PHILIPPE–The original in downtown l.a. has achieved icon status after serving up classic french-dip sandwiches for the past 92 years

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It’s the peak of lunch hour at the venerable Philippe The Original in downtown L.A., with the usual lineup of Angelenos eager to get their hands on the signature dish a juicy French-dip sandwich.

Seemingly oblivious to the fuss behind the counter are John and Richard Binder, the two middle-aged brothers who run the 92-year-old restaurant. They are arguing over “the great ketchup scandal,” which actually occurred more than a decade ago.

The matter of ketchup is a delicate subject. The condiment used to be unavailable because John felt it would compete harshly with the restaurant’s mustard, made specifically for the sandwiches. Then, at some point in the late ’80s, he went on vacation. When he came back, ketchup bottles were on the tables.

Richard tells the story a little differently. He says John was there the whole time and voted on the ketchup. (The entire family votes on any major restaurant decision or change.)

The episode says a lot about the place’s old-fashioned ways. The sawdust floors, hand-painted signs, rough-hewn benches and 9-cent coffee all hearken back to another time. And the Binders intend to keep it that way.

Old-fashioned eats

It’s the French-dips, of course, that draw the most action at Philippe (pronounced Phil-ee-pay). Servers hand-carve the meat and dip a French bread roll into the meat’s cooking juices. (Beef and lamb are the best sellers, although pork, ham and turkey are also offered. Sandwiches go for $3.95 each, except for lamb, which costs $4.25.)

A trip around the kitchen shows mammoth pots filled with the next day’s dipping juices, beef shanks marinating with carrots and greens. A dozen lamb shanks smothered with garlic cloves cook in one of the ovens.

At lunchtime, the crowd lined up to place their orders at the counter can grow to more than 100 people deep. But the mix of lawyers, jurists, construction workers, tourists and Chinatown merchants don’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never had to wait for more than 5 minutes on line,” says Betty Rodriguez, who works in the nearby Criminal Courts building and comes to Philippe once a week.

Legend has it that the French-dip was born when original owner Philippe Mathieu accidentally dropped a sandwich into the gravy and his policeman customer didn’t mind. Others have said the policeman made a special order and it caught on.

In any case, Mathieu retired in 1927 and sold the business to three brothers named Martin. In 1951, Frank Martin’s son-in-law William Binder took over. In 1985, William retired and turned things over to his sons, John and Richard.

“I didn’t have an inkling if my sons would want to take over,” William recalls.

Indeed, John, the more outgoing of the two brothers, had no intention of joining the family business. After he got out of the Marine Corps and a 13-month stint in Vietnam in 1967, he came back to the States and started working at the restaurant. Now 52, he keeps track of the daily nuts and bolts, such as ordering the food and doing small-scale upkeep of the building. Richard, 47, handles the finances.

The restaurant operates much as it did nearly 100 years ago, with 10 carvers standing behind the long counter cutting meat, preparing sandwiches, and taking money from customers. Many of the workers have been at the restaurant over 20 years, including a meat server on the job for 38 years.

Ill-fated venture

Over the years the owners have instituted small changes, like introducing new food items and marketing forays. Some have worked better than others.

John spearheaded a failed marketing drive back in the late ’80s that involved selling Philippe’s super-hot mustard in Vons supermarkets. He ended up losing money in the deal and he didn’t like the way the product was handled.

“It was selling great, but it was a marketing nightmare,” Binder recalls. “We can sell the mustard for $2.25 here, but they beat us down to 53 cents a unit and the mustard didn’t get rotated, so we didn’t feel that the quality was maintained under those conditions.” In the end the brothers scrapped that idea. “Dad took me off to the side and said, ‘Don’t lose sight of where you came from.’ I never forgot that,” Binder remembers.

Often, change comes from suggestions made by customers. About five years ago, John heard a woman in line talking to her friend about wanting a turkey sandwich dip, which wasn’t available. Binder made sure to start including turkey on the menu and it’s been a popular item ever since. He also added green salads, which have also proved popular.

Binder knows that given the restaurant’s long history, even modest changes are revolutionary. “Our grandfather would be rolling over in his grave if he knew,” Binder says.

Last year they tried to institute call-in orders, but the brothers discovered that people were calling from their cell phones in the parking lot to avoid waiting in the long lines, and the practice was stopped.

Still, a new generation is sprucing up the operation.

The heir apparent is Charles “Chuck” Johnson, John’s stepson, who is the day manager. Johnson, 31, has designed the restaurant’s Web site, which offers directions to the restaurant, a history, and gift items like mugs and T-shirts emblazoned with the Philippe logo and, of course, jars of mustard.

The food will always remain the main thing at Philippe. Restaurant critic Merrill Shindler has a soft spot for the restaurant and has written about it many times. “I love the place. You can’t be rational about places like this,” he says. “The food is always good, and it’s always the way it used to be. It’s this touchstone in a city that has so little history.”

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