I'm digging into my duck confit at Cafe Figaro on North Vermont Avenue, sipping a Pinot Noir, and it's only vaguely weird. This used to be the Onyx Cafe, a scribbling, strumming, chain-smoking stew of artists, skater kids, conspiracy mongers and other fringe characters. But at the tres swank Figaro, they've done an impressive job of obliterating any vestige of my once-beloved haunt. That pitted concrete floor that was "cleaned" every year or so by having a coat of gray paint spilled over it is now a muted checkerboard of yellow and red clay tiles. Gone are the fruit flies over the bakery case, the mythically proportioned roaches and the jumble of mismatched chairs and tables that characterized this spot in the days--10 years worth--when I guzzled gallons of apathetically prepared coffee and hung out there every second of my free and not-so-free time.
Requiem For The Onyx Cafe
It Certainly Wasn't the Coffee That Made the Place. But Like Every Alternative Scene Before It, This Hangout Was Doomed to 'Discovery' and, Finally, Death.
VERY FIRST PERSON
As the '80s became the '90s, alternative culture become Alternative, and more and more people "discovered" our funky Los Feliz/Silver Lake neighborhood. Gradually, a once-moribund strip of real estate started fetching top dollar, until, of course, it eventually priced out the little coffeehouse that started it all. The rent was adjusted and voila, Cafe Figaro.
While the Onyx's Boho vibe evolved organically and was often (hyperbolically, I'll admit) compared to Paris in the '20s, the Figaro seems literally transplanted from France--the cuisine, the service, the wine, even the oh-so-petite Coke bottles. I would've checked it out sooner except, a few months after it opened, the ultra-Gallic staff was rejiggered. The Figaro closed for a number of weeks while a more tolerable French-lite staff was hired. After the reopening, I waited for the place to hit its stride, then made a reservation.
The Onyx was barely a business; the regulars were charged on a sliding scale that often slid to zero. Tonight's dinner for two will come out to $111, plus tip. What's remarkable (besides the fact that I can cover it) is how tasty I find the confit even if I do feel like I'm chewing on the corpse of my once-favorite scene.
*
I GREW UP IN AN ORTHODOX JEWISH ENCLAVE IN BROOKLYN. From the moment I was old enough to realize that I was being raised to get married, make money, have kids and settle down near a temple where I could spend my Saturdays with other people who'd done the same, I dreamed of escape. In 1983, I moved to L.A.
