The 10 Best Restaurants in South LA (Right Now)

South LA has always cooked with soul, long before I, or any other transplant, started name-dropping Holbox. Call it a neighborhood talent: turning a counter, a patio, or a market stall into the kind of place you want to bring your people.

One quick promise before we eat: we’re guests. These rooms are livelihoods, not sets. Spend like you want the lights to stay on, tip like you mean it, don’t block driveways, keep the sidewalk calm, ask before you shoot, say thank you. Food is culture, memory, and work, all at once.

This isn’t a lab report. No rubrics, clipboards, or tweed. It’s one person’s deeply biased guide to where South LA actually tastes like South LA, markets and mom-and-pop counters, legacy rooms, and new-school stunners. Not definitive. Definitely useful. If you want to understand this part of the city, start with these ten, where South LA tastes like itself, loudly and beautifully.

Holbox (Historic South Central)

If you’re building a South LA hit list, start with seafood that makes you rethink how many ceviches one person can reasonably order. This isn’t a splurgey white-tablecloth thing, and thank god. It’s a seafood counter inside Mercado La Paloma cooking with fine-dining precision: the kind of place you show your best friend, not your fussy ex who thinks “authentic” means valet parking.
So it’s no surprise the accolades stack up: a Michelin star (current in the 2025 guide), the L.A. Times’ 2023 Restaurant of the Year, and, on the brand-new North America’s 50 Best Restaurants list—No. 42. Translation: casual setting, elite cooking, zero pretense.
Octopus hits the grill and comes off with real smoke, ceviches land bright and knife-sharp, and oysters vanish faster than you meant them to. Grab a counter seat, order like you mean it, and let the ice case set the plan. And if you want the glow-up version, there’s a reservation-only eight-course tasting menu on midweek nights,Holbox, the culinary equivalent of someone who crushes it in black tie and still turns heads in sweats.

Order: octopus taco; a ceviche duo; whatever shellfish is calling your name.
Best for: small celebrations that don’t need linen napkins.
Heads-up: inside Mercado La Paloma; counter service moves quickly. The tasting menu sells out.

Alta Adams (West Adams)

This is the neighborhood dinner party you wish you threw, California produce filtered through the comforting lens of the South. Think of it as a dinner party with cool-older-cousin standards: the vibe is easy, the bar is high, and the menu reads like house rules. Here’s what’s happening: collard greens with backbone, oxtails that melt but don’t collapse, fried chicken that’s as much comfort as it is craft. It looks like Sunday dinner and eats like a love letter to South LA.
The room glows at golden hour, warm wood, neighborhood chatter, and suddenly you understand why it’s been hailed as one of the most important restaurants in Los Angeles. Alta put West Adams on the dining map, but it still keeps weeknight energy: you drift in, eat beautifully, and leave the car behind after your server convinces you that, yes, round two should be the olive-oil martini.

Order: deviled eggs; fried chicken with cornbread; collards.
Best for: date night; catch-ups that need a real meal; the friend you need to meet “halfway.”
Heads-up: reservations help on weekends; walk-ins usually score the bar or patio.

Harold & Belle’s (Jefferson Park)

Some rooms stay timeless by refusing to be anything but themselves. Since 1969, Harold & Belle’s has been serving Creole classics in Jefferson Park, and walking in still feels like stepping into a family tradition, whether it’s your family or not. Étouffée with depth, gumbo that tastes like somebody’s guarded recipe, beignets that blow up your resolve. It doubles as the city’s standing invitation to pull up, eat well, and talk long.
It’s also that rare place that can host a graduation dinner, a Tuesday solo, and a low-key date without changing its stride. Harold & Belle’s isn’t chasing relevance; it’s defining it—one herb- and spice-stained page passed down at a time.

Order: crawfish étouffée; shrimp Creole; beignets.
Best for: multigenerational dinners; birthdays; comfort cravings.
Heads-up: portions are generous—plan for leftovers.

