Customers gather at the bar and tables inside Thunderbolt.
Photo by Merrill Shindler
Echo Park—There are 11 pages of drinks at Thunderbolt. And one page of food. And not a lot of food either – nine plates, six sides and two desserts. There’s also no big screen showing the Dodgers just a few blocks away at the Stadium. The cultlike following of Thunderbolt would be a mystery, were it not for our Eastside love of the louche life found in our bars. “Louche,” in case you’re not familiar with it, is a wonderfully descriptive word. It speaks of a place that’s both loose and maybe even a tad shady, yet stylish and alluring at the same time.
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If Thunderbolt were only a bit shadier, it might qualify as a dive. But though it dances around the edges, it never really immerses itself in the genre so perfectly defined by the late, great Charles Bukowski. Bukowski was described by Time Magazine as “The Laureate of Lowlife.” He was a poet who celebrated the joys of being down and out. He drank. And he wrote poetry. And he drank some more. Lots more.
Thunderbolt’s fried green tomatoes are served with ranch dressing.
Photo by Merrill Shindler
His dive bar of choice was the King Eddy Saloon on the edge of Skid Row, closed for more than a decade now, but immortalized along with Bukowski in the Mickey Rourke movie Barfly. Where Cheers in Boston is a bar in which “everybody knows your name,” King Eddy was a bar in which “nobody knows your name.” And that’s how, blessedly, you can feel at Thunderbolt. A neighborhood joint with a menu of more drinks than seem within reason. And a menu of dishes with roots south of the Mason-Dixon Line. And on top of that, the menu offers recipes for all the drinks.
With its somewhat befuddling name, Thunderbolt (is it a racehorse?) shouldn’t make any sense. And yet, it does. It’s easy to hang with a buncha pals on the shaded front patio, hidden from busy Temple Street. There’s a bevy of small tables inside. And lotsa room at the bar for those who’d rather spend an evening watching the barkeep precisely mix an Echo Park Trash Can #3 – from bottom to top, Pecan Bitters, Mezcal, Apple-Miso Distillate and Clarified Green Apple Cordial – “crystal clear, tart, mezcal & green apple soda with violent carbonation.” The tech details are worthy of the lab in Pluribus.
Thunderbolt offers a compact selection of craft beer alongside its extensive cocktail menu.
Photo by Merrill Shindler
The beer section is crafty but short. Which is fine. A choice between a lager, an ale, an IPA and a stout does me just fine. And works well with the menu of Deep South curiosities like the Crispy Hoppin’ John Rolls, a mix of Carolina Gold rice and Sea Island red peas. Rice ‘n peas – as downhome as you could wish. I couldn’t resist the fried green tomatoes – both the name of a movie and a dish – which came with ranch dressing.
Green tomatoes fry up so much better than expected. And indeed, “fried” is a defining word here – fried chicken thighs, French fries, fried chicken drumettes, a fried Big Chicken Biscuit, fried toast with chilled shrimp salad. The Cheesy Grits aren’t fried. They make me wonder, as ever, why we Northerners don’t eat more grits. Grits are something they serve at Thunderbolt. And it’s something in the air. Charles Bukowski drank Schlitz. He ate candy bars. Thunderbolt would have left him in a stupor.
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Crispy fried chicken thighs are served with sauce on the side.
Photo by Merrill Shindler
Rating: ⭐⭐
⭐⭐⭐⭐ Beyond Sublime⭐⭐⭐ Worth Every Penny⭐⭐A Good Neighborhood Destination⭐ Might As Well Stay At HomeThunderbolt
Food Writer Merrill Shindler has bent his elbow many times over the years. But along with a foamy draft, he likes something properly bar-friendly to chew on. And fried green tomatoes with chicken thighs, in a joint where, contrary to Cheers, ”nobody knows your name,” fits the bill.
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Thunderbolt’s cheeseburger comes topped with American cheese and pickles.
Photo by Merrill Shindler
A hedge partially conceals Thunderbolt’s sign and entrance along Temple Street.
Photo by Merrill Shindler