How hotly anticipated is the second outpost of
Father’s Office? In the hour I wait at the Helms Bakery site for chef/proprietor Sang Yoon no less than a dozen looky-loos walk up to peer through the window, leaving behind imprints of their curiosity. It continues throughout our interview. One fellow keeps rapping on the door until someone calls out, “We’re not open.” “Yeah, but when?!” he croaks, his palms pressed against the glass. I’m suddenly in a Mervyn’s commercial.
L.A. has had plenty of splashy restaurant openings—
Beso,
Bastide,
Citrus,
Comme Ça—but those have been aristocratic affairs. While the regular Joe can vicariously join in the buzz, he won’t be rubbing George Clooney’s elbow at
Nobu’s inaugural dinner service. But the
OG F.O. in Santa Monica is, simply put, a beer bar. It’s old, it’s tiny. It offers just enough space for 76 people to get along fine. And, in case you haven’t heard, it has the greatest burger in the history of ever. Despite all the accolades, there’s no preferential treatment, absolutely none. So you can imagine that news of another Father’s Office is going to rouse the common folk as much as the A-listers and impassioned foodies.
The immensity of the public response is not lost on Yoon, who left a hoity-toity position as executive chef of legendary
Michael’s when he assumed the Montana Avenue joint in 2000. “When I first took over Father’s Office, it was a divey beer bar,” he recalls. People knew what I did, but there was no correlation between me and this divey beer bar. Before, it was like, ‘What’s the risk? No one knows what it is.’ Everyone knows what [the new location] is. It’s very different. It’s another element that makes it more nerve-racking, because you have to deliver what people are expecting.”
“You don’t seem nervous at all,” I joke. “No, I’m good at hiding it,” he replies.
Nerves. Not something you would expect from Yoon, who’s often portrayed as a dogmatist. He gets called a Nazi for the unrelenting “no substitutions, modifications…yes, really” policy that applies to nearly everything in Father’s Office. He seems truculent and fastidious when he specifies that, even if it does serve some of the best food in the city, a bar isn’t a restaurant—so stop calling F.O. one. The rules won’t change in Culver City—something else that Yoon recalibrates: “We’re technically in L.A. by address; Culver City is next door. So we technically call ourselves Father’s Office L.A.”
That kind of precision, both technical and aesthetic, is modeled throughout F.O.L.A, which feels palatial compared to the first. A stunning 50-foot walnut counter dominates the room, driving home the point that, indeed, this is a bar; and without hostesses or waiters, everybody’s evening must begin and end with the bartender. State-of-the-art beer taps—72 for 36 labels—line up in double formation to minimize the stretch bartenders must cover to fill an order. The glittery bathroom floors are made of crushed beer bottles: brown glass for the men, green for the ladies. Heating units in the patio are permanently set at the perfect distance above the picnic tables (believe me, I tested them out). The kitchen here is bigger, more modern and organized with rabbinic formalism. All the glasses and equipment for drinks are washed and kept separate from anything related to food. Updated wine offerings feature four reds and four whites on tap, which are always stored at serving temperature (58 and 45 degrees, in case you were asking). A mini A/C system blasts cold air to keep spirits—part of the brand new cocktail program—chilled, even as they’re displayed behind the bar. And so on. Even the ice cubes are bigger and frozen at a lower temperature to prevent drink dilution.
The analogy of an Office upgrade is inevitable. “I kind of thought of it as a software update, making the 2.0 version, which is essentially bigger, faster, prettier,” Yoon says. “Everything is just newer, better—throughout, throughout—so it should make it faster and more efficient from an operational standpoint. It should make the guest experience better. We should be more efficient. We
should be.” He punctuates words with his resolution. In fact, the general cadence of his speech comes with some punch; I can’t help but feel as though I’m parrying blows. I imagine this is what people read as the obstinacy that denies them their precious ketchup.
I tell Yoon that wishful rumors have been flying that there will be a condiment bar. “A what?” Yoon is horrified. “A
condom bar?!” Uh, no. I clarify. He isn’t any less incredulous, “Don’t even know what that is. You mean like a
ketchup station?”
Sorry, sports fans, still no ketchup. But as with all things at F.O., there’s a precise reason—as precise as the irrevocable union of dry aged beef, bacon, onion, blue and gruyere cheeses—which Yoon is happy to explain, “[Ketchup] is a very dominating flavor. It’s also full of artificial sweeteners, high-fructose syrup, which I go to great lengths to keep out of the kitchen entirely. I have nothing against ketchup on its own. I understand what ketchup brings [to a burger]: a little bit of tartness and a sweetness, which I built into the burger through the onion compote. The reason why people reach for ketchup is already in there.”
Good enough, but it probably won’t alleviate the belly-aching. There are already complaints that the artisanal craft-spirits menu—which, by the way, has a formidable gin martini—eschews vodka. “[The spirits list] is about purity and focus, and we want the spirit to shine,” Yoon says. “If you want to be focused and have things of character, vodka is the hardest to detect nuances.” As he comes to the end of his soliloquy, he's resigned, “Fine, I personally don’t like vodka. I just use that one.”
To hear it from Yoon, it’s sometimes the public who won’t play nice: “The whole thing about being called a Nazi is a little upsetting. To me, that infers I’ve taken away your choice, that I’ve taken your humanity. I’ve added!" he exclaims. "I’ve added an option. You always have the choice to eat or not eat, partake or not partake. It’s pretty democratic. I’m not trying to force something on to somebody. I don’t know why people look at it that way.”
On the eve of F.O. 2.0’s launch, the notorious burger has not changed—and probably won’t for perpetuity. The rest of the menu may or may not grow, although this kitchen will also execute the repertoire of seasonal dishes that developed on Montana Avenue. Despite all the fuss over the food, the plan remains the same: Everything, including Yoon himself, is in service of the potables, a liquid devotion that even applies to water. Reverse-osmosis filtration offers some fantastic-tasting, purer-than-pure water (both still and sparkling variations are free). But will we get a lemon with it?
“No,” Yoon says, “But if you
want one…”
“Oh, it’s up for substitutions, modifications?” I ask. He looks at me as if I’m taking things too seriously now. “It’s just water.”
Jiyeon Yoo is Restaurants editor for Metromix Los Angeles.
