Elon Musk
opened a diner in Hollywood. What could go wrong? I went to find out
The tech
billionaire’s ‘retro-futuristic’ drive-in and Tesla charging station has long
lines, plenty of glitches – and adoring fans
Lois Beckett
Lois Beckett
in Los Angeles
Sat 26 Jul
2025 12.00 BST
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2025/jul/26/elon-musk-tesla-diner-hollywood
It was just
before lunchtime on its third day of operation, and the line outside Elon
Musk’s new Tesla Diner in Hollywood already stretched to nearly 100 people.
The
restaurant has been billed as a “retro-futuristic” drive-in where you can grab
a high-end burger and watch classic films on giant screens, all while charging
your Tesla.
After months
of buildup and controversy, the diner had suddenly opened on Monday, at 4.20pm,
the kind of stoner boy joke that Musk is well-known for. Hundreds of fans lined
up to try burgers in Cybertruck-shaped boxes, or take photos of the Optimus
robot serving popcorn on the roof deck of the gleaming circular diner.
But that was
for the grand opening. Less than 48 hours later, when we visited for lunch, the
Tesla Diner experience was less a futuristic fantasy than a case study in how
to fail with impunity. Many parts of the experience were breaking down, the
food was mediocre, yet the fans were still cheerfully lining up to buy merch.
The line to
get into the diner on Wednesday morning was so long, an employee told us, in
part because of technical problems. The app that allowed Tesla drivers to order
from their cars was glitching, so the diner was “prioritizing” Tesla owners who
had to come inside to order instead. This meant that non-Tesla owners in the
walk-up line might need to wait as long as two to three hours before we got our
food.
I expected
at least a few people to leave the walk-up line immediately, but the only ones
who did were two families of Tesla owners who went back to order from within
their cars. Even if the app didn’t work for them, they would still get their
food faster. The hierarchy was clear: things were broken for everyone, but
owners of Musk products had to suffer slightly less.
The rest of
us kept waiting in the hot sun. “Retro-futurism”, in this case, seemed to mean
gorgeous, Tesla-inspired, mid-century modern architecture coupled with wait
times that would shutter an ordinary McDonald’s. An episode of Star Trek was
playing on the giant drive-in movie screens, but the best entertainment
available was watching tricked-out Cybertrucks arrive and depart. I counted at
least six when I arrived, and more kept appearing: a neon orange Cybertruck
with Texas plates, another floating on giant custom rims. I did not spot a
single anti-Musk protester, though social media posts were advertising protests
outside the diner later in the week.
‘It is what
it is’
Musk’s
special projects have often unfolded with a degree of chaos. Most recently, his
attempt to dismantle the large parts of the US government ended with him
feuding with the president he had spent nearly $300m to elect.
Serving
high-end burgers to Tesla fans while they charge their electric cars should be
much easier than launching space rockets, developing brain implants or running
a social media platform that is not overrun with hate speech and harassment.
And Musk’s diner operation partners, the Los Angeles chef Eric Greenspan, who
advised Mr Beast Burger, and restaurateur Bill Chait, of République and Tartine
Bakery, have impressive food industry credentials.
But the
billionaire CEO tends to make big promises and not quite fulfill them. That
appeared to be true even for a tiny burger joint.
You don’t
have to own a Tesla to order a meal at the diner, and its appeal clearly
reached far beyond Tesla drivers. There were many people in the walk-up line on
Wednesday with babies and small children, some of whom were particularly
excited to be visiting the Tesla Diner after seeing videos about it online.
While we all waited and waited, employees in branded T-shirts brought us
glasses of water and paper menus.
Jake Hook,
who runs a Los Angeles-focused “Diner Theory” social media account, had
described the Tesla Diner menu to me as “all over the place”, with a
combination of “very fast food shlocky” items combined with sandwiches made
with “bread from Tartine”, the luxury California bakery. The diner also offers
a mix of “own the libs” and “we are the libs” options: on the one hand, “Epic
Bacon”, four strips of bacon are served with sauces as a meatfluencer
alternative to french fries, and on the other, avocado toast and matcha lattes.
There was a kale salad served in a cardboard Cybertruck: welcome to southern
California.
“Diners are
kind of a reflection of the community, and it doesn’t seem to really be that,”
Hook told me over the phone. “It’s like a diner-themed restaurant.”
An employee
gave the Wednesday walk-up line another update: they didn’t have chicken,
waffles or milkshakes, or any of the “charged sodas”, which came with boba and
maraschino cherries and extra caffeine.
“It gets
better and better,” sighed a man behind me.
Josh Bates
and his son Phoenix were in town for the day from Orange county, where they
lived. “We are big Musk fans,” he said.
Phoenix, age
10, had been excited to visit the diner. “I never seen Elon Musk open a
restaurant, so I just wanted to come here and see how the food is,” he
explained.
