I moved to Santa Clarita from the Virginia ’burbs of D.C. in 2015 and, like many before me and since, liked what I saw and immediately became an isolationist: OK, I’m here. Quit building new housing and clogging up the roads.
Sadly, our esteemed City Council seems to be populated largely by land speculators, so tough luck I guess.
The transition from “back east” wasn’t always smooth. I found an oasis in this land of chai lattes and avocado toast at the Saugus Cafe. Soon, I was greeted by name and my usual order was in before I sat down. This consisted of a short stack, eggs over medium and bacon burned beyond recognition (dental records were needed to identify the pig) and coffee, all served on vintage Melmac as it should be.
I also discovered The Signal and would consume the news of the day along with my breakfast. The staff boasts a “busboy” who has my admiration as the Hardest Working Man in Show Business. The wait staff, whose beauty is only exceeded by their hospitality, always made me feel at home.
Typically one who enjoyed his own company, I eventually was invited to and accepted by fellow grizzled ancient flatulants in the corner booth. There, solutions to all problems foreign and domestic were offered for the taking should any world superpower care to listen. Nirvana. My only misstep was when I (unaware a fellow diner was a proponent) referred to low-flow toilets as “flush twice crappers.”
I was eventually forgiven.
I once overheard a conversation between a server and a young Mensa candidate who inquired, “What are pigs in blankets?”
Sausages wrapped in pancakes, replied our kindly server.
“That sounds good, but I don’t eat meat,” whined, the purple haired consumer. “Can I get them without the sausage?”
No doubt biting her tongue, the server said, “I’ll just bring you a stack of pancakes, Hon. It’ll be cheaper.”
Now that is service with a smile and without an eye roll.
The advent of COVID may have harkened their eventual demise, which played out over the past five years. Health issues, age and the “coof” decimated my cronies who scattered to the winds, but I still tried to support the cafe in my own way.
When they reopened with an ersatz sidewalk cafe, I braved the wind, traffic, exhaust fumes and the elements while trying to keep my eggs from blowing down Railroad Avenue. That and trying to tip a little heavier than usual as they tried to stay open. A valiant effort on their part, which more closely resembled an enormous oxygen tent in a consumption ward than fine sidewalk dining along the Champs-Élysées, it was rugged to say the least.
Still, this bubble boy showed up for his coffee and hash.
The loss can be measured. Gone is an employer, a service provider and a revered establishment that has outlived us all.
What can’t be measured is the loss of community. That is the greatest loss of all.
Stu Megaw
Saugus
