As Lucky Would Have It
24 July 2009 - Zach Mann
The first time I came across Lucky’s, it was in the afternoon and the lights were off. I could barely see into the dark interior, a serpentine breakfast counter of questionable upkeep, but the old-timey Americana feel had me before I ever took a step inside. Lucky’s looked like my kind of place.
Then I saw the menu taped to the inside of the diner window. It was a short list of nothing special, your basic breakfast items of eggs, toast, sausage, bacon, pancakes and little else, but the prices – ranging from two to four dollars – were far from ordinary. I walked home that day assuming Lucky’s had long been closed for good, its menu an item of historical value left up for pedestrians as a reminder of cheaper times. When I learned later that the menu was not a relic, that the prices were indeed up-to-date, I returned to the mysterious diner as soon as I could manage its 7:15 am – noon hours. I am happy to report that Lucky’s Golden Phenix lives on in anachronistic glory.
Yes, Phenix, not Phoenix, according to the menus. I didn’t know about Lucky’s older sign until I read mmm-yoso’s post on the restaurant, replete with photos, and I didn’t know that The Golden Phenix used to be a Chinese restaurant until I stepped inside. The walls were covered with watercolor-print wallpaper, traditional paintings of flowers and everything that might have been on sale at a street fair in Chinatown. Paper lanterns hung in the corner, knickknacks covered the shelves and a laminated painting of a boat scene covered a television set used only for ambient music. Clearly, Lucky’s was not your average American diner.
Despite the decor, walking into Lucky’s is nothing like walking into a Chinese restaurant. There are no tables – only the jigsaw pattern of a breakfast counter – and the greeting party is a motley selection of regulars, a racially diverse crowd of older folk who argue politics and philosophy on weekday mornings and pause only to tell newcomers, “Sit wherever you want,” “Have a nice day,” and “God bless you.” Their humorous musings and the ambient music provide the audio backdrop to every breakfast at Lucky’s.
On my first visit, the “Sit wherever you want” command proved tricky. Dirty dishes covered each vacant spot on the counter and there was no staff in sight. After some hesitation, we chose some seats anyway, and it wasn’t until we were settled that an older Chinese man appeared from the kitchen with a dishrag in hand and the sudden realization put a smile on my face. This was Lucky, the owner of The Golden Phenix, the waiter, the chef and the bus boy. And then I understood why the prices could be so low; Lucky had no employees to pay.
My friends and I were amazed. Here was this frail Chinese man, who could not have been younger than 70, running back and forth across the diner. Lucky receded back into the kitchen to cook the meals, placed the meals in the window, walked back around the wall to the diner side, picked up the meals and served them, all the while taking drink orders, refilling coffees and never writing anything down. Then, on top of all that, when Lucky spotted my friend David struggling to open his margarine packet across the room, he scurried over to us and proceeded to peel off three margarine covers with jittery fingers, because Lucky is just that kind of guy.
He is the key to the puzzle, the detail that ties together all of the quirkiness of The Golden Phenix, because it isn’t really The Golden Phenix; it’s Lucky’s. The diner’s faults are his faults and the diner’s charm is his charm because he runs every aspect of the establishment and he spares no effort in doing so. He operates The Golden Phenix as if he was the loyal servant to every man, woman and child that walks into the door. He takes no breaks, never slows and somehow – between cooking, serving and busing – he manages to incessantly stop by every patron and ask “More coffee? More water? More butter?” fifty times a meal.
Aside from the wonder of the owner himself – whose merit alone deserves a visit to The Golden Phenix – dining at Lucky’s is a pleasant experience. The winding counters achieve a balance between convenience and community, where groups can face each other but the unfriendly don’t have to feel uncomfortable dining alone. The food is on the bland and greasy side – in fact, most of us can do better at home – but it is serviceable, fast, cheap and served with ketchup and hot sauce. Between the prices, the charming interior and the fortune cookie at the end of meal, I’ve never left The Golden Phenix unsatisfied.
More than that, Lucky’s satisfies a void in my life. Tokyo 7-7 Coffee Shop quenched my Culver City desire for a homey breakfast home base, Makris Cafe and Ann’s Kitchen remained my mainstays during my Berkeley years and across the street from my apartment in Moscow, the old ladies behind the counter of the nameless cafe once said in unwhispered Russian, That boy eats here too often, he must have a bad mother. Until I spotted Lucky’s that afternoon, my life in San Diego had been missing that special place. Thank you, Lucky, “God bless you,” “Have a nice day,” and please, for your health, sit whenever you want.
Lucky’s Breakfast (Golden Phenix)
3804 Grim Ave
San Diego, CA 92104
(619) 297-2760
