Canto CDXI: Thirty Delicious Years of Memphis Cafe

Gentle cabrones:

Two Januarys ago, Francis Lam, and his splendid The Splendid Table taped his show before a live audience at the Samueli Theater in Costa Mexico. He kindly asked if I could be the first guest because it was about a topic that doesn’t nearly get enough attention but one that I know very well:

Orange County food.

We get overlooked for many things because we’re in the shadow of Los Angeles, but especially our restaurants. We even have folks who grew up here that made it huge in the food world yet tell the world they’re actually from L.A. (check out the end of my somewhat read Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America for one notorious example). But from Little Saigon to Little Arabia, Heritage BBQ to Burritos La Palma, Orange County’s restaurants regularly change how the rest of the country eats and make it in a place where it’s harder than most.

I was the food editor for the Infernal Rag for 15 years, which means I covered this transformation in real time. Few things made me happier than seeing small spots become huge because of something we wrote. So I was honored to share with Francis and the sell-out crowd the history of Orange County dining, and how much it had evolved.

It was pouring the day The Splendid Table taped, so all the food serving was done in the foyer. Best thing I did that day: I walked on stage before my cue, which led to me doing the turnaround walk of shame that Moe did when he was part of a bachelor auction, the same walk Grandpa Simpson initially did when he went to the burlesque house.

Second-best thing? My actual appearance.

I started with a brief statement about how Orange County was a culinary wasteland of bad steakhouses and overpriced French food until the 1990s.

And then it came time to name the pioneer.

You have to give credit to Tim and Liza Goodell Aand their Aubergine, but the true Big Bag in Orange County dining was Memphis Cafe, the small spot in Costa Mexico right next to a hipster shopping plaza that I will not name because its owner sued my honey for defamation and then got anti-SLAPPed into submission for the lawsuit, of which a judge said, “It might be said, with no small amount of irony, that if it can indeed be proven that a person is a bully, this lawsuit would be Exhibit 1 in that proof” and one time dared walk through Alta Baja then freaked the fuck out when he saw me and my honey stare in derision, partly because he was dressed like a bougie Emmett Kelly.

I digress.

Memphis Cafe brought Southern style cooking with a SoCal groove — gumbo, fried chicken, mint juleps, popcorn shrimp tacos — to a county that desperately needed to learn what great food was when it opened in 1995. It was the restaurant where I learned what fine dining was when I joined the Infernal Rag in the early 2000s. Its SanTana location became my local – Memphis at the Santora was where my honey and I had one of our first dates, where she introduced me to her friends, the place where I held court with out-of-town reporters and sources for a decade.

That’s where I saw Obama do his 2008 acceptance speech on a small TV to a packed crowd that cheered wildly because the problems of America were finally going to be solved. Where I nearly got in a fight with some fool who talked shit on my honey and then ended up apologizing to her after I blasted him on Navel Gazing. Where a young NELCYN saw Delilah and I from afar like the Nick and Nora Charles we are and vowed to themselves they would be as hip and as in love as us.

The Memphis crew in SanTana and Costa Mexico launched a coaching tree (Canto CIX) of great Orange County bartenders under the irrepressible Dave Mau, who is even a better writer than he has a bartender and chef – and that’s saying something. The brains behind it sparked revolutions in O.C. art, nightlife and more. It was a place, a time, a vibe, a legend — and it was never nearly as packed as the mother ship continuously was even as the years ticked by.

I didn’t say any of this history when Francis asked me. I didn’t have to. The moment I said Memphis Cafe, the audience erupted in public radio applause. I was happy they knew greatness, and I said a few words praising Memphis for posterity’s sake, then we moved on.

A few months later, one of the managers of Memphis came to Alta Baja — known him and his wife forever. We hadn’t seen him in a while, but he wanted to thank me for my comments to Francis. Memphis no longer dominates conversations about food in O.C., because it’s not what it was.

The SanTana Memphis at the Santora had closed way back in 2014, the same year sister venue Detroit Bar shuttered. A South Bay location opened at the height of the Great Recession closed after a year. O.C. diners have mostly moved on to gimmicky bullshit or L.A. copycats, while the hip set frequents other places. A place that made its reputation for its nightlife now closes weekends at 10 p.m.

Since Memphis Cafe isn’t close to where I live, my honey and I don’t visit it as much as we should — but we carry it in our hearts and stomachs. It was evident in me praising Memphis during The Splendid Table, the manager told me — and that plug not only made them humbled and honored, it lit a fire on him and the staff to live up to their reputation even more.

Memphis might not be the place it once was — and yet it still is. It’s celebrating 30 years this fall, so I visited on the Sunday before Labor Day to pay #respect on the last day of their three-day birthday.

