“We’re going to Malaysia!” my cousin Brett yelled on the phone. My immediate thought was no, but he insisted, “Yes! Because you can still go to Kenny Rogers Roasters there. We’re going to Malaysia and I’m eating that chicken. You owe me.” He might have hung up on me then, or maybe I hung up on him – it’s always one of us.
I dismissed it as one of his outlandish ideas. There was no way that Kenny Rogers Roasters, the chicken chain founded by the country music legend, still existed anywhere. But curiosity got the better of me, and I Googled it. To my surprise, Brett was right, in a way. Kenny Rogers Roasters is indeed a thing in Malaysia. It’s completely gone from the American landscape, the last one in San Bernardino County closing its doors in 2011. Yet, Malaysia is full of them. My cousin wasn’t serious about flying to Malaysia, of course. It was just a bizarre fantasy about how he’d waste money if he had it. However, the idea that this almost-forgotten fast food chain had a second life somewhere else was fascinating. This sent me down a rabbit hole, exploring the ghosts of other once-familiar American fast food chains and where, if anywhere, they still survive.
I found Arthur Treacher’s, a 1970s fish and chips chain – America’s first, started by an actor from Mary Poppins. A handful still exist on Long Island and in Ohio. Then there were the McDonald’s franchises stubbornly selling McPizza, until corporate finally put a stop to it in 2017. There was the last Howard Johnson’s restaurant in upstate New York, recently shuttered for unfortunate reasons. Wimpy, a pre-WWII burger joint, vanished from America but is thriving in South Africa. And then, there was Pioneer Chicken, a fried chicken chain, once endorsed by O.J. Simpson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, that once boasted 270 locations.
Wait a minute, it’s still around?
Why didn’t anyone in Los Angeles tell me this?
My initial online searches revealed that Pioneer Chicken is actually quite popular in Indonesia. Just look for the familiar outline of Pioneer Pete’s chuck wagon – there, it’s called California Fried Chicken. It turns out, a group of Indonesian students, who fell in love with Pioneer Chicken while studying at USC, brought the taste back home.
Indonesia is where Pioneer Chicken soldiers on, thousands of miles from its birthplace. But even more importantly, I discovered there are still two Pioneer Chicken Restaurants right here in Los Angeles, quietly surviving decades after the others disappeared. One is in Boyle Heights, and the other in Bell Gardens. I knew I had to visit them both.
Los Angeles is the undisputed capital of fast food. This is where it all began. The city’s car culture and obsession with speed fueled the need for everything to be fast, convenient, and on-the-go. Los Angeles gave birth to McDonald’s. It’s why Bob’s Big Boy in Toluca Lake is a historical landmark. It’s why a preserved original McDonald’s still stands in Downey, with Speedee the Chef gazing blankly into a world he no longer recognizes. Pioneer Chicken, in its heyday, was just as significant. So why have these other fast food landmarks been preserved while Pioneer Chicken has faded into relative obscurity?
Founded in 1962 in Echo Park, Pioneer Chicken was one of several fried chicken chains that were once commonplace in L.A. It reached its peak in the late 1970s, with hundreds of locations throughout California, many clustered in the greater Los Angeles area. The restaurants had the classic fast food look: large windows, a small dining area, a drive-through, and a prominent sign featuring Pioneer Pete, the jolly cook driving his chuck wagon. The fried chicken was distinctly orange-colored, wonderfully greasy, and delivered a satisfyingly loud crunch with every bite.
They also served Orange Bang, essentially an Orange Julius with an extra dose of sugar. My mom, a frequent customer back then, described it as the kind of unhealthy craving that, once experienced regularly, becomes an almost unbearable desire when it’s gone. The kind of thing you’d go to great lengths to have again, fully aware it might not be the best, but simply a taste of the past.
If you lived in Los Angeles between 1970 and 1990, you couldn’t miss Pioneer Chicken, officially named Pioneer Take-Out, a nod to the long-gone Pioneer Market near its original Sunset Boulevard location.
It was equally hard to miss the TV commercials, featuring breaded chicken rotating against a stark black background, or a harried mother being tormented by her kids, or the ever-smiling O.J. Simpson, then known as a charismatic pitchman and football legend.
The ads were undeniably cheesy, as were most fast food commercials of the 1970s. But their age, low-budget production, and fleeting nature have given them an almost surreal quality, like glimpses into another dimension.
Pioneer Chicken advertisement featuring plates of chicken.
