Green Light Special

Actress Sally Kirkland remembers the day when, on her way into the Silver Spoon restaurant in West Hollywood, she encountered director Quentin Tarantino loitering out front. Tarantino was looking for actor Robert Forster, a regular diner at the Greek coffee shop, hoping to cast him in his then-upcoming film “Jackie Brown.” Tarantino coaxed Kirkland into waiting with him for the actor to arrive and they began to chat. What he really wanted to do, said Tarantino--at the time one of the hottest directors in Hollywood--was act. Kirkland gave him an impromptu method acting class for the next hour and a half.

The Silver Spoon is not a place of power industry lunches or a hip hangout for young A-list actors; you won’t find the kind of trendy patrons who self-consciously type a screenplay into a laptop, talk too loudly on a cell phone or discuss a spec script at top volume. But it does have a quirky Hollywood vibe all its own.

The decor is vintage simple. It has a patio, a long serving counter and a back-room bar. The booths are roomy, tufted, Naugahyde things of a salmon shade. There is wood paneling on the walls and randomly hung framed movie posters. In fact, the most visually striking thing at the Silver Spoon is likely to be the slightly eccentric diners, such as the pair of faded Jayne Mansfields in matching tiger vinyl coats having a late, light lunch.

Certainly, the haunt has seen headier days. John Lennon would come in back when the place was still called Theodore’s and A&M; records was nearby. And people still talk about the day a striking, 6-foot-tall woman sauntered in wrapped in African-type robes, wearing a turban and carrying a baby in a papoose on her back. “Never mind her, look who’s behind her,” someone had said, and there, meekly following, was her companion, Robert De Niro, totally overshadowed.

Today, there’s a steady gang of regulars: character actors, paparazzi, agents and retired TV writers, who help the diner maintain an unpretentious show-biz atmosphere. Customers eat, drink coffee and exchange Hollywood war stories--past and present. “You come in and you know everyone by name,” says Vera Bouzis, who runs the restaurant with her husband, Andy, “like walking into your living room.”

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FRIDAY 8:15 a.m.: Kirkland, a regular for nearly 25 years, sits in a back booth. She says she likes the Silver Spoon because it offers a place where she can check in with friends--the free-spirited actress stops by daily whether she arrives in a limousine or walks in barefoot, dressed down and without makeup. “Now, Sally,” a waitress might scold, urging Kirkland to put on shoes, “that’s against the law.”

This morning Kirkland is wearing shoes and makeup and a powder-blue blouse with a glittery, matching scarf. She is making some notes for a speech she will give later in the day in honor of Martin Landau (another Silver Spoon regular). “L.A. is entirely too lonely to a single person,” Kirkland says. “I don’t cook; I’m hopelessly dependent and these people take care of me.” Kirkland has already picked up a script for an HBO movie that has been left for her at the cash resister.

“It’s like a club,” says actor-playwright-teacher John Miranda when pressed for an explanation of the Silver Spoon’s appeal. Sometimes in the afternoons the young acting students still come in and make each other laugh, just as John Ritter and Robin Williams did when they hung out here after their Saturday morning comedy class in the late 1970s. Comedian Rip Taylor typically sits at a side table by himself in the corner or in a booth with a friend.

SATURDAY 12:30 p.m.: At his regular back corner table on the balcony, lunching with family and friends, is Forster. He is among a number of actors who began frequenting the Silver Spoon after the famed Schwab’s Drug Store closed in 1985 and his back table has become a sort of office to him. Forster says he likes it here because he doesn’t have to dress up to walk in. He likes the No. 1: French toast served with bacon and eggs. He likes the corner table because “it’s the best view in the joint,” looking out over Santa Monica Boulevard. When the “B” rating in the window is pointed out, Forster says, “You gotta keep your immunities up somewhere.”

At a nearby table, a minor fracas between a waiter and a white-haired gentleman ensues over whether the meat loaf on the menu is Salisbury steak. The waitress, Gloria, settles the dispute by saying that meatloaf can be disguised as Salisbury steak with sauce, onions and mushrooms, and promptly kisses the man several times on the neck. “Why do you think I come here,” the customer asks his companions, settling for the camouflaged meatloaf. “It’s not for the food.”

