"We’re going to Malaysia!" my cousin Brett yelled on the phone. My immediate response was no. He insisted, yes. I questioned why, and he declared, "Because you can still go to fuckin’ Kenny Rogers Roasters there. We’re going to Malaysia and I’m eating that chicken. You owe me." The call ended abruptly, as is typical with our conversations. While his Malaysian chicken fantasy was outlandish, it sparked a thought: could these culinary relics of our past, like Kenny Rogers Roasters, still exist somewhere? A quick Google search proved him partially right about Kenny Rogers Roasters’ international presence, but it also unearthed something even more intriguing for a Los Angeles native: Pioneer Chicken, or as it was officially known, Pioneer Take Out, was not entirely a ghost of fast food past.
Gone from much of the American landscape, including its Southern California birthplace, Pioneer Take Out, remarkably, still clings to life in a couple of locations in Los Angeles. This revelation sent me down a rabbit hole of forgotten fast-food chains, those culinary institutions that once dotted American roadsides and filled our childhoods with greasy goodness. I discovered Arthur Treacher’s fish and chips hanging on in pockets of Long Island and Ohio, and the mythical McPizza, stubbornly served at a few McDonald’s until corporate intervention. There was Wimpy, the burger joint with roots stretching back before WWII, now thriving in South Africa, and the infamous Howard Johnson’s, a sad tale of closure amidst scandal. But it was Pioneer Chicken, a chain I vaguely recalled from childhood, endorsed by sports icons like O.J. Simpson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, that truly captured my attention. Could it really still be around in Los Angeles?
Pioneer Chicken Boyle Heights
My online exploration revealed that Pioneer Chicken wasn’t just surviving, it was thriving, albeit under a different name, in Indonesia as California Fried Chicken, thanks to USC alumni who brought their love for the brand back home. But closer to home, the real shocker was the existence of two defiant Pioneer Take Out locations right here in Los Angeles, in Boyle Heights and Bell Gardens, stubbornly holding on. As a content creator for "pioneer-technology," and a self-proclaimed expert in uncovering hidden stories, this was a mission I had to undertake. Los Angeles, the birthplace of fast food innovation, deserves to remember its culinary pioneers. From McDonald’s, born from the city’s car-centric culture, to Bob’s Big Boy, a landmark of roadside dining, LA’s fast food history is rich and varied. Pioneer Chicken, in its heyday, was just as much a part of this landscape. Why then, I wondered, has it faded into relative obscurity while others are celebrated and preserved?
Founded in 1962 in Echo Park, Pioneer Chicken quickly became a fixture of the Los Angeles fast food scene, one of many fried chicken chains vying for a piece of the market. By the late 1970s, Pioneer Take Out boasted around 270 locations across California, many clustered in the greater Los Angeles area. The classic fast food formula was there: a building designed for quick service, ample windows, a compact dining area, a drive-through for convenience, and the welcoming image of Pioneer Pete, the chuck wagon-driving mascot, on a prominent sign. The chicken itself was distinctly orange-hued, unapologetically greasy, and delivered a satisfyingly loud crunch with every bite. And then there was the Orange Bang, a sugary, amped-up version of Orange Julius, a taste of pure, unadulterated 70s sweetness. My mother, a self-confessed Pioneer Chicken regular, described it as the kind of deliciously bad-for-you food that, once experienced regularly, could create an intense, almost irrational craving upon its absence – a flavor tied to a specific time and place.
Pioneer Chicken Time Capsule Interior
Living in Los Angeles between the 1970s and 1990s meant Pioneer Chicken was unavoidable. Officially named Pioneer Take-Out, a nod to the Pioneer Market that once stood next to the original Sunset Boulevard location, the chain saturated the local landscape. The television ads, now relics of low-budget 70s advertising, further cemented Pioneer Chicken into the collective consciousness. Rotating plates of golden-brown chicken against stark black backgrounds, comical scenarios of demanding children, and the charismatic smile of O.J. Simpson, then known for his football prowess and burgeoning acting career, all contributed to the Pioneer Chicken brand. These commercials, with their dated aesthetics and fleeting nature, have now acquired an almost surreal quality, like glimpses into a forgotten dimension of fast-food marketing.