But after
waiting in line for 20 minutes and not getting much closer to ordering, Bates
decided it was time to find somewhere else for lunch. “It’s the grand opening –
things happen,” the father said. “It is what it is. They’re doing the best they
can.”
Bates wasn’t
the only Musk fan with this attitude. Ivan Daza, 36, who lived in Los Angeles,
later told me that he had waited two hours the day before, only to be told
around 6 or 7pm that the Tesla Diner’s kitchen was closed. He had brought his
eight-year-old daughter back the next day to try again. She had seen the Tesla
Diner on YouTube and was especially excited to see the Optimus robot. But it
turned out that Optimus was not in operation.
Daza said he
was surprised by the various problems the kitchen seemed to be having – he
thought they would have a “plan B”. But he was pleased the diner offered an
“experience”.
The prices,
though expensive, weren’t that bad for Los Angeles. The burger was $13.50,
without french fries. Later, as Daza ate the meal that had taken him two days
to get, he grinned: “Delicious.”
The interior
design was certainly closer to Disneyland than In-N-Out: all sleek and shining
chrome, futuristic 1950s white chairs and tables, and beautifully designed
lighting. The curved staircase up to the Skypad was decorated with robots in
display cases on the wall. Inside a curved chrome window was what looked like a
pretty ordinary, low-tech restaurant kitchen.
I had waited
in line for a full hour before I could place my order. When I finally got to
the register, I asked an employee to remind me what on the menu was actually
available. She said I needed to check the screen in front of me – they had
whatever was there. It turned out, contrary to what I had been told, that I
could order both chicken and waffles.
After the
long wait outside, my food arrived in about 10 minutes – much less than the
three-hour wait I feared, but absurdly long for any fast-casual restaurant. A
waffle, branded with the Tesla lightning bolt, was cold. The fried chicken had
a tasty coating but was also cold. The heap of kale and tomatoes was only
partially dressed with an odd dill-flavored dressing. The generic-brand cola
tasted cheap and was served with a woke bamboo straw. But the food did come in
elaborate Cybertruck boxes – and they were, to be honest, delightful.
While locals
seemed to be forgiving of the new diner’s glitches, some tourists were less
impressed. Rick Yin, 32, who was visiting Los Angeles from China with his
mother, had stopped by the diner on their way to the airport to “grab a quick
lunch” that had turned out not to be quick at all. Yin had also been excited to
see the Optimus robot in action, and had hoped the diner would be “more
hi-tech”. What he had found was “a regular restaurant”.
“It’s all
right,” he said, while still waiting for his food. After eating, he said he
liked the Cybertruck boxes: “That’s the only thing that’s worth it.”
Musk’s
‘retro-futurism’
I took my
meal upstairs , to the Skypad, an open-air balcony with a view of the charging
Teslas. The Twilight Zone was now playing on two giant screens. I sat down next
to a steady line of people buying Tesla Diner merch: a $95 retro diner hoodie,
$65 Tesla salt and pepper shakers, a $175 “levitating Cybertruck” figurine.
There was a
large popcorn machine in front of me, which seemed to be where Optimus had been
serving snacks on opening night. Musk had been posting on X earlier in the
morning that “Optimus will bring the food to your car next year” and suggesting
the robot might be dressed in a “cute” retro outfit.
In reality,
Optimus was nowhere in sight. The robot was “out today”, an employee told me
later, as if the pricey piece of machinery were a human celebrity with a busy
schedule. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Is it
possible to get some popcorn regardless of the robot?” a woman asked.
“It’s
probably old popcorn,” an employee told her regretfully.
A different
employee warned me that I could not walk down the same staircase I had taken up
to the Skypad because it was too crowded and that “everyone’s colliding with
each other and trays and milkshakes”. I would have to go down another way: a
bland flight of stairs without any hi-tech decoration.
During a
Tesla earnings call on Wednesday, as the company disclosed declining revenue
and profits, Musk highlighted his new burger palace as a success: “Diners don’t
typically get headline news around Earth,” he bragged. He also called the diner
“a shiny beacon of hope in an otherwise sort-of bleak urban landscape”. (It is
located on Santa Monica Boulevard, in a neighborhood full of high-end art
galleries.)
I’d had
plenty of time in the diner line to think about “retro-futuristic” experiences,
and how good a description that was, not so much for this very ordinary diner,
but for the rightwing political project that Musk had joined. We were now
moving into a future that offered tank-like electric cars and on-demand drone
deliveries, and also a resurgence of measles outbreaks and women dying from
preventable pregnancy-related complications.
But
continuing to function in the United States right now requires being very good
at compartmentalization. I tucked away the cardboard Cybertruck lids to show my
co-workers, threw away the Tesla waffles, and went on with my day. Nothing
works properly here any more, but hey, it’s an experience.
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