The Brief

You may have heard that Los Angeles is getting a new area code this year: 738.

It will be an “overlay” around downtown, where 213 and 323 numbers currently get assigned, starting in November, the 12th area code in the region. Expect many to give this new kid on the block a side eye, because, as many Southern Californians know, we rep our area codes hard.

They may just be three numbers, but they're a badge of identity, and say a lot about you.

213? Congrats, you have an OG code and may have lived in L.A. a long time. (Or you just got lucky in the phone store in which case, we salute you). 626? SGV folk, you’re so invested they named a night market after it.

We wanted to know what you thought about your numbers, and you did not disappoint. Here’s what you told us:

The 310 

When Alejandra Alarcon was in middle school in L.A. County, she loved to call her friends a lot on the family’s landline. But around that time, she had to make a transition. The 310 region — which mostly covers west L.A. and the South Bay — was overlaid with a 424 area code, so she had to make sure to start dialing her friends with their full numbers. Then it was time to get her first cell phone — and potentially a 424 number — a moment she keenly remembers.

“I was pretty sure that if I were given a 424 number, I would have told the person, ‘please give me 310.’ Thankfully, I didn't have to do that,” she said. “To me, having a 310 phone number is my way of letting people know I don't just live in the South Bay. I am born and raised in the South Bay.”

(The pool of available phone numbers gets added to all the time, so yes, you can ask for a specific area code!)

Alarcon says she doesn’t know why Angelenos are so passionate about their area codes, but it’s akin to feelings about a sports team for her.

When her cousins moved to Mid-City and got a 323 area code, that number change was also symbolic of contrasting experiences.

“There was something about that that signified you live in Los Angeles, but it's a different Los Angeles.”

The official map of area codes in Southern California.

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Courtesy North American Numbering Plan Administrator

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The string of numbers can represent big things like wealth, environment and culture. It can show an experience that people in other areas might not share, like living in a beach city or up in the desert. But for Alarcon, 310 still shows off her South Bay love better than 424 ever could.

The 818 

Danny Duarte proudly has “818 till I die” in his Instagram bio, which is a nod to late comedian Brody Stevens who included the line in his sets.

“I just want people to know where I'm from,” Duarte said. “It’s a way to keep Brody Stevens’ legacy alive because that was his saying and he was from Reseda.”

The 714 

Daphne Ruiz, who was born and raised in Anaheim, keenly remembers how it felt to hear Gwen Stefani give a shout-out to Harbor Boulevard in her song “Cool” and it’s part of why Ruiz is so proud of the 714.

“Even though in the media you only see the south side depicted — it means a lot to me that I grew up around Mexican and Vietnamese immigrants. I just feel like there’s so much life in North Orange County, in the 714.”

The 909

Area codes can also indicate where you got your phone. Renée Saldaña, who grew up on the border of the San Gabriel and Pomona valleys, handpicked her code at first because she wanted to fit in.

Saldaña and her sisters got their first cell phones around the time that KROQ’s Kevin and Bean show cracked a lot of jokes about the 909 Inland Empire residents.

“My sisters and I really wanted to disassociate ourselves from being anywhere with the 909, even though our home landline was a 909 number,” Saldaña said. “We wanted people to think that we were from like L.A. or at least like the Pasadena area, which was back then, you know, seemingly a lot cooler than the 909.”

Their solution? Drive far away and get a 626 number. They would only get new phones squarely in places like the San Gabriel Valley, Rowland Heights and the City of Industry. But as she’s gotten older, the drive to look cool has changed.

“I care less about the area codes and what county I'm associated with, ironically,” she said. “I live in Eagle Rock now, but I still have a 626 area code. I do still kind of have a heart for 626. I like keeping that area code.”

The 626 

Some codes are far more popular than others. If there were a ranking list of codes, a lot of Southern Californians would go to the mat for 626.

For Brandon Yung, that area code is synonymous with his experience growing up in the San Gabriel Valley.

“It’s something I really identify with,” Yung said. “I had a friend growing up who tattooed 626 on his shoulder and kept it.”

Yung says he’s never changing his phone number, even though he lives in the Bay Area now. “San Gabriel Valley for life. That's what's up.”

