1/5 Steven O. 7 months ago on Google
Pitiful,
atrocious,
and
downright
bland.
Lest
you
become
beholden
to
other
reviewers
with
a
taste
pallet
as
diverse
as
the
racial
makeup
of
Aspen,
Colorado,
one
should
seek
other
businesses
that
don’t
spit
upon
the
legacy
of
Los
Angeles’
humble
greasy
spoon
delicacy.
Between
the
bouncer
and
bartenders,
I
have
never
met
such
a
miserable
assemblage
of
petty
swindlers
that
take
offense
to
the
most
of
basic
human
interactions.
Snark
and
indifference
permeated
the
beautiful
and
ornate
indoor
decor;
if
manners
had
a
smell
it’d
peel
the
wallpaper
off.
Author
Alfred
Henry
Lewis
once
said
mankind
is
9
meals
away
from
anarchy—
Cole’s
portion
sizes
somehow
brought
the
number
down
significantly.
Half
a
sandwich
for
the
price
and
taste
of
a
Great
Depression
orphan
is
hilarious
at
best
and
depressing
at
worst;
never
have
I
tasted
meat
that
made
me
pray
for
an
animal
for
succumbing
to
such
a
miserable
fate.
The
menu’s
descriptors
for
“half-dip”
and
“full-dip”
shouldn’t
rely
on
cringy
quips.
Despite
me
and
my
party’s
efforts
to
determine
whether
quantities
referred
to
the
amount
of
sauce
or
sandwich
provided
(we
wouldn’t
dare
bother
to
the
staff),
we
incorrectly
chose
to
believe
the
former.
One
would
think
making
half
a
sandwich
in
any
circumstance
would
be
more
inconvenient
and
costly?
Unfortunately,
Phillipe’s
isn’t
any
better
nor
any
other
staple
in
the
downtrodden
city.
Best
to
venture
into
the
IE
to
savor
the
sole
authentic
and
affordable
vestige
of
great
LA
French
Dip:
Vince’s
Spaghetti
on
Holt
Ave.
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