Nathaniel Whitfield’s friend from the climbing gym in Los Angeles recommended checking out the “Merry Go Round” the next time he was in the quaint mountain community of Lone Pine.
So the 33-year-old found himself eating pan-fried noodles 200 miles north of the megalopolis in a restaurant shaped like a carousel. Inside, dainty horse figurines painted in pastels peek out from nooks and crannies. Buddhas, too. Though a vintage neon sign out front advertises steaks, barbecue and lamb chops, the fare is Chinese.
From the patio, diners can gaze at the jagged crown of Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the contiguous U.S. at 14,505 feet. And just down the road roll the epic, rounded Alabama Hills, famed in part for their rocks twisted into natural arches. Once a backdrop for countless western films, the rugged Eastern Sierra landscape is now more likely to draw rock climbers and hikers than real or silver-screen cowboys.
Whitfield, like many adventurers who seek to replenish calories in the ‘50s-era joint, looked weary. He had hiked for 3.5 hours to Lone Pine Lake with Alex Cardoza, a friend he was dining with.
The food was good, “but also it was nice just chatting to folks,” said Whitfield, a UCLA lecturer. “It’s a good vibe. I find in Lone Pine I just meet people that I don’t meet in Los Angeles.”
Earlier in the meal, Dan Siegel, one of the restaurant owners, sat with Whitfield and Cardoza, regaling them with some of the establishment’s history. Siegel’s service dog, a chill American Bully named Blue, splayed out next to 37-year-old Cardoza along the red booth’s cushioned bench. Blue is as much of a fixture as the mountains in the distance.
Before Siegel and his wife, Kuei Chu, bought the oddball restaurant in 2010, it was the steakhouse that the sign outside advertises. A fancy one at that. Siegel relayed a story about an old-timer saying the original owner — a proprietor named Margie — wouldn’t seat him until he donned a coat and tie.
Once upon a time, western icon John Wayne would swing by and always sit in the same booth tucked in the back, according to the proprietors. Wayne would swagger into town to shoot flicks like “Blue Steel,” a 1934 western starring The Duke as a U.S. marshal who pursues a baddie named the Polka Dot Bandit.
Some of the restaurant’s origin story appears to be obscured by time. None of the current owners could recall Margie’s last name. But all were certain of her love for carousels, and say that’s why the building took its unusual form.
“Margie had a collection of merry-go-round horses,” Siegel said. “She built a restaurant around her horses.”
The funky, carousel shape of the building is reminiscent of mimetic, or programmatic, architecture that began cropping up in Los Angeles in the early 20th century. Some relics remain. The Idle Hour bar in North Hollywood, constructed in 1941, resembles a large whiskey barrel.
Times have changed. The pandemic fueled a boom in people seeking social-distanced diversion in the Great Outdoors. Places like Lone Pine, the gateway to bucket-list destination Mt. Whitney, saw a surge in visitors that locals say hasn’t receded. Roughly 30,000 people attempt to summit the peak each year, according to a recent estimate.
Chu, a native of Taiwan, is the force behind the food. She said she’s been cooking since she was 17, studying it in her homeland. At 75, she’s been at it for more than half-a-century and still frequently works the sole wok at the Merry Go Round.
On a recent Saturday night in the shoebox-size kitchen, she spent hours deftly tossing ingredients into the steaming pan for hungry hikers, off-road jeepers, rock climbers and national parkgoers — alongside locals and longtime customers who are drawn to the hospitable owners just as much as they are to the flavorful dishes.
Chu changed some recipes to suit Americans’ taste, noting, “Chinese people don’t eat as sweet.”
Still, even American-style Chinese food is somewhat of a rarity along Highway 395, the artery that connects the communities along the east side of the jagged Sierra Nevada mountains. Burgers and barbecue are still king. Merry Go Round further stands out by offering vegetarian, vegan and gluten-free options.
Recent Merry Go Round diner Lensa Tresnak said she was surprised to see a menu item called Zhen fish — swai fillets resting on a bed of bok choy and snow peas, topped with fresh-cut ginger and green onions. Born in South America to Chinese parents, she said it was a dish her dad made.
Michael Quan, Chu’s son, said the restaurant’s sauces, all handmade, are what makes it shine. Anise, coriander and other flavorings lent a subtle complexity to the “special soy sauce” set out on the tables. The orange sauce — almost candy-sweet with a citrus tang — is cooked with real orange peels and dried Szechuan peppers. Chicken smothered in it is heaven for those raised on the comfort-food staple — or those who just crushed several vertical miles.
Quan, 32, cooks, too. His mother said she taught him; he says he mostly picked it up himself.
A welder by trade, he said he returned to working at the restaurant full time after his mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. He wanted to lend a hand as she underwent treatment.
“She’s good now, thank God,” he said. “She’s back to her scrappy self.”
Siegel, 81, met Chu as a customer at her previous restaurant in Ridgecrest, a high desert city a little over an hour south of Lone Pine.
“She came out to schmooze with the customers, and I went, “This is the one,’” said Siegel, who hails from what he billed “the Jewish Alps” — the Catskill Mountains in New York. “Unfortunately, we were both married to other people at the time, so I had to wait a while.”
They were recently closing in on their 16-year anniversary.
Chu came out of retirement to run the Merry Go Round, which she acquired from a friend. Bored, she had already begun cooking Chinese food there on Tuesdays to serve the locals.
Siegel wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of a new venture. He was ready to retire.
Now Chu is ready to step back again. Siegel said the family is trying to sell the restaurant to buyers who Chu can teach her sauce recipes to.
It would mark the end of an era for customers — and servers — who have come to know and love the owners.
Jedidiah Womack, 40, began working at the restaurant about seven years ago, after returning to the town to be with his now-late father, a larger-than-life personality who scaled mountains and leaped from planes. Sometimes Womack performs magic tricks for kids at the restaurant. There’s some leeway to be himself in the noncorporate environment, he said.
“I felt sort of adopted into a larger family when I had no other,” Womack said with a characteristic lyrical flourish. “And that’s continued on.”
On a warm Saturday night in September, Myles Moser strolled in wearing flip-flops as the restaurant neared its official closing time. The staff often serves latecomers. A seasoned rock climber, he also works in construction and helps Siegel out with repairs from time to time.
“We’ve known Myles for a couple of years,” Quan joked.
“A couple years? My ass,” said Moser. “We’re family.”
So what will the family do if the Merry Go Round is passed into new hands?
Siegel whipped out a photo of a 30-foot RV on his phone.
“It’s time to go investigate the United States,” he said.
The post Mt. Whitney hikers love this Chinese restaurant pitstop that looks like a merry-go-round appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