However, even catchy ads couldn’t fully shield Pioneer Chicken from the changing tides of the fast-food industry. By 1987, the chain was facing bankruptcy. In 1993, Popeyes, a national fried chicken chain with a different culinary identity, acquired the struggling Pioneer Chicken, converting most of the remaining locations to its own brand. While the news was met with some local media lament, life, and the fast-food industry, moved on. Yet, with the disappearance of Pioneer Chicken, a piece of Los Angeles’ fast-food identity was undeniably lost. Pioneer Chicken was more than just a meal; it was an ambient part of the Los Angeles experience, woven into the city’s cultural fabric alongside orange streetlights and jacaranda trees. It was a ubiquitous presence, and then, almost as suddenly, it was gone.
Beyond the two surviving outposts, Pioneer Chicken’s legacy lives on in a more unexpected form: a lyric in Warren Zevon’s iconic song “Carmelita.” The line, “He hangs out down on Alvarado Street, by the Pioneer Chicken stand,” paints a vivid, albeit mundane, picture of despair in the Los Angeles underbelly, a heroin addict meeting his dealer against the backdrop of a Pioneer Chicken. This seemingly small detail resonated deeply, capturing a slice of the California experience in its raw and unglamorous reality. During a Dwight Yoakam concert at the Hollywood Palladium, when he unexpectedly played “Carmelita,” the line about Pioneer Chicken elicited a roar of recognition and cheers from the crowd of seasoned LA punk rock fans, a testament to the enduring, if understated, cultural mark Pioneer Take Out left on the city.
My first pilgrimage was to the Boyle Heights Pioneer Take Out. The first thing that struck me was the window advertisement, a vibrant, if faded, display seemingly untouched since the late 1970s. The color palette of dark red, orange, and yellow screamed 70s California. The advertised specials, the "Econo Pac" and the "Jumbo Pac," were relics of a bygone fast-food era. The image of the orange-tinged chicken against that familiar sinister black background was instantly recognizable. Stepping inside was like entering a genuine time capsule, not a contrived retro diner, but the real deal, a place that felt genuinely out of sync with the rapidly evolving Los Angeles outside. The interior was dusty, worn, and sun-faded, yet imbued with a palpable sense of history. The fixtures appeared original, hinting at a future where a broken fixture might signal the end, much like Willie Nelson’s beloved guitar.
Ordering a leg and thigh, I sat down to finally taste the legendary Pioneer Take Out chicken. And it delivered. No, it wasn’t Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, but the uniquely crunchy breading was strangely addictive, and the undeniable greasiness was part of its guilty pleasure appeal. The texture was the key differentiator, more akin to fish and chips batter than typical fried chicken breading – singular and, dare I say, superior to the often-disappointing Kentucky Fried Chicken. The Boyle Heights location, however, was missing one crucial element: Orange Bang. This necessitated a second visit, to Bell Gardens.
The Pioneer Take Out in Bell Gardens presented a different atmosphere – cleaner, busier, more vibrant. The drive-through was consistently packed, and customers were placing substantial orders. Families were dining inside. I ordered more chicken, confirming my newfound commitment to becoming a semi-regular patron until the inevitable day of closure, and finally, secured an Orange Bang. One sip reminded me that while I appreciate greasy indulgence, sugary drinks that verge on syrup are less my thing. The Orange Bang went to waste, but the Pioneer Take Out experience in Bell Gardens, nonetheless, felt magical.
Pioneer Chicken Bell Gardens Exterior
Los Angeles, despite its image of constant change, is paradoxically the capital of ephemera. The city struggles to preserve its history, and soaring rents threaten the survival of local institutions. The places we cherish often seem precariously perched on the edge of extinction, vulnerable to the relentless forces of late capitalism. Pioneer Take Out, this endangered species of fast food, deserves our attention, our patronage, and ultimately, our preservation. It’s more than just fried chicken; it’s a portal to the Los Angeles of The Rockford Files, a Los Angeles that is rapidly disappearing. Pioneer Chicken should be recognized as a historical landmark, like Bob’s Big Boy, not destined for demolition and replacement like the sadly departed Du-par’s in Studio City. The recent recreation of the iconic Pioneer Chicken sign by Quentin Tarantino’s crew for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, set during the Manson era, underscores this point. Witnessing a couple in their 50s wistfully remark, “God, I wish Pioneer was still around,” as they passed the replica sign, highlighted the disconnect. It’s time to spread the word: Pioneer Take Out is still around, still serving up a taste of Los Angeles history, and still kicking.
