Some places never go out of style, not because they are timeless, but because they were anachronisms the day they went into business. Hermosa’s Ocean Diner, which evokes a roadside dive of the 1940s in décor and music, is a good example. It’s enduringly popular despite the fact that few people now alive can remember when such places were common. It’s a nostalgia trip to an uncomplicated world of homestyle food served in an American-themed bubble of comfort.
The architecture and décor of Old Tony’s on the Redondo Pier has roots in the same era, but it is a survivor rather than a re-creation. They opened in 1952 as a waterfront steak and seafood house, with a few touches borrowed from tiki bars of the period. Tony’s doesn’t go overboard with the exoticized South Pacific of carved Polynesian gods and flaming pu-pu platters, but the glass fishing float lamps, fish nets hanging from the ceiling, and aloha shirts worn by the bartenders remind you of the connection.
The menu has been updated a bit, but for every modernism like Cajun popcorn shrimp or fried zucchini, there’s an archaism like clams casino and crab Louis. We were in a mood to see how they make the old favorites and how our 21st century palates would react to them, so mostly stayed with old school items.
We arrived around sunset and were seated at a table where we could look down at the water and watch a hungry sea lion chasing fish. We were going to have the same meal ourselves, because while there are a few steaks on the menu, seafood is the star here. We started with what were described as Maryland-style crabcakes. Crabcakes are a nostalgic item for me because my family is from Baltimore, so we had to order them. Unfortunately, these were described incorrectly. Marylanders favor a simple mix of crab and a little onion and herbs with Old Bay seasoning, either pan-fried or broiled. The ones at Old Tony’s had only a whisper of spice, and were breaded and deep-fried. They use good quality crab and are worth having on their own merits, and if you like the crunchy crust with minimally seasoned crab inside, you might prefer them. One thing to note is that the crab cakes are served with a spicy tartar sauce though a standard version is available. I wish that they had given us a choice when we ordered, because we both would have preferred the standard version.
We had been tempted to order another appetizer but were reminded by our views of passing plates that portions are ample here — almost all meals come with soup and salad. The soup choices are clam chowder, smoked salmon chowder, and minestrone. Our server enthusiastically recommended the chowders. The clam chowder had a fine herbal broth that had been reduced instead of thickened with vast amounts of flour, which is how we prefer it. It needed a sprinkle of pepper in my opinion, but as my wife has often observed, you can add pepper but not subtract it. I liked the salmon chowder a little more, and the rich soup with a hint of smoke had me searching the bottom of the bowl for any molecules that I had missed.
The salads were a standard mix of greens with homemade dressings. We chose the Caesar and blue cheese. The blue cheese had nice chunks of mild cheese, while the Caesar was a bit more assertive with a gentle anchovy flavor in the background. We enjoyed our starters with a standard Mai Tai and a Fire Chief, which is the same but with a floater of 151 rum. The Mai Tai is a Trader Vic’s tiki classic, a strong drink that has a nice fruity balance when made right. They do make it right here and give you the souvenir glass at the end of the meal. If you enjoy cocktails, that’s what to order because the wine list is curiously weak. Only four white wines are available by the glass, and they were out of one of them the night we were there. A seafood restaurant really ought to have more white wines available, but perhaps there isn’t much call for them in a palace of mixed drinks.
For our main courses we chose a house specialty, the baked halibut, and lobster thermidor. Lobster thermidor is a throwback dish that was invented in Paris in the 1890s. In its classic form it involved lobster meat cut into pieces and put back in the shell, topped with a wine or brandy cream sauce and gruyere cheese, and baked. There are many variations on the dish, some with egg, tomatoes, and mustard mixed in, some without, so there is latitude for expression. The version here was served in a ceramic ramekin rather than in the shell, which makes it easier to eat but takes something away from the presentation. The portion was immense, and the mound of food was intimidating. The sauce was so thick that it was almost a custard, and was made with either a mild cheese or a very small amount of pungent gruyere. If there was any mustard in the mix it was a polite whisper, and it was missed, because some sharp herbal flavor would have balanced the richness of the sauce. I chose the clam linguini with the side dish, which I wouldn’t have done if I had known how filling this would be. The linguine sauce was well made, the pasta a shade past al dente, but vegetables would have been a better accompaniment to an entree this filling.
My wife’s halibut was more to both our tastes, a generously portioned chunk of fish topped with butter, tartar sauce, and herbs before being baked. Top quality seafood doesn’t need a lot of adornment, and they nailed the texture and flavor here. My wife chose a baked potato for a side and barely finished her meal. We both decided that we would eat sparingly the next day to make up for the indulgence. Despite that, we had to try the housemade chocolate mousse, figuring that it would be a modest dessert. We laughed when it arrived topped with a tower of whipped cream and some candy sprinkles, and recalibrated our modest diet to a week rather than a day. The mousse was creamy and light, on the sweet side rather than emphasizing the bitter chocolate, and we did manage to finish most of it.
It had been an enjoyable meal and a surprisingly affordable one — dinners with soup and salad included start at $25, which makes this an everyday enjoyment rather than a splurge.
Keeping the food and menu the same for 72 years has been a good strategy for Old Tony’s. I heard someone at another table reminisce about coming here as a kid. I might have been at the table next to him in the early ‘60s, fidgeting as the adults talked while surreptitiously trying to loosen the necktie that my parents made me wear when we went out to a nice place. Nobody wears a tie to dine on the pier now, but I’m sure they won’t mind if you do, just to be in style of the day they opened.
Old Tony’s is at 210 Fisherman’s Wharf on the Redondo Pier. Open daily at 11:30 a.m., close 10 p.m. Su-Thu, 11 p.m. Fr-Sa. Parking in nearby structure (not validated). Wheelchair access good to most areas. Full bar, corkage $12. No reservations accepted. (310) 374-1442. OldTony’s.com. ER
