Sure, the outcome of Tuesday's election is a foregone conclusion, with Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa set to pummel nine good citizens he steadfastly refused to debate. But the same can't be said about another contest: Who makes the best French dip sandwich in Los Angeles, Phillipe the Original or Cole's?
I've been wanting for months to sample the restaurants' sandwiches side by side, and last week I had an idea: What better way to encourage political discourse, I thought, than to chew the fat while chewing the fat. If the mayor wouldn't meet his opponents at the debate podium, maybe he would meet them over lunch.
At the end of the meals, we'd pick a winner between Phillipe's and Cole's, both of whom lay claim to having invented the French dip.
I got off to a rough start, though, trying to corral the candidates. James Harris, who's running as a socialist, had a prior commitment. Such a shame. He's a union meat packer, which would have made him the perfect roast beef judge.
But then I reached Walter Moore, an attorney making his second run for mayor. He was in. Phil Jennerjahn, who calls himself an entertainer, was in, and he recruited David "Zuma Dogg" Saltsburg, a community activist and professional gadfly to the 10th power.
And the mayor?
You'll be surprised to hear he declined.
A spokesman said he was too busy being mayor to judge roast beef.
Maybe, but from where I sit, the contest would have fit right in with the mayor's daily menu of photo-ops. His spokesman argued that one of the mayor's important tasks last week was to celebrate the opening of a new electric truck factory.
A worthy cause, no doubt. But if the mayor were really on the ball, he would have arranged a trade-in deal for his tone-deaf transportation deputy Jaime de la Vega, who drives a big honking Hummer through the most congested streets in the nation.
But I digress.
"Well, the presentation is exquisite," Walter Moore said as he took the first bites of French dip in a booth at Phillipe's.
Jennerjahn liked his sandwich, too. Between bites, he explained how he had the GOP base locked up and insisted he'd pull 12% of the vote Tuesday. When I suggested he was dreaming, he had a quick response.
"You're high on drugs," he said, adding that I was "underestimating the evangelical vote."
Zuma Dogg, who was dressed in a T-shirt on which he'd scrawled "Zuma Dogg for Mayor," didn't get the full Phillipe's experience because he doesn't eat meat. But he seemed to appreciate his tuna sandwich.
