You can’t be a regular everywhere

When I moved to Los Angeles — and it’s none of your business when, exactly, that was — I was a broke film student trying to break into the entertainment business. The only thing I knew about Hollywood was that former President Ronald Reagan and his wife, Nancy, were regulars at a restaurant called Chasen’s, which meant that I, too, needed to be a regular there.

Chasen’s was the headquarters of old Hollywood. It was a cross between an elegant barroom and a continental steakhouse — lots of things were prepared tableside by pompadoured guys in vests and black ties — and in an era of white wine spritzers, Chasen’s was keeping the cocktail flame alive.

It was also expensive, which required some strategic thinking. Since Chasen’s was my goal, I decided to concentrate my going-out-to-eat dollar at that one spot. There were no exceptions to this: I either ate at home or dined at Chasen’s. This system of focused spending allowed me to eat there about once a month. In other words, I became a regular.

Well, sort of a regular. Chasen’s was a large venue, so in those early years, I was shunted off to the back of the restaurant near the large back bar and the rentable rooms, with the nobodies from wherever.

But after a year or so of monthly visits, and after regularly eating the chili and the hobo steak — both legendary off-menu items, both prepared tableside — my monthly table was moved gently to the booths closer to the magical front room.

Closer to the front room, but not quite in the front room.

The front room was where the Reagans sat. But I always thought of the front room as the Sinatra Room because once, as I was being led to my medium-cool table, I saw him sitting at a large booth with a crowd of people. They were all having a terrific time. Michael Crawford, who was then appearing onstage as the Phantom in The Phantom of the Opera, was at the table, and every now and then, I’d hear Crawford’s Phantom-like laughter drifting through the rooms. Ah ha ha ha ha haaaaaaah!

I was close. My strategy was working.

Here’s the Hollywood ending:

One Thursday night, I walked into Chasen’s without a reservation. The maitre d’ apologized — he didn’t have me down in his book, the place was packed, there wasn’t a table.

That’s fine, I said, I’m here for the party upstairs.

Every year, the cast and writers of NBC’s long-running hit comedy Cheers held a season premiere party in one of the rooms upstairs. I had just been hired as a staff writer — it was my first job in show business, I was 24 years old — and that’s where I was headed.

The maitre d’ looked at me for a moment, then touched my arm and said, rather gravely, “Congratulations, Mr. Long.”

I’d like to say that I was moved to the Reagan Room after that, and maybe I was. It was a while ago, and my memory has been crowded with logins and passwords and streaming video options since then.

But what really happened was that I stopped making Chasen’s my regular go-to restaurant. I got distracted by the choices that more spendable money provides and ended up wanting to try everything, go everywhere, become a regular at each new place.

But you can’t be a regular everywhere. You can’t make an impression, or find a home, or have a wise, old Hollywood maitre d’ clap you on the back if you’re always after something new. Sometimes, the right thing to do is to pick a thing and stick to it.

Chasen’s is gone now. It’s a fancy grocery store called Bristol Farms. The Reagans’ favorite red leather banquette was donated to the Reagan Library, where it’s often on display with a lot of other objects that prove, incontrovertibly, that Reagan was our hippest, coolest president. And I still have the blazer I was wearing when the maitre d’ told me I had made it.

Rob Long is a television writer and producer and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.