logo
In a Brutal Week for Los Angeles, Three More Prominent Restaurants Say Goodbye

In a Brutal Week for Los Angeles, Three More Prominent Restaurants Say Goodbye

Eater08-07-2025
During a year that has already seen the loss of numerous longtime Los Angeles restaurants, the city is facing another wave of closures. On the heels of Cole's French Dip, Los Angeles's oldest restaurant, announcing its permanent closure, three other prominent restaurants will cease operations or have already closed. Mid-Wilshire's Southern specialist My 2 Cents ends dine-in service on July 31, chef Michael Mina's Mother Tongue closed in June, and Shibumi's final day in Downtown is July 19.
The last few years have been punishing for Los Angeles restaurants and bars, which continue to feel the ripple effects of COVID-19 and the 2023 Writers Guild of America and Screen Actors Guild strikes. Los Angeles restaurant operators who had built solid catering, industry meeting, and private events revenue streams noticed a 30 to 40 percent decline in revenue during the strikes, which never recovered as television and film productions in Los Angeles ground to a screeching halt. Many producers, technical crew members, industry set designers, costumers, and more have been without consistent work since 2023, leading a reliable revenue stream for restaurants throughout the region to dry up.
As restaurant owners adapt to these unprecedented events, they continue to struggle with the daily challenges of running a business, such as the rising costs of goods and labor, in an exceedingly untenable environment. Here are the latest Los Angeles restaurant closures to know about.
My 2 Cents - Mid-Wilshire
Founded in 2013 by Alisa Reynolds and her pastry chef sister, Theresa Fountain, My 2 Cents is a Los Angeles staple for soul food. Reynolds, who hosted Searching for Soul Food on Hulu and was nominated for a Best Chef: California James Beard Award in 2024, announced the closure of the restaurant in an Instagram post. After the restaurant closes on July 31, it will transition into a catering operation while producing a line of products and merchandise. Reynolds told the Los Angeles Times that the shift is something she's been considering for years, and looks forward to feeding people in their homes and doing pop-ups.
Mother Tongue - Hollywood
Michael Mina debuted Mother Tongue in 2022 on the top floor of Hollywood fitness club Heimat with a menu that catered to wellness enthusiasts. (Mina is also the chef behind Orla, which opened in the Regent Santa Monica Beach in late 2024.) The restaurant suddenly shuttered in late June with no formal announcement; its Instagram has disappeared entirely.
Shibumi — Downtown
Less than two weeks after retaining its Michelin star, chef David Schlosser announced his Japanese kaiseki restaurant Shibumi would close on July 19. The closure was announced in an Instagram post on July 7, with Schlosser writing that that 'Shibumi was a revelation in 2015 Los Angeles,' and hinting that future projects are 'on the horizon,' including a collaborative book on the Japan's cuisine and culture from the 1600 to 1800 Edo period. Open since 2015, Shibumi received a favorable review from the Los Angeles Times' former food reviewer, Jonathan Gold, and was a semifinalist for the James Beard Best New Restaurant Award in 2017.
Eater LA
All your essential food and restaurant intel delivered to you Email (required)
Sign Up
By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's 'giant house party'

time3 hours ago

Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's 'giant house party'

