DINNER WITH A STRANGER

DINNER WITH A SCIENTOLOGIST

Father's Office.
1018 Montana Ave.
Santa Monica, CA



Scientology was created by an American science fiction writer named L. Ron Hubbard in the 1950s. Father’s Office is the most recent venture of a South Korea-born chef and restaurateur named San Yoon.

At first glance, it may seem like the two don’t have much in common.

But, really, the resemblance is uncanny.

In their respectively short existences, 50 years for a religion and two years for a restaurant, they’ve both amassed quite a following. Scientology, with 8 million members and Father’s Office with locations in Santa Monica and now even the mysterious Culver City.

Pilgrims come from far and wide to worship both. Each has a pretty considerable price of entry and I’m pretty sure both have sweet potato fries, upon request.

But, we all needed some clarification, especially on the last point. And after many ignored emails, awkward cold calls, and fruitless visits to “reading rooms,” we finally found Vikki. A believer in both Scientology and Father’s Office, she agreed to join us for a little dinner and debunking.

Walking up Montana Ave., past the dozens of boutiques, pretentious eateries, designer strollers and designer babies, we see the Father’s Office’s sign. It looks like something more at home on Mayberry Main St. than Montana Ave. But we’d soon learn that it’s just the first of many meticulously-crafted contractions.

We arrived at Father’s Office early to secure one of the very few first-come, first-serve tables. We seated ourselves, as there’s no hostess, studied the chalkboard, as there are no menus, and headed to the bar of libations as there are no waiters. There we discovered one of the finest walls of taps in town. A truly refreshing site considering that we're in a city that considers Heineken a microbrew.

We ordered a few pints of Arrogant Bastard and sat wondering what to expect from our meal and our company: a casually formal burger joint and an unorthodox orthodox.

Then, a moment later, your granny walked in. Well, pretty much.

Vikki was a soft-spoken, older gal with a smile from ear to ear. Jovial and strikingly not bat-shit crazy.

We ordered a water for her (she doesn’t drink), a couple more brews for ourselves and immediately dove into the minimal menu, asking Vikki if she had any favorites. We expected her to say the same thing everyone says:

“You HAVE to try the burger. It’s the best burger in Los Angeles. Maybe the world. ( insert foodgasm moans and uncontrollable quivering ).”

But, surprisingly, Vikki gasmed over of the Organic Beet Salad. Turns out, the woman that chose the burger joint with brew pub doesn’t eat red meat or drink. Go figure. It’s a good thing we do.

Squeezing up to the bar, now packed (picture any bar within 6 miles of UCLA, Thursday night, finals week, $4 Long Islands, “Ladies Night,” DJ Douchenozel spinning), and placed our order. An Organic Beet Salad, Spanish Mushrooms, an infamous Office Burger and Sweet Potato Fries “A La Cart.”

As we returned to the table, Vikki asked the question first, “Why Scientologist?”

We replied, “ditto.”

Turns out, she wasn’t raised as a Scientologist. Quite the opposite actually. Her family had dabbled in this religion and that, but it never really stuck. She said that even though it has now become her life, religion it wasn’t a big part of her upbringing.

Her religion was skiing.

Vikki grew up in Lake Tahoe, and spent much of her youth worshiping powder and bowing to the iron cross. She started competing at an early age and by the time she was a teen, she was semi-pro. And, just a few short years later, Vikki became a member on the US National Ski Team.

By the age of 25, Vikki was an Olympian. But her champion status changed, right around the time the champinones arrived. As we dug into an earthen pot of mushrooms, Vikki told us about the day that everything changed. She had a terrible crash during a qualifying event, tumbling all the way down the mountain and tearing all the ligaments in her right knee. When she finally came to a stop, so did her professional skiing career.

But, on the bright side, the horribly tragic story was perfectly complimented by the beautifully sautéed Spanish Mushrooms. The balance of garlic, herbs, vinegar and olive oil was spot on. The best tapas mushrooms we’ve had this side of Sevilla.

Next came the Sweet Potato “A La Cart,” and the quote marks finally started to make sense (see picture). They came with a side of blue cheese aioli and a friendly reminder that there is no ketchup. Yep. You heard right. By law, they can refuse you service and ketchup. No substitutions. And absolutely no goddamn ketchup. If Father’s office was a religion this would be a commandment.

Anyway, as we dug into the delicious, garlicky tubers, served in what would be every bums dream cart, we dug further into Vikki. That's when we found out that after years of representing her country on the slopes, she decided to protest against it.

Yep. Vikki went hippie. And not just the flowery-acid-tripping-moccasin-wearing hippie. This was the top of the line. The dank dank. The urple of all purple. The grade A-anti-afghani-hippie shit. She camped out on the hill in Berkeley and spent the next decade fighting the man. She protested, sat in, striked, lobbied, burnt bras, even chained herself to fences and tanks. She was trying to stop the war and looking to find a purpose.

It turns out Purpose is sold at books stores across the nation, in hard or paper back. Dianetics, by L. Ron Hubbard. The book that lays the foundation of Scientology.

Just as we were getting to the juicy part, our main courses arrived. And speaking of getting to the juicy part, the Office Burger. The rare, dry-aged beef, filled with magical juices of a cooked cow was topped with caramelized onions, apple wood bacon compote, gruyere, Maytag blue cheese and arugula. Yes, there are no substitutions and no ketchup people. And rightfully so. This is enough to make any veggie zealot question their allegiances.

And Vikki’s towering Organic Beet Salad was also beautiful (for a salad). The vibrant reds and greens were stunning and the generous topping of cabrales blue cheese, walnuts, aged jerez vinaigrette, and pumpkin seed oil made a very well-composed dish (for a salad).

But lucky for us, Vikki shared her Beet Salad as openly as she shared her life story. Both simple and yet full of flavor. Over bites of the subtly balanced sweet yet sour beets and over-powering aged blue crumbles, we got back to the main course: Scientology.

Vikki, along with many of her hippie friends, found a smooth transition into Scientology as their core beliefs were ultimately the same. She told us that, regardless of practice, she had always believed that a sound, clear mind is the most important thing that a person can have. For her, Scientology was something she had always practiced, one way or another.

So Vikki stopped digging for drugs in cow shit and started paying her taxes. And over the last few decades, Vikki, along with her husband, have both made Scientology their work as well as their religion. They specialize in counseling people addicted to drugs and alcohol. Together they travel the globe helping set up free rehabilitation facilities and Scientology start-ups. Oh yeah, and they’ve been known to hit the streets to test some stress in their day and still do.

And as much as it stresses me to say it, I will. This famous LA burger joint doesn't house LA's Best Burger. Good, yes. But it didn't make us want to jump up and down in our chairs and profess our love for it on national television. And while the Office Burger does justified the right to deny you any chance at tarnishing its yummy, troubleshot beef and bun with a bottle of Heinz, better burgers are out there. Your perfect patty is awaiting you at Hinano and or The Counter, with whatever condiment your heart desires.

Anywho, as dinner came to a close, we only had one questions left:

Q: If you could change one misconception about Scientology, what would it be?

A: Don’t believe everything you see on South Park.

Words to live by.

We paid our tab at the bar and walked outside, the sign and ourselves now more illuminated than when we walked in. We shook Vikki’s hand at first, but couldn’t help but hug her goodbye and thank her for one of the most genuine Dinners with a Stranger we’ve ever had.

We all learned something that night. Whether it’s a burger joint without the best burger or a Scientologist who is remarkably unremarkable, don’t judge a book by its cover. Or a menu… Have a taste for yourself.