Banadir Somali Restaurant (Inglewood)

Some meals feel like going out; some meals take care of you so well you order stationery on Etsy to write a thank-you note your grandmother would be proud of. At Banadir, the Inglewood staple of Somali home cooking, giant platters of turmeric-stained rice arrive with tender goat, chicken suqaar, or lamb shanks so soft they practically sigh. A ripe banana sits on the plate, yes, you’re supposed to eat them together, and somehow it just works, a quiet lesson in balance and sweetness.
The room is simple, the welcome is warm, and it has the gum-in-class effect, built for sharing whether or not you meant to. Order a round of sambusas, pour the spiced tea, and watch the table fall into that content silence that only happens when everyone shows up hungry, goes blissfully quiet, and later realizes they were too busy eating to talk. Banadir doesn’t need flash; it’s feeding you like family.

Order: goat with bariis (rice); sambusas; spiced tea.
Best for: soul-soothing lunches; affordable feasts near LAX/SoFi.
Heads-up: portions are heroic, expect leftovers.

Hawkins House of Burgers (Watts)

An LA classic where the burgers are tall, and the history’s even taller. This Watts landmark has been family-run for decades, slinging patties so stacked they look like architecture, layered with pastrami, chili, or bacon until gravity politely tucks you in for a nap.
Order at the window, wait while the smoke does its work, then eat on the curb like everyone before you, athletes, politicians, rappers, neighbors. It’s the kind of meal that proves South LA doesn’t need a gastropub to tell its burger story. Hawkins is both history lesson and indulgence, proof that sometimes the city’s best dining room is the sidewalk, and the best teacher is smoke.

Order: Whipper burger; chili cheese fries.
Best for: post-game meals; LA nostalgia trips; introducing out-of-towners to Watts.
Heads-up: expect a line and a wait, it’s part of the ritual.

Johnny’s (West Adams)

Jewish-deli DNA with West Adams energy, a glow-up that knows exactly who it’s for (me). The revived landmark takes the classic pastrami formula and dials it up: smoked thick, stacked high, dripping just enough to make you grab extra napkins and question your shirt choice. It’s part deli nostalgia, part neighborhood hang, and all about honoring the art of meat between bread.
Late hours, patio hang, cold beer, a neighborhood ritual that will make you believe in the power of a third space. Order at the counter, claim a bar stool or the side patio, and join the line of people who know a proper pastrami sandwich can silence a table faster than politics. This isn’t a fussy reinvention; it’s Johnny’s doing what Johnny’s does best, now with the lift that makes West Adams feel even more like it’s having a moment.

Order: pastrami on rye or the pastrami French dip; add a pickle.
Best for: late bites; casual dates; something to soak up the alcohol nextdoor.
Heads-up: counter + bar setup; it stays busy but moves fast. Wear a shirt you won’t mind baptizing in jus.

Cento Pasta Bar (West Adams)

A former pop-up all grown up, and still cooking like it has something to prove, one twinkle-lit patio night at a time. There’s the clatter of an open kitchen, glasses clinking, a low hum that makes Tuesday feel like Saturday. You slide into a chair and the neighborhood exhale kicks in.
The beet spaghetti here is basically the block’s mascot, electric magenta, silky, earthy, just sweet enough to remind you pasta can still surprise you. The spicy pomodoro lands hot and focused, all brightness and bite, and the rotating shapes lean texture over tricks: chew, sauced properly, nothing fussy. Start with something cold to keep pace, a crudo or a simple salad, then save a hunk of bread for dragging through whatever’s left on the plate. It’s romantic without being precious, fun without being sloppy, the kind of room that argues pasta deserves citizenship in this neighborhood.

Order: beet spaghetti; spicy pomodoro; whatever crudo they’re running.
Best for: date nights; carb-forward friend therapy.
Heads-up: it’s next door to sibling Cento Raw Bar, pasta here, caviar towers there.