PHILADELPHIA, Miss. -- Each summer, hundreds of brightly colored cabins come to life with the sound of children playing and smells of Southern comfort food in what's known as Mississippi's 'giant house party,' the Neshoba County Fair. The fair touts itself as the largest campground fair in the country, where attendees cram into more than 500 two-and-three story wood cabins for eight days every year. The larger cabins can sleep upwards of 30 people, sometimes in the same room. 'It's like having two Christmases a year,' said Mike Hardy, who attends the fair just about every year and shared a cabin this year with 20 members of his family, from infants to grandparents. For Hardy, who lives more than 300 miles (500 kilometers) away in Nashville, Tennessee, the fair is one of the only times he visits his hometown. He calls it a high school, college and family reunion all wrapped into one. 'I wouldn't miss it for anything,' he said. 'It's just always been a big part of our lives.' Hardy inherited the cabin from his father, who bought it in the late 1960s. It's located in what's known as 'watermelon alley,' one of several neighborhoods that divide up the community, which feels like a mix between a candy-colored frontier town and an amusement park. His children grew up going there. The pictures they drew on hot summer days still hang on the walls, joined now by their own children's artwork. His daughter, Madison Hardy-Dennis, attended her first fair when she was less than a year old. Now, her 6-year-old twins run barefoot in the red Mississippi mud, play pranks and get into water balloon fights — just like she did. 'I hope that they understand how special this week is, and that this place is,' Hardy-Dennis said. Horse-race watching at the nearby race track and card playing are among Hardy family's favorite activities during the fair. They take their kids to the carnival rides and cook large family meals. On their way to the track, they walk through Founders Square, the oldest section of cabins with a pavilion used for dances and political speeches. It's where Ronald Reagan gave his famous states' rights speech in 1980 while running for president. Sid Salter, whose family has been going to the fair since it first opened in 1889, said it's a place where children are safe to roam freely. Often, parents write their kid's name and cabin number on their arms. If they get lost, a friendly fair-goer will help them find their way back. The communal atmosphere extends to mealtime. Although only about 20 people stay in their cabin, Salter's family often feeds 50 or 60 people a day. 'It's not an inexpensive hobby,' he joked, 'but it's a great time with people you only see, you know, during the fair." The fair, Salter said, also feels like a reunion with loved ones who are no longer living. He imagines that the spirits of his twin sister, first wife and parents like to 'knock around' the campground where they made so many memories. 'It may be a figment of a fertile imagination — I'm sure it is — but I feel it,' he said. At 66 years old, Salter has only missed three Neshoba County Fairs, once for an adventure camp when he was 13, again to cover the 2000 Republican National Convention as a reporter and in 2017 when he was battling cancer. He said he often eats the same meals, does the same activities and sees the same people year after year.

Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's 'giant house party'
Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's 'giant house party'

San Francisco Chronicle​

time3 hours ago

  • San Francisco Chronicle​

Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's 'giant house party'

PHILADELPHIA, Miss. (AP) — Each summer, hundreds of brightly colored cabins come to life with the sound of children playing and smells of Southern comfort food in what's known as Mississippi's 'giant house party,' the Neshoba County Fair. The fair touts itself as the largest campground fair in the country, where attendees cram into more than 500 two-and-three story wood cabins for eight days every year. The larger cabins can sleep upwards of 30 people, sometimes in the same room. 'It's like having two Christmases a year,' said Mike Hardy, who attends the fair just about every year and shared a cabin this year with 20 members of his family, from infants to grandparents. For Hardy, who lives more than 300 miles (500 kilometers) away in Nashville, Tennessee, the fair is one of the only times he visits his hometown. He calls it a high school, college and family reunion all wrapped into one. 'I wouldn't miss it for anything,' he said. 'It's just always been a big part of our lives.' Hardy inherited the cabin from his father, who bought it in the late 1960s. It's located in what's known as 'watermelon alley,' one of several neighborhoods that divide up the community, which feels like a mix between a candy-colored frontier town and an amusement park. His children grew up going there. The pictures they drew on hot summer days still hang on the walls, joined now by their own children's artwork. His daughter, Madison Hardy-Dennis, attended her first fair when she was less than a year old. Now, her 6-year-old twins run barefoot in the red Mississippi mud, play pranks and get into water balloon fights — just like she did. 'I hope that they understand how special this week is, and that this place is,' Hardy-Dennis said. Horse-race watching at the nearby race track and card playing are among Hardy family's favorite activities during the fair. They take their kids to the carnival rides and cook large family meals. On their way to the track, they walk through Founders Square, the oldest section of cabins with a pavilion used for dances and political speeches. It's where Ronald Reagan gave his famous states' rights speech in 1980 while running for president. Sid Salter, whose family has been going to the fair since it first opened in 1889, said it's a place where children are safe to roam freely. Often, parents write their kid's name and cabin number on their arms. If they get lost, a friendly fair-goer will help them find their way back. The communal atmosphere extends to mealtime. Although only about 20 people stay in their cabin, Salter's family often feeds 50 or 60 people a day. 'It's not an inexpensive hobby,' he joked, 'but it's a great time with people you only see, you know, during the fair." The fair, Salter said, also feels like a reunion with loved ones who are no longer living. He imagines that the spirits of his twin sister, first wife and parents like to 'knock around' the campground where they made so many memories. 'It may be a figment of a fertile imagination — I'm sure it is — but I feel it,' he said. At 66 years old, Salter has only missed three Neshoba County Fairs, once for an adventure camp when he was 13, again to cover the 2000 Republican National Convention as a reporter and in 2017 when he was battling cancer. He said he often eats the same meals, does the same activities and sees the same people year after year. 'In a sea of change in every facet of our lives, the fair is constant," he said.

Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's ‘giant house party'
Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's ‘giant house party'

Hamilton Spectator

time4 hours ago

  • Hamilton Spectator

Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's ‘giant house party'

PHILADELPHIA, Miss. (AP) — Each summer, hundreds of brightly colored cabins come to life with the sound of children playing and smells of Southern comfort food in what's known as Mississippi's 'giant house party,' the Neshoba County Fair. The fair touts itself as the largest campground fair in the country, where attendees cram into more than 500 two-and-three story wood cabins for eight days every year. The larger cabins can sleep upwards of 30 people, sometimes in the same room. 'It's like having two Christmases a year,' said Mike Hardy, who attends the fair just about every year and shared a cabin this year with 20 members of his family, from infants to grandparents. For Hardy, who lives more than 300 miles (500 kilometers) away in Nashville, Tennessee, the fair is one of the only times he visits his hometown. He calls it a high school, college and family reunion all wrapped into one. 'I wouldn't miss it for anything,' he said. 'It's just always been a big part of our lives.' Hardy inherited the cabin from his father, who bought it in the late 1960s. It's located in what's known as 'watermelon alley,' one of several neighborhoods that divide up the community, which feels like a mix between a candy-colored frontier town and an amusement park. His children grew up going there. The pictures they drew on hot summer days still hang on the walls, joined now by their own children's artwork. His daughter, Madison Hardy-Dennis, attended her first fair when she was less than a year old. Now, her 6-year-old twins run barefoot in the red Mississippi mud, play pranks and get into water balloon fights — just like she did. 'I hope that they understand how special this week is, and that this place is,' Hardy-Dennis said. Horse-race watching at the nearby race track and card playing are among Hardy family's favorite activities during the fair. They take their kids to the carnival rides and cook large family meals. On their way to the track, they walk through Founders Square, the oldest section of cabins with a pavilion used for dances and political speeches. It's where Ronald Reagan gave his famous states' rights speech in 1980 while running for president. Sid Salter, whose family has been going to the fair since it first opened in 1889, said it's a place where children are safe to roam freely. Often, parents write their kid's name and cabin number on their arms. If they get lost, a friendly fair-goer will help them find their way back. The communal atmosphere extends to mealtime. Although only about 20 people stay in their cabin, Salter's family often feeds 50 or 60 people a day. 'It's not an inexpensive hobby,' he joked, 'but it's a great time with people you only see, you know, during the fair.' The fair, Salter said, also feels like a reunion with loved ones who are no longer living. He imagines that the spirits of his twin sister, first wife and parents like to 'knock around' the campground where they made so many memories. 'It may be a figment of a fertile imagination — I'm sure it is — but I feel it,' he said. At 66 years old, Salter has only missed three Neshoba County Fairs, once for an adventure camp when he was 13, again to cover the 2000 Republican National Convention as a reporter and in 2017 when he was battling cancer. He said he often eats the same meals, does the same activities and sees the same people year after year. 'In a sea of change in every facet of our lives, the fair is constant,' he said. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store