Most of the customers have a sense of humor about themselves and the restaurant. Examining the rim of a coffee cup, comedian Bernie Guzman exclaims, “That’s not lipstick, it’s history!”

Owner Andy Bouzis takes it in stride, but he takes his food seriously. He became the chef here when Theodore’s became the Silver Spoon in 1988; he bought the place in 1999. He defies anyone to find better short ribs. “And I say that because it’s a pound of meat and it’s cooked very well with an excellent sauce,” Bouzis says.

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SUNDAY 12:15 p.m.: Reading the Sunday paper and sitting under a “Jackie Brown” poster is retired dancer and songwriter Bradford Craig. The trim, sliver-haired Craig, who has been coming to the diner for 32 years, played the chorus boy Hank whom Barbra Streisand thanks her lucky stars to be seeing again in the splashy “Hello Dolly” number in the movie of the same name. Later Craig became a songwriter for Quincy Jones. “In the old days I came down here and wrote all my songs,” says Craig, who is now retired. “Sometimes I’d sit here for breakfast, lunch and dinner and never move.”

It’s a busy afternoon and every table is taken. At the next booth an angry-looking elderly character actor has been sitting over a cup of coffee for quite some time and is finally ready to order: a single piece of toast. “Not the full order, sweetheart,” he says, “and I’ll butter it myself.” The waitress huffs off. “I don’t know why they act that way whenever I order,” he says to the neighboring table.

A turning point in the restaurant’s popularity came when the previous owners acknowledged its Hollywood clientele and covered the walls with movie posters from the films of its patrons. There’s a poster for Kirkland from her film “Anna” (for which she received an Oscar nomination), and one for De Niro from “Taxi Driver.” Shelley Winters is represented in one of her lesser-known efforts, “Tennessee Champ.” Martin Landau’s poster for “Ed Wood” is signed “Thanks for keeping me well fed all these years.”

“Even I got a poster over there,” Craig points out. “‘The Doberman Gang,’ I wrote the music and the songs for that. I guess I should ask them to move it over here because this is my booth.”

From the next table: “I said one piece of toast!” the red-faced character actor yells when his order arrives. “Not a single side order!” The waitress huffs off again, leaving behind the extra slice of bread.

But where entertainment people gather there’s bound to be some drama. The conflict of the moment is the eighty-sixing of a regular table of veteran show-biz types, including comedian Jackie Gayle and celebrity photographer Roger Kornbad. “Apparently, they were laughing too loud,” Forster says.

FRIDAY 9:30 a.m. (The Defectors): Several blocks east of the Silver Spoon at the French Market restaurant, Gayle, once Frank Sinatra’s opening act, says, “I’ve been in a lot of great restaurants but I’ve never been thrown out of a one of them except for that dump.” Andy Bouzis says there were other reasons that caused the group to get the heave-ho, but would not elaborate. As Gayle and his camp tell it, the dispute started with a conflict between tables. The Gayle table likes to laugh and laugh loud and one morning another patron complained. “This guy,” Gayle says, “has never been in the movies, never done a thing and he gets sarcastic toward me. I had a career. This guy’s never done nothing, believe me. He could put his resume on a postage stamp. And he says, ‘You guys are a little loud, could you quiet it down?’ I said, ‘Look, you dummy, what have you done? Nothing. And you’re making these loud remarks everybody can hear in the restaurant.’ Follow me?” The customer complained, as others had in the past, Bouzis says, so he felt he had to respond.

“I don’t know why the management didn’t stick up for us,” Kornbad says. “They had some police officers there that morning and I asked, ‘Have you ever written a ticket for laughing?’ I mean, is it a crime to have a good time?”

Meanwhile, the usual crowd is breakfasting at the Silver Spoon. There’s the swapping of Hollywood gossip, stories of pending deals, recent auditions and past glories--always with the hope that the next business card exchange might lead to the next big break. “Maybe part of the charm is that it’s always here,” Kirkland says. “It’s consistent and unchanging.”

Except the exiled laughers are no longer here. “Those guys are good guys,” Forster says. “I hope the owners will see the wisdom of asking them back. After all, show-biz people gotta eat somewhere.”