Opinion: Before Taix becomes condos, a final toast to a vanishing Los Angeles

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On March 29, Taix as we know it closes forever.The iconic French restaurant originally opened downtown in 1927 and relocated to its current chalet on Sunset Boulevard in 1962.

It’s a grim reminder of L.A’.s insatiable appetite to destroy its own heritage and especially devastating to a certain milieu of writers and artists, myself very much included.Since it announced its closure, I’ve been visiting as often as I can to say farewell, not only to the charmingly shabby faux-1920s interiors, but to the many lives I’ve lived at its tables.

First as a young guitarist when a bandmate worked the bar’s soundboard, next with the Chinatown artist scene, then with Semiotext(e)‘s avant-garde lit circle, later through firecracker romances and heartbreaks during the art party Social Club, recently floating through the louche carnival of Gay Guy Night and now with the circus of beatniks from my reading series Casual Encountersz.It’s difficult to explain why this cavernous and windowless restaurant means so much, so I’ve tried to list everything I love about Taix.I love that they don’t play music.I love the 1960s bathrooms.

I love the bottomless tureens of soup.I love the complimentary crudité from the pre-pandemic era.

I love the cold pats of butter.I love that you can always get a table, no matter how many people roll in.

I love the free refills on Diet Cokes.I love the 80-year-old couples on dates.

I love how the dim lighting makes everyone seem chic.I love the frayed carpeting.

I love the fake votive candles.I love the icy martinis.

I love the corner booth beside the fireplace.I love the smoked mirrors and tin-plate ceilings in the elegant back dining rooms.

I love the small fortune I’ve spent there picking up the check for many strippers, poets and bohemians.I love its rundown glamour, which miraculously evokes Old Hollywood, Belle Époque and trashy American...