Philippe's French-Dip Sandwich (1951)

[J. Eulenberg]

"Across the street from Terminal Annex" at 1001 N. Alameda St.
Phillippe's Original Sandwich Shop.  Still with sawdust on the floor,
still with people coming from all over to go there.  It was the only place
for breakfast when we stayed in a motel near the train station (THAT was
another story!).  Phillippe's is a Los Angeles stop, and it's still there.
And the prices are low enough that they SEEM as if they might still be 35
cents for a sandwich.  Put it on your list.

Julia Niebuhr Eulenberg <eulenbrg at u.washington.edu>

On Wed, 31 Dec 2003 Bapopik at AOL.COM wrote:

> ---------------------- Information from the mail header -----------------------
> Sender:       American Dialect Society <ADS-L at LISTSERV.UGA.EDU>
> Poster:       Bapopik at AOL.COM
> Subject:      Philippe's French-Dip Sandwich (1951)
> -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>   The first LOS ANGELES TIMES "dip(ped) sandwich" citation is only 1930.
>   Here's the important article--a better-late-than-never 1951.
>
>
>
> PHILIPPE'S FOUNDER RECALLS BUSY DAYS; Man Who Made First French-Dip Sandwich Sees Restaurant Bearing Name Close Doors
> Los Angeles Times (1886-Current File). Los Angeles, Calif.: Aug 27, 1951. p. 27 (1 page)
>
>    Philippe Mathieu, now 74, whetted a carving knife and his memories yesterday and talked of the times when he sold the best-known meal in Los Angeles for 25 cents.
>    e looked over his shoulder at the years that have passed, and back to the days when crowds lined up outside his place at 500 N. Alameda St. to buy his meals.
>    "Sometimes," he said in his home at 1110 Marion Ave., "the crowds would be so big that people passing would call police, thinking there was a fight going on."
>       _French Dip Sandwich_
>    Those were the days when he was the poor man's Delmonico, the man who had thrust upon him the trick of devising the first "French-dip sandwich."  it was a trick that was to make him a modest fortune.  It also was to make him work himself to the brink of the grave.
>    Most people nowadays think of Philippe's as at 354 Allen St., and that's where it was for 26 years.  Of course, now it has vanished, one of the victims of the wreckers and the bulldozers which have been sweeping away the relics and memories of yesterday to make way for the Ramona Freeway of tomorrow.
>    Philippe's was several places.  All of them have gone the way of the last, as rubble and debris cleared for the path of progress.
>       _From France_
>    Philippe came from Southern France.  At 14 he got his first job in Aix-en-Provence in a small "charcuterie," French for delicatessen store.  His pay was his food and care and nothing a week.
>    he went to Algiers and worked as an apprentice cook, again for board and room and nothing a week.  At 21 he spent a year in the French army.
>    He had had enough of poor pay.  But he worked two more years to get enoug money to come to this country.
>    "This is a wonderful country," he calls it.
>    he came in the steerage, and arrived in Buffalo 10 days after President McKinley was assassinated there.
>    He worked in lumber camps and then in a hotel in Buffalo, where he worked up in 15 months from dishwasher to second cook.
>       _Came Here in 1903_
>    In 1903 he came to Los Angeles and worked as night chef in the Angelus Hotel, then one of this city's leading hostelries.
>    Five and a half months later he had enough money to go into business for himself.  For $150 he bought a delicatessen store at 617 Alameda St.
>    That was his start.
>    "I didn't make much money," he said, "and I worked hard.  But I knew I was on the right track."
>    The start of his sandwich business was unintentional.  His customers started it.  He had a row of open barrels each half-covered with planks.  Each barrel contained a different relish--pickled cucumbers, pickled onions. olives and such.
> (Col. 2--ed.)
>    He sold, of course, French bread.  And, also of course, cooked meats.  Customers would come in, buy a French roll or a loaf of French bread, borrow a carving knife and slit the bread open, buy meat and make their own sandwiches.
>    "They would have me dip into the barrels for their relishes and every customer would have a sandwich to his own taste," Philippe says.
>    He prospered, but very modestly.  But in 1908 he felt the future was secure.  He was in love.  He married.  She was Josephine Chaix and, of course, a Frenchwoman.  It was a good marriage.  It produced two daughters, Alice and Berthe, and in the later years of Philippe's places, all four worked.  They worked like beavers.  Alice is now married and has two sons, Philiipe and Andre.  Bertha is a cashier in a 7th St. apparel shop.
>       _Starts Restaurant_
>    In 1908, Philippe decided that since his delicatessen customers seemed to like to eat in his place, a restaurant was the logical thing.  He opened one at 300 N. Alameda St.
>    The meals he served there have been the subject of many a reminiscence by Los Angeles oldsters.
>    He served his customers all they could eat plus a pint of what he still describes as "good claret wine" for two-bits.
>    Those were the days when the crowds fairly mobbed him.
>    In those days Philippe was buying 12-ounce loaves of French bread at 40 for a dollar.  he paid 4 cents a pint for milk and 13 cents a gallon for wine.
>       _On City Hall Site_
>    After four years he moved his restaurant to 136-138 N. Spring St.  That's where the City Hall now stands.
>    His new restaurant was somewhat more pretentious than the old.  It had a three-piece orchestra!
>    And he charged 35 cents for his meals!
>    The restaurant prospered bu Philippe wanted a rest.  After a few months he sold out.
>    But he grew restless and went back into business.  He and his brother Arbin set up a new delicatessen, this time at 817 N. Alameda St., but in 1916 they separated and Philippe continued in it alone.
>    Business got so good that Philippe needed larger quarters.  In 1918 he moved his place to 246 Aliso St.
>       _Sandwich Is Born_
>    That was where the French-dip sandwich was born.  A policeman was one of its creators.  As Philippe tells it:
>    "One day a police officer asked me if I would mind splitting one of these large loaves of French bread and filling it with 'some of the delicious roast pork.'  I was not too busy, so I said, 'Sure.'  Then he asked me to (Col. 3--ed.) 'please cut it in half.  I've got a friend outside who can eat it.'  Then he asked for some pickles, onions and olives."
>    Philippe charged 35 cents for the works and says that was the start of the "man-size" sandwich.  The next day the policeman and his friend returned with several other friends.
>       _Dipped in Gravy_
>    "Then we started making French-roll sandwiches for those who had smaller appetitites," he says.
>
> (To be continued--NYU Library is closing at midnight!)
>