The most familiar story is that Mathieu accidentally dropped a roll in pan drippings, and the customer who had ordered the sandwich agreed to eat it anyway. This is highly unlikely, because an accident is the lazy explanation people usually come up with when they have no idea how a dish was invented.
Originally, Mathieu referred to this as a dip sandwich. "It was several years before they called it the French dip," Guilhem says. "His place was colloquially known as Frenchy's, so people would ask other restaurants, 'Dip [my sandwich] like Frenchy's does over there.'"
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Wednesday, April 23, 2008 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 2 National Desk 1 inches; 41 words Type of Material: Correction
Philippe's: In the Los Angeles Times Magazine's April 6 issue, a caption with an article about Philippe the Original misspelled the last name of a woman who has worked at the restaurant for 38 years. She is Juanita Gonzalez, not Gonzales.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Sunday, May 04, 2008 Home Edition Los Angeles Times Magazine Part I Page 14 Lat Magazine Desk 1 inches; 21 words Type of Material: Correction
Philippe's: A caption accompanying "The Big Dipper" in the April 6 issue referred to Juanita Gonzales. The correct spelling is Gonzalez.
In 1925, after his landlord had doubled his rent several times, Mathieu bought his own property at 364 Aliso St. Two years later, exhausted by overwork, he sold the restaurant to a lawyer whose name nobody remembers, which is just as well, because he flopped. After a couple of months, Mathieu bought back the restaurant and sold it to brothers David and Harry Martin, making good on his promise to his wife to retire at 50.
The Martins and their in-laws the Binders have run it ever since. From 1927 to 1941, they kept it open 24 hours a day. In 1951, when the last bits of Frenchtown were paved over for the 101 Freeway, the Martins moved Philippe's to 1001 N. Alameda, where it has been for the last 57 years.
An antique clock emblazoned with the name of a long-forgotten veterinary practice hangs on the wall as a souvenir of the livery stable the Martins once operated across Aliso Street from Philippe's. Despite having owned a stable, they were a food-oriented family from the start. Two Martin brothers who later joined the company had been chocolate makers. Bill Binder, who married Frank Martin's daughter, once ran his own restaurant, though his background was in brewing; his father had been the brewmaster at Miller Brewing Co. in Milwaukee. Now the Martins and the Binders have run Philippe's four times longer than Mathieu himself did.
In Philippe's kitchen--where there is no "chef," just "cooks using old family recipes"--ovens are going from 3 a.m. to 5 p.m., roasting bottom rounds of beef, legs of lamb, pork butts and turkey breasts to keep up with the sandwich-making. For the jus, the cooks simmer 150 pounds of beef bones with stockpot vegetables for 24 hours, then use the stock to deglaze the roasting pans so those little browned bits can enrich it. (All sandwiches are dipped in the same jus.) Just beyond the ovens is the doughnut fryer, way over to the right is the mustard maker and in between are ranges for cooking soups, desserts and breakfasts.