Tamales Elena (West Adams; at Maydan Market as Maléna by Tamales Elena)

If you’ve ever driven from Central LA to San Diego and didn’t plan a pit stop at the Tamales Elena truck, turn around and start over. The Afro-Mexican family from Guerrero who ran that truck made it a non-negotiable road-trip tradition, the kind of food worth inventing an excuse to crave. And now, blessedly, you don’t need a highway excuse at all: they’ve got a permanent stall inside West Adams’ Maydan Market.
They’ve been called essential; I call them stunning and georgina. The tamales are city-wide famous, and the family matriarchy is part of LA’s dining story. But the food doesn’t need clippings to prove it. Banana-leaf tamales arrive dense and earthy, wrapped in smoke and care. Pozole verde hits like soul therapy, bright and layered. The mole is thick and uncompromising, a recipe that feels inherited more than written down.
It’s the kind of cooking that feeds you twice: once at the table, and again later when you realize how lucky you are to have it in the neighborhood.

Order: green pozole; chicken mole; a sweet tamal.
Best for: family lunches; market nights when you want real food; anyone craving roots with flavor.
Heads-up: stall inside Maydan Market; get extra to go, you’ll regret it if you don’t.

Poncho’s Tlayudas (West Adams; at Maydan Market as Lugya’h by Poncho’s Tlayudas)

If Tamales Elena was the road-trip truck you couldn’t skip, Poncho’s was the truck that made you pull over whether you meant to or not. The Oaxacan family behind it turns the plancha into a drafting table, griddling tortillas into edible blueprints, pizza-sized, smoky, layered with asiento, black beans, cheese, and your pick of meat. Bring friends and split a couple like a pizza; argue over who gets the chorizo corner.
Now at Maydan Market as Lugya’h, Poncho’s still tastes like a backyard party in Oaxaca, grill smoke and laughter hitching a ride on your clothes. Memelas and moles remind you Oaxacan food runs deeper than the tlayuda.
It’s casual, it’s loud, it’s food you fold into your week like ritual. Proof that sometimes the best utensils are just clean hands and a stack of napkins.

Order: tlayuda with tasajo or chorizo; a memela to pregame.
Best for: casual group hangs; snack-around nights at the market.
Heads-up: inside Maydan Market; portions are massive, ask them to cut it for sharing.

Hotville Chicken (Baldwin Hills/Crenshaw)

Some meals you chase for flavor; others you chase for heat. Hotville does both. Started by Kim Prince, descendant of the family behind Nashville’s original hot chicken, it’s South LA’s answer to a culinary dynasty. And while the spice levels go from “gentle nudge” to “life choices flashing before your eyes,” the bird stays juicy, crackly, and full of cayenne swagger.
Order at the counter, grab a booth, and watch as plates of fried chicken, catfish, and crinkle-cut fries land on trays like trophies. The collards and mac & cheese could headline on their own, but it’s that chicken, dusted, sauced, unapologetic, that puts Baldwin Hills on the national hot-chicken map.
This isn’t pain for pain’s sake. It’s a fire that hugs back, a reminder that comfort food can still make you sweat in the best way.

Order: hot chicken sandwich (medium if you’re smart, higher if you’re stubborn); collards; mac & cheese.
Best for: fried-chicken purists; anyone who thinks they can “handle heat.”
Heads-up: heat climbs fast, medium here eats like hot elsewhere.

How to Use This List (4 Rules)

• Cluster, don’t commute. Do a West Adams crawl (Alta → Johnny’s → Cento + Maydan Market for Tamales Elena & Poncho’s). Holbox for lunch. Hawkins/Harold & Belle’s deserve their own meal. Banadir shines midday.

• Mind the clock. Reserve Alta/Cento; go early for Holbox; expect a line at Hawkins; markets get lively.

• Order like you mean it. Share by default, add one wildcard, say yes to the special. Know yourself: Hotville heat climbs; Holbox skews shellfish.

• Bring guest energy. Tip well, park smart, ask before filming, keep sidewalks clear, say thanks.

The Last Bite

Lists end; eating doesn’t. Pick one place and go. Bring a friend, a real appetite, and guest energy. Ask a question. Say thank you. If you loved it, come back and order the dish you didn’t try, South LA rewards repeat visits more than checkbox tourism.
This guide isn’t a finish line; it’s a first lap. Let the neighborhoods set the pace, tip like you want the lights to stay on, and leave room for whatever surprises the next block holds. See you at the counter.