Tipping the Scales of Justice

In the nine months she spent sequestered as a juror on the O.J. Simpson trial, Carrie Bess gained 50 pounds. Fifty pounds. And Harry and Gary Hindoyan are at least partially responsible.

The Hindoyan brothers have become the de facto house chefs for Los Angeles celebrity murder trials. The private caterers fed lunch to Bess and the rest of the Simpson jurors every day. When the criminal trial was over, the Hindoyans fed the Simpson civil trial jurors. They fed the juries who decided the fates of actor Robert Blake (not guilty of murdering his ex-girlfriend), the Menendez brothers (convicted of murdering their parents in Beverly Hills) and Reginald Denny's attackers (most found not guilty of attempted murder for beating the truck driver during the 1992 L.A. riots).

The employees of the downtown Los Angeles criminal courthouse love the Hindoyans' food. Judge's birthday? Call Gary. Prosecutor retiring? Order the chicken. Don't want jurors wandering the streets at lunch, where unscrupulous news reporters could pounce, tainting the eventual verdict? At a cost of $12 to $15 per person per meal, the Hindoyans take care of it all.

"We know exactly where the elevators are, where to enter, which floor to go to, where the jury room is behind the bench," Harry Hindoyan says. They've been catering for juries for almost 20 years.

It started with former district attorney Ira Reiner's wife, Hindoyan recalls. She liked their food. So did a lot of local lawyers, who hung out at the Hindoyans' Middle Eastern/American restaurant.

The court catering gigs really took off after the Denny case. Feeding jurors lunch is cheaper than sequestering them, but still keeps them away from the media, court spokesman Allan Parachini says. The Hindoyans are convenient, cost-effective and they know the drill. So they get the call for almost every trial where a judge wants jurors to stay indoors.

On a recent morning Harry Hindoyan sits at a front table at Burger Continental, which he owns with his brother. The place is a narrow brick cave with a few tables on the sidewalk, wait staff who know the customers; it offers belly-dancing at night, and a lunch buffet. Hindoyan's chef jacket bears stains from meals long past, but looks freshly laundered. He takes a break from his omelet with kalamata olives to talk courthouse culinary stuff.

He is struggling now to come up with interesting food for Phil Spector's murder trial jurors. The case has plodded along in a downtown L.A. courtroom since April; the defense announced yesterday it's close to resting. For those losing track of Celebrities in Very Big Trouble, Spector is a record producer best known for his "wall of sound" technique and work with the Beatles and 1960s girl groups. He is accused of murdering Lana Clarkson, a B-movie actress he picked up at a Sunset Strip nightclub.

As the trial enters its fourth month, it's tough for the Hindoyans to provide variety.

"Chicken kebabs, beef shish kebabs, shrimp brochettes, lamb chops, our signature plates: Chicken Erotica and Seven Veils Chicken," Hindoyan lists recent lunches. Chicken Erotica? Do tell. "Our specialty," he says. Chicken breast stuffed with jumbo shrimp and wrapped in bacon.