The 626 code is an icon in some ways, and Yung says that it’s especially known in Asian communities. It’s slapped on merchandise, there’s the 626 Night Market and a host of other ways those three numbers have been turned into an identity.

But Filbert Aung has a “complicated relationship with claiming 626.” He saw it gain a lot more traction as he got older. When the 626 Night Market first started happening at Santa Anita Park, he remembers feeling good about his home getting representation.

But as it grew in popularity, he began to feel like there was a disconnect between the idea being sold as the 626 and his lived experience.

“Its traction kind of coalesced with this kind of broader online and commercial success, like marketing the 626 as an Asian destination or an Asian mecca,” Aung said.

And marketing isn’t just reaching Angelenos. There’s a 626 Night Market OC now. Aung says it’s like packaging aspects of the 626 — that idea of Asian identity — in the form of a night market and exporting to Orange County.

“I do resonate with it,” Aung says about the area code, “but I think it still prompts the clarification.”

On Monday, Los Angeles travels back in time. Well, sort of.

The Varnish, the famed speakeasy hidden behind a secret door at the back of Cole’s French Dip, will be reconstituted for one night only as part of a special pop-up at Firstborn in Chinatown.

(Meanwhile, Cole's itself will be open through the holiday season, with its last night of regular service planned for Dec. 31.)

The iconic bar, which shuttered in 2024 after a 15-year run, holds a special place in the hearts of many Angelenos, who believe it's where L.A.’s modern cocktail revival truly began. The event reunites three bartenders who all came up through The Varnish’s famously exacting school of cocktail-making. Kenzo Han (recently named Esquire’s Bartender of the Year) cut his teeth there before moving into roles that established him as one of L.A.’s most respected classic-cocktail technicians. Wolf Alexander and Miles Caballes emerged from the same pipeline.

One night only

Kenzo Han, bar director at Firstborn and former Varnish bartender, is hosting two fellow Varnish alumni for the Monday pop-up.

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Ron De Angelis

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Han is now Firstborn’s bar director, where he leads a tight, classics-leaning bar program. The restaurant sits inside Mandarin Plaza, where chef Anthony Wang turns out playful comfort dishes with Chinese and American influences. It’s a lively, unfussy neighborhood hangout just off Broadway, surrounded by neon, noodle shops and family-style restaurants.

The Varnish connection

All three bartenders trace their lineage back to Sasha Petraske, who, in 2009, co-founded The Varnish with Eric Alperin and Cedd Moses, the owner of Cole’s French Dip.

Petraske traded '90s flash for pre-Prohibition craft: fresh citrus over sour mix, precise technique over bottle tricks, elevating cocktails from party fuel to art form.

Miles Caballes brings his Varnish training back to the bar for one night.

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Courtesy Firstborn

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Wolf Alexander, another Varnish alum, demonstrates the precise technique that defined the speakeasy's approach.

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Courtesy Firstborn

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The Varnish became the city’s clearest expression of Petraske’s cocktail philosophy, where his playbook of precision, restraint and quiet hospitality took root on the West Coast. (Petraske passed in 2015.)

Han, Alexander and Caballes all trained in that environment, absorbing the Petraske rules of clean builds, tight technique and no-nonsense cocktails.

What to expect

For one night only, from 6-10 p.m., the trio will channel that tradition through a Varnish-style menu: curated classics only, no custom builds, with all cocktails priced at $20. Two featured drinks nod directly to the bar's lineage. The Spring Blossom — created at The Varnish — combines mezcal, French aperitifs, including Suze and Lillet Blanc, mole bitters and a grapefruit twist. Death & Taxes features scotch, gin, sweet vermouth, Benedictine (a herbal liqueur), Angostura and orange bitters, finished with a lemon twist.

On the food side, chef Anthony Wang is reviving his cult-favorite Blood Orange Chicken Sando ($20), served with radicchio, alongside a limited run of his Shanghainese-style McRib ($24) — a playful, sweet-and-sour riff built around tender ribs and “all the stuff” that made the original such a guilty pleasure.

The blood orange chicken sandwich at Firstborn from chef Anthony Wang.

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Ron De Angelis

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Expect a casual, walk-in-only atmosphere where guests can grab a seat at the bar and let the cocktail nostalgia wash over them.

