My First Bi-Line

A Real American Pie

By Kristen Lee Kelly
Special to the Ledger

VERMONT AVE—It’s 10:30 a.m. I slide on my rubber soled, slip resistant shoes and pull my hair back into a single well coiffed ponytail—as per state regulations. I am prepared for my adventure. What will I encounter and whom shall I serve?
Arriving, I stand before two large oak doors complete with their resplendent golden handles and detailed etched windows. It is the House of Windsor? The House of Wax? The House of Dereon? Oh no—I stand before the palace known as The House of Pies!
Upon entering, I’m greeted by a rotating dream. Pies and cakes of every creed and color spin in glorious harmony. I catch my breath as before me is the master baking oven. I’m a fool. Who was I, in this moment standing before this pristine, stainless steel oven, to think I had the right to wait tables at The House of Pies?
It’s too much to take in at once. A bit dizzy, I stumble and take a seat at the vast counter where I meet Sylvia Navarro—waitress extraordinaire.

The Waitress:
Sylvia Navarro
Sylvia has been working at House of Pies for 29 years.
“I filled out an application and the next day they called me to work. I am from Chihuahua, Mexico. I came to America to find a better life and then I started working in a factory but I didn’t like it so then I started looking in the restaurant industry and I found this one. I started as a cashier and then the manager asked me if I wanted to become a waitress so I told him: ‘I don’t know how to wait on tables but if you give me a chance I will.’ And… I’m… still here.”

My first reaction is she stays for the free pies but I’m wrong. It’s about family


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Los Feliz vistor, 5-year-old Sarah Hernandez, from Irvine, has her eye on House of Pies delicious chocolate cream pie. Photo by Jacob Hernandez

“You know—usually when you work at a place you have a manager or assistant manager or supervisor (and I don’t know how many others) on your back but here – they let us do our job. They leave us alone. As long as we take care of the customers and everything they don’t bother us. It’s a family here. We all take care of each other. I look forward to seeing my regular customers as well as working with my fellow workers. This is a good place.”

The Customer: Adam Cobb
As Sylvia is about to lead me into the kitchen, one of her regular customers speaks up to tell me if Sylvia were not married he’d be her boyfriend. Sylvia smiles and makes him promise not to tell her husband. I ask this young handsome man, by the name of Adam Cobb: “Is Sylvia the only reason he frequents the House of Pies?”

“I started coming here when I first moved to LA about three years ago,” said Cobb. I’m from Chicago and it really reminded me of a Mid-Western diner. It’s a place without pretense where a bunch of people can sit down and read their newspaper. I sometimes order pies but I usually come for the French toast with bacon and eggs. And I come here for the staff—they are a real hard working bunch. In LA a lot of folks waiting tables are aspiring to do something else whereas these are folks that have been doing this all their lives. They are really dedicated to it.”

The Baker:
Ramiro Gonzalez
Soon, the lunch rush arrives. It’s overwhelming. However, there is no stress here, no manager barking orders or bus boys dropping plates. It’s a well-oiled machine and the staff is remarkable.
Then, I meet him—the baker.
Ramiro Gonzalez, with his kind eyes and humble presence, welcomes me into his kitchen. He’s been working at The House of Pies since 1969 starting as an apprentice and working his way up to head baker.
Nervously I ask a stupid question: “So, Mr. Gonzalez, what is your favorite pie?” He smiles and graciously answers:
“Most definitely the strawberry cheesecake! I bake over 150 pies a day and, although sometimes it can get a little boring, I like the work I do and that it keeps the customers happy. I come in around six o’clock and work until three or four. It’s a long day but I don’t mind. It’s less on the weekends. Oh— and please call me Ramiro.”
I proceed to ask an even dumber question: “OK, Ramiro: How do you stay so thin making pies all day?” I cringe at the sound of my own voice but it’s an honest concern of mine. If I worked here full time I’d be living in stretch jeans and housecoats. Ramiro laughs.
“I’m on my feet all day! And I don’t eat pie everyday although I have to taste it to make sure the flavors are there. Growing up I was always thin. It’s just they way I’m made I guess. I just like it here. I’m sure I’ll be making pies up into my 70s – which isn’t too far away!”
With a wink he heads off into the kitchen.

Lunch Rush:
Customer Fred Dean
By now the lunch rush is in full force. I’m impressed with the customers. They are all different ages and ethnicities. This is not some trendy, retro joint where hipsters gather to be seen and tourists come to celebrity watch—although many a celebrity is known to haunt the outdoor patio. I’ve only been here an hour and I’m beginning to understand why someone like Sylvia or Ramiro would stay for over thirty years. Sylvia introduces me to another regular customer—Fred Dean. He’s been coming here since the 1970s:

“You see the same people here so it’s comfortable and it’s a relaxed atmosphere. I come in a couple of times a week and although the food is good it’s the people that keep bringing me back. There’s a new owner here now and I hear they have some plans – I hope they don’t plan to change the ambiance of it. I think we need a place like this. Los Feliz is getting kind of trendy and it’s not that I don’t like that but it’s nice to have the older, cozy kind of coffee shop. This is one of the few.”