You’ve finished putting together your big project, it’s 4:00 am, you’re hungry, and you want to get far away from Caltech. Whatever you do, don’t go to Canter’s Deli.

Canter’s is described both as “classic” and “hip”. These words have practically opposite meanings in sane-people English, but are often used in unison to describe things in Hollywood. Perhaps there is some subtle wisdom in using these contradictory terms to describe this restaurant: I did find myself wondering if the classic elderly servers had prosthetic hips. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the courage to ask.

If the cuisine proved excellent I would be the first to climb aboard the “classic-hip” train, but unfortunately the food wasn’t. In fact, it was mediocre and overpriced. Canter’s omelet was pathetic, and the “Famous” Fairfax sandwich was just old deli meat on soggy bread. My Israeli friend noted that the balls of the matzo ball soup weren’t salty enough. (He said it sincerely, without a trace of sexual innuendo.) Yet somehow, despite the balls lacking in salt, the soup broth was too salty. Throughout the universe, one can depend on the diffusion of salt. Not at Canter’s. Either as a purveyor of Jewish cuisine, a delicatessen, or a Ph 2a demonstration, Canter’s falls short.

Honestly, I have never been a fan of Jewish food. Why do we, as Americans with a rich multicultural heritage, look to Jewish cuisine to provide us with a satisfying sit-down meal? Throughout history the Jews have been persecuted and forced to flee from tyranny, be it at the hands of the Nazis, the Spanish, the Romans, the Egyptians, or really angry bears. With all that travel there must be great Jewish fast food, and surely the world will be forever changed by the first Gefilte Fish McMuffin. But until I see Ronald McDonald wearing a Yamika, I’ll opt for other culinary styles.

Like its menu, Canter’s ambiance doesn’t live up to its hype. Every time I’ve eaten at Canter’s--twice on weeknights and once on a Friday night—there were few customers and lousy servers. Canter’s is the only place in Hollywood where the people are uglier than in Pasadena and where you can’t buy drugs. The waitress looked like she has been serving coffee since the place opened up in the thirties. The clientele was no better. The last time I ate at Canter’s two old men sitting at different tables were muttering gibberish. It was impossible to tell if they were mumbling to themselves or if they were having a conversation until one of them belched and they both stopped speaking.

Why, if not for the belching old men and ancient waitresses, do people continue to eat at Canter’s? Perhaps people are attracted to its history, or because it’s always open. I think it’s the hype.

Canter’s Deli is a second-rate restaurant that would persuade even John Belushi to go on a diet. Therefore, I give it one Angry, Dead, Fat Comedian: (Minimum Rating: 3 Sad, Dead, Fat, Comedians. Maximum Rating: 3 Happy, Dead, Fat Comedians.)

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