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The last time my honey and I went to Memphis Cafe was around her birthday — I posted a photo of her in Canto CDIV. The food was as spectacular as ever: potent Manhattans, magnificent pork chop, and their ever-delicious bread pudding, which changes ever month but is always massive, soft and sweet but never cloying.

As much as I love Memphis Cafe, the Costa Mesa location was never truly mine. The so-called Costa Mesa 500 — the ridiculous nickname the city’s hip set called themselves in the early 2000s, when the city’s creative types and their Huntington Beach surf industry cousins seemed on the cusp of conquering American culture — were before my time and wouldn’t have had me as a member anyways. When I was with the Infernal Rag, I always went to other lunch spots as part of my job but also because lunches were always so packed, the same reason why I never went to their legendary DJ nights.

Went to the Tin Lizzie Saloon once, the legendary (I don’t mind using this word repeatedly here because it’s true) LGBTQ+ bar the Memphis Group runs right up Randolph. I do remember going to Detroit Bar a few times, including a Hurricane Katrina fundraiser headlined by Patton Oswald and David Cross, to whom I yelled “I love you, Tobias!” right as he got on stage. He suddenly stood still, got a look of wtf, and responded, “That fictional character loves you, too.”

Memphis at the Santora was my place. When it closed, SanTana mourned and moved on (my local is now Chapter One: The Modern Local). But Memphis Cafe’s location — small, wood all around, with a patio straight out of the Delta — always charms. Any time I did visit, it was an occasion.

The old timer still has it.

All the Memphis eras were there when I arrived at 4 p.m, just as the party was starting. As with any reunions of institutions or families, everyone looked the same save a few splotches of gray and kids in tow. “How old is yours?” one regular I remember asked another regular I remembered.

“Five.”

“Mine is six,” said the regular, who I remember vowed they’d never have kids. “Wild.”

The familiarity with people ranged from a head nod to a handshake to a hug, but almost everyone did one or the other with everyone they saw. Cooks made to-order carne asada and chipotle chicken tacos, taquitos with a tart guacamole and a Bananas Foster bread pudding for dessert. Former bartenders worked the margarita and bourbon peach station. Everyone looked for a way to work as if it were the old days.

“How we’re doing out there, boss?” a former guy waiter asked a former girl waiter who kept pacing around.

“Everything is good! We’re just taking the laps.”

Lugging cases of water was Dan Bradley, who co-founded Memphis all those decades ago and is as kind a restaurateur as you’ll ever meet. I asked how he was feeling.

“There’s a lot of gray on this for a reason,” Bradley said, stroking his beard. “We have seen a lot.”

“But that gray makes your face gleam.” I replied.

He smiled.

I noticed that our cup was branded with Paul Frank, the fashion brand that was a huge deal in the 2000s, fell out of favor, and is coming back as Gen Z goes through the 1990s and is about to discover the aughts.

“These are from 2003,” Dan replied. “We just had them in storage forever, and we brought them out yesterday because there was a bunch of people for Special Peoples Club [one of three legendary — there’s that word again! — DJ promotions Memphis Cafe brought back for their anniversary weekend] the previous night and they completely freaked out.”

I didn’t stay for too long because I always have deadlines and I’m not a party person and it was blazing hot and I love my Irish goodbyes (sorry, Ursula!). But people were still streaming in, which made me happy. And not everyone was there. Dave Mau was catering a dinner up in his beloved Sonoma. LP was doing her thing in Starchild Country. I’m sure Jefferson showed up at some point — but at least I saw Aristotle!

Reunions never attract all alumni because some people move on altogether and most people have life to deal with. But you know a place mattered when those who show up allow the shared glory of their times to wash over them for a few hours — to remind them of what they collectively lived through and to plug into that good whenever they feel down.

Memphis Cafe is never gonna get the love from outsiders it deserves. But those of us who love it will be with it as long as they decide to be around. My honey and I have been there three times this year, and I’m already seeing a new generation of workers proudly carry its banner.

“How was the party?” my honey sleepily said as I went into our bedroom.

“Great,” I said. “Just like it always was. Let’s go next week for your eggs Benedict!”

Memphis Cafe, 2920 Bristol St., Costa Mexico, (714) 432-7685.

