Clifton's Cafeteria - Century City

Rudolph's fascination with all things modern, while still keeping a firm foothold in the past, was one of his more remarkable qualities. Thus, when 20th Century Fox divested themselves of their back lot and turned it into the city of the future, Rudolph was right there, marveling at all the sleek new skyscrapers.

When it came to dining, however, Rudolph preferred to stay close to the ground, or at least on the second floor. His restaurant of choice was Clifton's, a sibling to the famed Clifton's Broadway diner. Downtown had it's stuffed moose heads, we had the space age. It is a wonder to me now that the Space Age was conceived in vomitracious shades of orange and avocado green, but hey, most of the folks back in '68 were on heavy doses of chemicals. Who knew what they were painting anything anyway!

Clifton's, with its myriad of pre-served choices, was the apex of the American dream. Toxic jello with whipped cream, mac and cheese before it became fashionable, corned beef and cabbage, fish sticks, carrot salad...what modern palate could resist being satisfied? Besides, there were nice large tables to hold the various piles of books that Rudolph constantly carried around.

The clientele was spiffy too...."executives"...post "Mad Men" on the verge of long sideburns and bell-bottomed polyester work wear. Secretaries with beehives and nylons and mini-skirts, every last one of them clad in some hallucinatory shade of nature, and sporting a 3/4 length crocheted vest. This was the kind of ambience you could discuss Watergate in. The Nixon drama, which was followed very closely by my father (and everyone else), could be examined, ingested and digested, much like the endless choices of pre-fab food. And when you had finished your meal, you could emerge into a clean, open vista full of the possibilities of a new world.

Clifton's as spiritual regeneration? For some of us, it was. There were also shops and a movie theater, with plenty of free underground parking for the large Lincoln continental you were hauling around.

But what was it exactly that drew Rudolph into this plastic interior? Perhaps it was the sense of space, of lots and lots of people, dining in shift, peacefully ignoring each other. Not as intimate as a restaurant, where, if you go in alone, the staff feels compelled to talk to you, and thus ruin your moment of quiet reflection. Here, in Clifton's, you could enter and stay for as long as you wished, no questions asked. As Rudolph, at this point, was embarking on a long an arduous series of questions, Clifton's provided the ideal refuge. It became my refuge as well.