Marc Canter, the third-generation owner of Canter’s Deli, can’t catch a break.
On Wednesday morning, the ordering system at the counter of his family’s legendary Los Angeles restaurant in the flailing Fairfax District went out, causing a four-hour headache of frantic phone calls, botched solutions and cash drawers that refused to open.
“It was like an episode of ‘Candid Camera,’” Canter tells SFGATE by phone, referring to the long-running hidden camera prank television show.
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It’s just another setback for Canter, who operates the 95-year-old restaurant with his sister Jacqueline. After months of brutal heat across Southern California that has depressed business at many restaurants, the siblings were slapped with a $34,000 electricity and water bill from the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power, an increase of nearly $10,000 from just four months prior.
A corned-beef Reuben sandwich at Canter’s Deli in Los Angeles on April 23, 2026.
Jessie Alcheh/SFGATE
“Here’s the issue. If it was just that and nothing else was going on, it would be an obstacle and we’d figure it out, but this is the last straw,” Canter says. “The problems go back three years, to when Russia invaded Ukraine. I immediately saw a 30% drop in business because people were uncertain. Then there were the writers’ strikes and the fires, which affected business too.”
He adds, “Plus, our insurance went up to more than $100,000 a year. So you’re hitting that piggy bank of tax refunds they gave us during COVID, which we put in the bank for a rainy day. But it’s been raining for three years.”
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‘You’d throw up if you knew our meat bill’
Canter’s, possibly the best-known and oldest operating Jewish deli in California, is a 25,000-square-foot LA institution that’s been visited by everyone from rock stars to movie stars to no fewer than five U.S. presidents. It opened in 1931 as Canter Bros. in Boyle Heights and moved to the Fairfax District in 1953 when the family bought the Esquire Theatre. Over the decades, Canter’s has been known for its house-made pastrami and corned beef, matzo ball soup, hulking breakfasts, 24-hour service and Hollywood ties.
Among those who have been regulars at Canter’s are Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller, Walt Disney, Led Zeppelin and the members of Guns N’ Roses, who would eat there after playing shows on the Sunset Strip and took one of their most recognizable photos in one of the restaurant’s curved, midcentury-style booths.
Marc Canter sits for a portrait in Canter’s Deli in Los Angeles on April 23, 2026.
Jessie Alcheh/SFGATE
This year, Canter says, business is down about 20 percent from three years ago, when he first noticed the post-pandemic decline. His costs have also skyrocketed.
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“You’d throw up if you knew our meat bill. It’s $36,000 a week. Paper goods cost us $14,000 a week,” he says. “It’s not just one bill that’s gotten higher; it’s seven other bills.”
He adds, “In 2017, we were taking in the same amount of money we are now. Back then, a pastrami sandwich was probably $15 and change; now it’s $22 and change. The menu might’ve gone up 33%, but we’re not taking in more money.”
In addition to the war in Ukraine, Canter points to other factors like declining LA tourism, continued ICE raids and the astronomical costs of everyday necessities like gas in California as reasons for the drop in business.
“It used to be that people would come to Los Angeles, and they’d go to Disneyland, they’d go to Venice Beach and they’d go to Canter’s because we’re a landmark,” he says. “We don’t see the tourists anymore. And people may be afraid to come here because of the ICE raids.”
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The counter of Canter’s Deli in Los Angeles on April 23, 2026.
Jessie Alcheh/SFGATE
Because of rising costs for consumers, regulars have been dining at Canter’s less frequently, too.
“People we used to see a few times a week, we’re maybe seeing once a week,” Canter says. “We used to do 300 covers at the restaurant a day; now we’re probably at 200, 210.”
Canter’s also operates a small kiosk in West LA, which is down in business, too, from “90 to 100 orders a day to 60, 65 orders a day,” Canter says.
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‘If Canter’s goes down, it will be the apocalypse’
Canter points to some saving graces that have kept the business afloat these past several difficult years. For one, the family still owns the building, taking what would certainly be a massive monthly rent cost out of the picture.
“Oh, we would’ve been gone in the 1970s,” Canter says of the importance of owning the building. “We’re already overspaced, so if that rent was, say, $70,000, it would be impossible.”
Canter’s Deli in Los Angeles on April 23, 2026.
Jessie Alcheh/SFGATE
He also points to the fact that he and Jacqueline are at the restaurant day in and day out, pitching in for whatever needs to be done.
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“I’m a certified refrigeration technician, so I do the plumbing, I do the refrigeration, I do the electrical,” Canter says. “If we didn’t do in-house repairs, we’d have been gone years ago, because in a place this size, with three elevators and water towers and equipment on the roof, that runs you another quarter-million dollars a year.”
He adds, “I’m there every single day, and if I’m not fixing things, I might be cooking on the line. We’re a family. My dad did the same thing, and taught us to be there every day to supervise.”
Despite all of the recent challenges, Canter doesn’t have any plans to close. Nor does he necessarily want to lay off or reduce hours for the restaurant’s employees, many of whom have been there for decades. He’s hopeful that Canter’s can possibly start to make more money on event buy-outs and filming (it’s been featured in countless movies and TV shows, from “Curb Your Enthusiasm” to “Mad Men”).
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Canter’s Deli originally opened in 1931, and is one of the Los Angeles’ last Jewish deli holdouts.
Jessie Alcheh/SFGATE
“It’s not a matter of closing, because we still do probably 10 times more than most restaurants, but we have to be able to pay our bills when the savings dry up,” Canter says. “Running a restaurant this size is next to impossible.”
He adds, “We’ve had people say, ‘If Canter’s goes down, it will be the apocalypse.’ They think of you as the train station, the post office, the thing that’s been there 24 hours a day since the dinosaurs were roaming around.”