**

Enough rambling. This was the semana that was:

IMAGE OF THE WEEK: Virgin of Guadalupe in the Fashion District in downtown L.A. that was tagged up by losers then somewhat restored by an angel. The promise and peril of Los Angeles in a humble mural.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK: ““Any time you have an opportunity to make a difference in this world and you don’t, then you are wasting your time on Earth” — Roberto Clemente

LISTENING: “Siempre Que Me Emborracho,” El Kommander. OK, I don’t like this narcocorrido pendejo one bit BUT I do respect youngsters covering the masters — and in this case, the guy pays able homage to Lupillo Rivera, who did a banda version of this song. But you know what’s best about youngsters paying homage to the viejos? You realize how much better the viejos were — so both Rivera and Kommander’s homages to drunkenness don’t hold a Boone’s to Pedro Infante’s besotted original. Hence included in Gustavo Arellano’s Weekly Radiola of Randomness YouTube songlist, where I’ve included every song I’ve ever featured in a canto — give it a spin!

READING: “The Hard Truth About Nigeria’s Performance-Enhancing Potions”: R-rated but hilarious and another fabulous longform from New Lines Magazine. Cishet guys: I’ve learned in life that nothing piques a cishet woman’s romantic interest more than a guy that makes her laugh. Leave the pills be!

BUY MY NEW CO-BOOK! People’s Guide to Orange County tells an alternative history of OC through the scholarship and reporting of myself, Elaine Lewinnek, and Thuy Vo Dang. There’ll be signings all year — in meanwhile, buy your copy TODAY. And, yes: I’ll autograph it!

Gustavo Events  

Sept. 24, 12:30 p.m.: Time for the semi-annual Zoom version of my Alta Journal co-columna “Ask a Californian” with co-columnist Stacey Grenrock Woods! It’s FREE, but you have to register here.

Sept. 27, 9 a.m.: Join me and my People’s Guide to Orange County co-authors as we do a walking tour of Fullerton and its hidden history. $20 — buy tickets HERE.

Oct. 11, 1 p.m.: Speaking of OC Weekly, I’m going to be on a panel for the occasion of its 30th anniversary timed with a major announcement about its archives! Going to happen at Alta Baja Market, 201 E. Fourth St., SanTana, and it’ll be FREE!!!

Oct. 17, 7 p.m.: It’s my honey’s annual Rancho Heirloom Bean Encuentro weekend festival of all things legumes. I’m in charge of “The Bean Monologues,” which is exactly what it sounds like — I and some brilliant people are going to give stories about…beans. WAY cooler than it sounds, like every goddamn thing I do, and it comes with food! At Grand Central Art Center Black Box Theater, 125 N. Broadway, SanTana, $20 — buy tickets HERE.

Oct. 18, 3 p.m.: The other event I’m doing for Encuentro is “How to Taste a Tortilla,” where I teach people exactly that. At Alta Baja Market, 201 E. Fourth St., Ste. 101, SanTana. $15, and people who go will get some tortillas to take home — buy tickets HERE.

Nov. 8, 9 a.m.: Join me and my People’s Guide to Orange County co-authors as we do a walking tour of Anacrime and its hidden history. $20 — buy tickets HERE.

Gustavo in the News

“Brits try $2 Street Tacos! ft Andrew & Steven”: I guess some popular YouTubing Brits shouted me out while visiting the OG Sonoratown because a bunch of people sent me this clip.

“Interesting Move On Redistricting” and “Authenticity”: There is no lie to this Substack’s title, Altadena Policy Wonk. But the author knows his stuff and is always kind to me, so follow him!

“Latinos and redistricting: Why both parties can’t draw themselves out of their Latino problem”: Another perpetual fan of mine? Longtime GOP consultant Mike Madrid, who is far more eloquent than his buff physique and perpetually tight black t-shirts make him out to be.

“Los Angeles Faces an Olympian Task”: Steve Greenhut — who turned from Orange County Register goober hack to a good left-libertarian — shouts out a columna of mine.

Gustavo Stories 

“Grítale a Guti”: Latest edition of my Tuesday night IG Live free-for-all.

“Trump wants to erase the tragedy of the Californios. We shouldn’t let him”: My latest L.A. Times columna talks about Trump’s continuing assault on history. KEY QUOTE: “They’ve done it with the obsession of a pharaoh chipping away all mentions of his predecessors from obelisks.”

“The evil absurdity of ICE’s push to recruit law enforcement officers”: My next latest L.A. Times columna talks the latest gross migra commercial. KEY QUOTE: “The commercial pushes the Trumpian idea that undocumented immigrants are the ne plus ultra of criminality in this country, even though study after study over decades have shown that they’re less likely to commit crimes than American citizens.”

You made it this far down? Gracias! Follow me on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram while you’re down here by clicking on their logos down below. Don’t forget to forward this newsletter to your compadres y comadres! You can’t get me tacos anymore, but you sure as hell can give them — and more — to the O.C. Catholic Worker!