Photo by Kaleb Horton
However, even those memorable commercials couldn’t save Pioneer Chicken restaurant. By 1987, the chain was in financial trouble, and in 1993, the parent company of Popeyes, a national fried chicken chain quite different from Pioneer, acquired the struggling company. Most remaining Pioneer locations were converted into Popeyes restaurants. The press noted the loss with a touch of sadness, and then life moved on. But a piece of Los Angeles’ fast-food identity had vanished.
Pioneer Chicken was more than just a restaurant; it was woven into the fabric of the Los Angeles experience, part of the city’s collective memory. It was everywhere, as common as orange streetlights or jacaranda trees, a fixture of the urban landscape. And then, almost overnight, it was gone.
Beyond the two surviving locations, Pioneer Chicken lives on in a unique way – as a perfect, almost throwaway lyric in Warren Zevon’s song “Carmelita.” It’s a mundane detail in a song about heroin addiction on the fringes of Los Angeles, mentioning meeting a dealer “by the Pioneer Chicken on Alvarado Street.” There’s something about that line, the way it captures the ordinariness of despair, that encapsulates a specific slice of the California experience. It resonates deeply.
When I saw Dwight Yoakam perform at the Hollywood Palladium last year, he unexpectedly played “Carmelita.” And when he sang, “He hangs out down on Alvarado Street, by the Pioneer Chicken stand,” a wave of cheers erupted from the older L.A. punk rock fans in the crowd.
Approaching the Pioneer Chicken restaurant in Boyle Heights, the first thing that caught my eye was the advertisement plastered on the window.
I squinted in disbelief. The pictures in the ad looked like they were straight out of 1979.
The color palette was pure 1970s California: dark red, orange, and yellow. It advertised two wonderfully outdated specials – the “Econo Pac” and the “Jumbo Pac.” The photo featured a plate of that distinctive orange chicken against that same ominous black background from the old commercials. Stepping inside felt like entering a genuine time capsule. Not a contrived, baby boomer-style “time capsule” diner with cheesy paintings of Humphrey Bogart and Marilyn Monroe, but a real one, the kind that makes you feel slightly out of sync with the rapidly changing city outside. It was dusty, a bit worn, faded by years of sun.
All the fixtures appeared original, giving the impression that when something breaks, that might be the end for good, like Willie Nelson’s beloved guitar.
I ordered a leg and a thigh and found a table. I have to admit, the chicken is surprisingly good. It’s not Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, but the intensely crunchy breading is strangely addictive, and you can taste the grease, deliciously unhealthy, just the way good fried chicken should be. The unique texture sets it apart from other chicken chains, almost more akin to fish and chips batter than typical fried chicken breading. It’s distinct and, unlike some other famous fried chicken chains, it’s definitely not bad.
I decided then and there to visit the Pioneer Chicken restaurant in Bell Gardens the following weekend, mainly because this Boyle Heights location didn’t have Orange Bang.
The Bell Gardens Pioneer Chicken is noticeably nicer, cleaner, and bustling with activity. The drive-through was consistently busy during my visit, and people were placing large orders. Inside, a father was sharing a meal with his daughter. I ordered more chicken, realizing I’d likely become a semi-regular customer until it inevitably closes, and I also tried the Orange Bang. I quickly remembered that I actually don’t enjoy overly sugary drinks that are bad for me – greasy foods, however, are another story. I ended up throwing the Orange Bang away. Still, the entire experience felt strangely magical.
Exterior of Pioneer Chicken restaurant in Bell Gardens, California, with cars in the drive-through.
Photo by Kaleb Horton
Los Angeles might not be an eternal city, but it is definitely the capital of ephemera. It’s not great at preserving its history, and soaring rents make long-term consistency nearly impossible. Local institutions are constantly closing down, and there’s always a lurking fear that your favorite places could vanish without warning, crushed by the relentless forces of late capitalism. Pioneer Chicken restaurant is an endangered fast-food species and deserves our attention and appreciation.
It’s a portal to the Los Angeles of the 1970s, the Los Angeles of The Rockford Files, a city that is rapidly disappearing. Pioneer Chicken should be designated a historical landmark like Bob’s Big Boy, not torn down and replaced, like Du-par’s in Studio City. Last October, Quentin Tarantino was filming Once Upon a Time in Hollywood in Toluca Lake – a film set during the Manson era – and his crew built a replica of the iconic Pioneer Chicken sign.
I overheard a couple in their 50s walking by, and the man smiled, pointed at the sign, and said to his wife, “God, I wish Pioneer was still around.”
It’s time to let people know that it is.
