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Nathaniel Whitfield’s friend from a 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 fried noodles 200 miles (322km) north of the megalopolis in a restaurant shaped like a merry-go-round. Inside, dainty horse figurines painted in pastels peek out from nooks and crannies. Buddhas, too. A vintage neon sign out front advertises steaks, barbecue and lamb chops, but the fare is Chinese. From the patio, diners can gaze at the jagged crown of Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain in the contiguous US at 14,505 feet (4,421 metres). Just down the road are the rounded Alabama Hills, known for their rocks twisted into natural arches. Once a backdrop for countless Westerns, the rugged Eastern Sierra landscape now draws rock climbers and hikers rather than real or silver-screen cowboys. Whitfield, like many who dine in the 1950s-era joint, looked weary. He had hiked for 3½ 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 lecturer at the University of California, Los Angeles. “It’s a good vibe.” Earlier during 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 on 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 restaurant in 2010, it was a steakhouse. A fancy one at that. Siegel relayed a story about an old-timer saying the original owner – a proprietor named Margie – would not seat him until he donned a coat and tie. Western film icon John Wayne would swing by when he was in the area filming and always sat in the same booth in the back, according to the proprietors. 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 merry-go-rounds, which is 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 shape of the building is reminiscent of mimetic architecture that began cropping up in Los Angeles in the early 20th century. Some relics remain: the Idle Hour bar in North Hollywood, built in 1941, resembles a large whiskey barrel. Times have changed. The pandemic fuelled a boom in socially distanced diversions in the great outdoors. Places like Lone Pine, the gateway to Mount Whitney, saw a surge in visitors that locals say has not 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 started cooking at 17, studying it in her homeland. Now 75, she 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 pan for hungry hikers, off-road jeepers, rock climbers and national park visitors – alongside locals and long-time customers who are drawn to the hospitable owners just as much as they are to the food. Chu has changed some recipes to suit American tastes, noting that “Chinese people don’t eat as sweet”. American-style Chinese food is something 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 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 ginger and spring onions. Tresnak, who was born in South America to Chinese parents, said it was a dish her dad made. Michael Quan, Chu’s son, said the restaurant’s sauces, all handmade, are what make it shine. Anise, coriander and other flavourings lend a subtle complexity to the “special soy sauce” set out on the tables. The orange sauce – sweet with a citrus tang – is cooked with real orange peel and dried Sichuan peppers. Quan, 32, cooks too. His mother said she taught him; he said he mostly picked it up himself. A welder by trade, he returned to working at the restaurant full-time after his mother 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 was not 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 was trying to sell the restaurant to buyers who could learn Chu’s sauce recipes. 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 leapt from planes. Sometimes Womack performs magic tricks for kids at the restaurant. On a warm Saturday night in September, Myles Moser strolled in wearing flip-flops as the restaurant neared its official closing time. The place 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 a**,” 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.