Whether you were a Varnish regular or only heard the stories, this pop-up is a rare chance to see that style alive again — familiar faces, bespoke cocktails and the kind of muscle-memory bartending that defined an era of L.A. drinking culture. For newer drinkers, it’s a glimpse of the cocktail philosophy that shaped the city as we know it.

It’ll likely get busy early, and the food specials may run out fast — but that’s part of the charm. The Varnish’s legacy has always been about small rooms, sharp precision and moments you catch only if you’re paying attention.

In the city of Los Angeles, neighbors or homeowner groups who choose to fight approvals of new housing are required to pay a fee when filing an appeal.

Right now, that fee is $178 — about 1% of the amount the city says it costs to process the appeal. But that fee soon will go up.

On Wednesday, the L.A. City Council voted to increase the fee to $229 but rejected a proposal by the city administrative officer that would have raised the cost for appellants to more than $22,800, or 100% of the cost.

Some advocates for making housing easier to build argued the city should have adopted the higher fee.

“Appeals of approved projects create delays that make it harder to build housing and disincentivize future housing from being proposed,” said Jacob Pierce, a policy associate with the group Abundant Housing L.A.

At a time when L.A.’s budget is strained, Pierce said, if someone thinks a project was wrongly approved, “They should put their money where their mouth is and pay the full fee."

The City Council unanimously approved another new fee structure put forward by the city’s Planning Department.

While fees will remain relatively low for housing project opponents, developers will have to pay $22,453 to appeal projects that previously had been denied.

A November report from the city administrative officer said setting fees higher to recover the full cost of processing would have aligned with the city’s financial policies. Generally, fees are set higher when applicants are asking for a service that benefits them alone.

“When a service or activity benefits the public at large, there is generally little to no recommended fee amount,” the report said.

Pierce said he hoped a City Council committee would reconsider the higher fee proposal next year. With the city falling far short of its goal to create nearly a half-million new homes by 2029, he said the city needs to discourage obstruction of new housing.

“Slowing down the construction of housing is expensive for all of us,” Pierce said.

Los Angeles could become the first city in the U.S. to ban ink cartridges that can be used only once.

The L.A. City Council unanimously voted Wednesday to approve the creation of an ordinance that prohibits their sale. The move comes after more than a year of debate over the terms.

Why the potential ban

This builds upon the city’s effort to reach zero waste, including phasing out single-use plastics. You’re likely familiar with some of those efforts — such as only getting plastic foodware by request and banning single-use carryout bags at stores. Multiple plastic bans have been suggested, like for single-use vapes and bag clips, but now it’s ink’s turn.

The cartridges are tough to dispose of because of the plastic, metal and chemicals inside, according to the city. They’re also classified as regulated waste in the state because they can leach toxic substances into the environment, such as volatile organic compounds and heavy metals.

That poses a problem. L.A.’s curbside recycling program can’t recycle the cartridges, and while its hazardous waste program can take them, a significant portion end up in landfills.

Major printer manufacturers and some ink retailers have take-back programs for used cartridges so they can get refilled. However, L.A. Sanitation says there are certain single-use cartridges that don’t have recovery programs. These are usually cartridges that work with a printer but aren’t name brand.

How outlawing them could work

LASAN has spent months figuring out what a ban would cover — and it hasn’t been without pushback. The city’s energy and environment committee pressed the department back in September on how effective a ban would be.

Ultimately, the committee moved it forward with a promise that LASAN would come back with more details, including environmental groups’ stance, concrete data to back up the need and a public education plan.

The department’s current recommendation is that the ordinance should prohibit retail and online establishments from selling any single-use ink cartridge, whether sold separately or with a printer, to people in the city. Retailers that don’t follow the rules would get fined.

So what does single-use mean here? The ban would affect a printer cartridge that:

• is not collected or recovered through a take-back program
• cannot be remanufactured, refilled or reused
• infringes upon intellectual property rights or violates any applicable local, state or federal law

Any cartridges that meet one of these points would fall under the ban, though you still could get them outside L.A.

The proposed ordinance will go to the committee first while LASAN works on a public education plan.

If it ends up getting approved by the full council, the ban likely would go into full effect 12 months later.