David Kordansky Gallery)
The Vertigo has always been mysterious to me. And that whole fashion industry is mysterious to me — the kind of shmatta, American Apparel-adjacent, or maybe coming out of the wake of that. These kinds of businesses, or the representations of these businesses, how do they function and how do they flourish? Is it aboveboard? What more perfectly encapsulates that than that building? It’s this weird thing you can’t quite figure out but somehow it has a lot of money and then it’s an event space, supposedly billed as that. Clearly it’s this big ad thing, and I’m very interested in the changing dynamics of capital. The capital of yesteryear, which was based on the brick and mortar, where things are being made in a specific location, maybe on an assembly line or in a specific way, to a kind of capital that is based solely on advertising or on viewership. These beautiful buildings acting as pedestals for some kind of ad space, you know? It becomes an anti-landmark for me. Something where I’m like, “Oh, there’s that thing again.”
JJ: It’s this gorgeous Beaux Arts building …
SG: It’s a Freemason building!
JJ: When I’ve talked to some people about the Vertigo, they’re like, “the Fashion Nova building?”
SG: They always have the woman in the same pose — same pose, different clothes. If you remember before Fashion Nova, they would have these provocative ad campaigns or provocative slogans. “Twerk Miley” was up, remember that? They did a Trump one: “TRUMP NOW.” They did one for Kanye when he ran for president. The 10 and the 110 are literally the crossroads of the city, so it’s really poised to be a special building. It has a special designation because of the location.
JJ: Talk to me about the process of doing this piece. Where did it start and how did it evolve?
SG: I was cruising around that vicinity trying to see if I could get a good vantage point to take photos of Vertigo. And then I stumbled upon this car — the car that’s in the foreground of the painting. Anytime I see an encampment that has kids’ toys, things that reference back to the lives of children, it hits hard. But I like to lay it all out there. I like to make things confrontational. I want it to be difficult. The painting isn’t based on a one-to-one photo [Gomez paints from a composite rendering of images he’s taken around town], but I knew that I wanted to use that car, and I knew I wanted to get the Vertigo building, and so I started just messing around with different iterations. I could never find a good angle to take a good photo of the building, so I just went on Vertigo’s website and I was like, “I’m just using these.” I switched the sky and put a more moody, atmospheric sky in.
JJ: Which I loved, because we know that feeling — you’re merging onto the 110 and you see a beautiful sunset. The euphoria of like, “L.A. is the best city in the world.” But you know what? What I found so interesting about your piece is that it was revealing to me about myself, but also about so many of us that live in L.A. and have lived here for years and have developed a jadedness. When I saw your piece, immediately I was like, “Oh my God, the Vertigo! The Vertigo! The Vertigo!” And then I was like, “OK, wait, hold on, there’s so much more going on here.” But the fact that my eye went to that first instead of the car encampment, the kids’ toys, brought up a lot of questions about my own relationship to the city and the things that we choose to see, the things that maybe we’ve seen so much of that we subconsciously filter it out. Why was it important for you to put these two things up against each other in this way?
SG: Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave. That’s what I’m doing in my work at large. I use the sunsets and the beauty to create a dialogue, to entice people to sort of look a little bit at how things are contextualized, how things act, what’s actually happening. I don’t make things in a vacuum. I was working on this show and I was going to really push this agenda of incorporating more of my experience with my kids into the work. That’s also a double-edged sword. I wanted to interject some levity, because the work can get so dark. I wanted to bring in some iconography from their world and things that they get excited about. When you’re juxtaposing that with really stark things, it becomes darker. I want to thicken the stock a little bit. Make things a little more complex.
Phil Pritchard of the Hockey Hall of Fame works the 2019 NHL Awards at the Mandalay Bay Events Center on June 19, 2019 in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Photo by Bruce Bennett/Getty Images)
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