Beyond Black History Month: Celebrating Black-owned Businesses Along My Travels. Part 2: Santa Cruz to Paso Robles
Doll in traditional Nigerian dress at Veg On The Edge, Santa Cruz, CA
I want to preface part 2 of this post by saying the response to part 1 by the businesses I wrote about, as well as others in the community, was so overwhelmingly positive that I cannot express my gratitude enough for the encouragement.
In Abbott Square, Santa Cruz, CA
I owe a lot of this journey’s serendipity to Highway 1. Its subtle twists and turns in the spaces between San Francisco and Monterey revealed breathtaking views alongside curious stops like picnic tables overlooking the ocean or signs for strawberry picking. The road encouraged me to be daring and spontaneous as I debated whether to stop along my travels. I continued on my journey down highway 1, giving in to every temptation. And when the sign for Santa Cruz approached, I went for it, but it wasn’t its famed beach boardwalk I connected to.
In Abbott Square I met Akindele, the owner of Veg On The Edge in Santa Cruz, who has introduced Nigerian food with a vegan twist to that beach town. Abbot Square is a busy and popular food plaza in downtown Santa Cruz, and the perfect location for an eatery like Veg On The Edge with its vegan-ethnic fusion. Akindele was busy working alongside another equally busy young man happily taking order after order. From the looks of it, there were just as many new customers curious to try the cuisine as there were loyal regulars. I was lucky enough to get Akindele himself at the counter, who recommended I try the Suya burger, the plantains, and the cassava fries. I knew I was in trouble with three suggestions; they all had to be good, and saying no to food would hurt both the chef and my stomach’s feelings. As soon as I took the first bite of the Suya burger with mushroom dipped in a sriracha/maple sauce, I bopped my head slightly from side to side and did a little dance in my seat. I had to tell myself: “be a lady, Lisa, people can see you,” but truthfully I didn’t care. I DIDN’T CARE. I dug into those peppered plantains and cassava fries like it was the fourth of July in the boogey down Bronx and I was eating yucca from someone’s Abuela. That food brought me back to the wonderful folks I met north of 160th Street in NYC who took care of me and my family when we needed help years ago. Memories. Veg On The Edge brought back all of that, but it was different. I was tasting the spices of Nigerian street food, spices I haven’t tried before, and suddenly the familiar was exotic and distinct.
Mushrooms on my Suya burger (while it was recognizable) and cassava fries with peppered plantains. Yummy in my tummy!
I blissfully ate, wishing the food to linger for as long as possible, hopefully until closing. I had to talk to Akindele, the person who made me feel like I was eating a home-cooked meal directly from a West African kitchen. I didn’t mind waiting until he shut the lights off at closing time. As soon as he was done, he came over to my table to chat and ask how the food was. I was mourning the fact that he wasn’t in the Ferry Building but should be, and calculated in my mental calendar when I could come back again for the pumpkin stew, which I hadn’t tried.
We chatted for a while about his business and his vision to share West African food and make it accessible to the community he loves in Santa Cruz. Akindele is so kind and warm, and I could tell he wants everyone to experience Nigeria through its comforting food and rich spices. We spoke of the challenges facing Black-owned businesses, and also about the intricacies within various communities of color. He reminded me there are nuances to Black-owned businesses that are sometimes overlooked. Black business owners come from different communities, different countries, too, and so there are different ways of doing things. The ability to adapt and work together is critical. We talked about more complex challenges like demographics and the effect of location on a business’s success. To Akindele, adapting to nuance is welcoming and rewarding. I saw the happiness in his eyes as he spoke about his customers and the community around him, and I learned how receptive Santa Cruz locals and tourists are to enjoying new experiences.
While I still thought of the challenges Black-owned businesses face, Akindele quickly pointed out the positive. He gratefully acknowledged that although the demographic might not be representative of all diverse communities of color like those in big cities, the people’s ideas are diverse, and he loves that about them.
I found a kindred spirit in Akindele, and trusted him enough to share my own experience and hesitation in writing the blog. For a moment he looked troubled and sad at my words. He wasn’t someone who believed in unnecessary barriers and division, nor in the idea that we can’t experience other cultures because they’re not our own. Veg On The Edge is proof of Akindele’s vision of inclusiveness and sharing. “There’s a particular guru who speaks about this topic,” he said. “I can give you his name. Have you heard of Sadhguru?” Oh, dear readers, if you wait to read my Paso Robles blog, you will find the role Sadhguru played on my trip. But for now I will say that the mention of his name cemented the fact that I had made a new friend on my travels near and dear.
Monterey, CA
It was hard to say goodbye to Santa Cruz, the food, the good vibes, and my new friend, Akindele, but Monterey and its blue sea of adventures awaited me. Whenever I visit Monterey, I tend to seek out the quieter, low-key spots and activities. I’m a tad obsessed with the Victorian era, and so I’m always on the lookout for antique shops, tea and scones.
A gem of a tea shop called Eddison and Melrose exists in Pacific Grove, a neighboring town to Monterey, CA. Wow. I recalled my own experience with everything Victorian growing up spending “mother/daughter weekends” in coastal New Jersey’s Victorian bed and breakfasts. Traditional tea time involved big lace hats, silk gloves, endless pots of tea in Royal Albert teapots, and platters of tea sandwiches and scones. I was BEYOND delighted after coming across Eddison and Melrose in my plans so I could have a traditional tea time in the Monterey B&B I was staying at.
Storefront of Eddison and Melrose tea and scones and granola shop in Pacific Grove, CA. Picture by Eddison and Melrose.
Karen Murray, the owner of Eddison and Melrose, is truly wonderful. When I called to place an advance order for gluten-free scones and tea, Karen informed me that she would be out of town that day, but would arrange with a neighbor to have my scones and tea order ready. Karen went above and beyond to adhere to my gluten-free request, and prepared fresh sides of lemon curd, jam, and butter. Unfortunately, due to my long travel time on highway 1, I picked up my order in the evening and it was too dark to take a picture! I did, however, manage to enjoy a late night treat back at my hotel. It was so delicious that I enjoyed half my scones in Monterey and wished to save the other half for my return to San Francisco so I could enjoy it over and over in the following days. It was hard to practice that kind of self-control!
What I love about this tea and scones shop is that Karen is truly knowledgable about the tradition and craft of proper “tea time” and it shows in the quality of her baking. She was born and raised in England to Jamaican parents (from which Eddison and Melrose gets its name), and was trained as a Chef in Birmingham, England. In addition to curating fragrant and rich tea blends, Karen provides the full tea experience with assorted types of tea sandwiches and scones, and also bakes her own granola which she sells at the store.
Eddison and Melrose connected me to my past and to precious times with my mother. It’s never just about a cup of tea. The ritual of gathering for tea is both universal and familial. It’s a time to indulge in a social ritual or relax in solitude. Karen’s tea has become a favorite accompaniment to my writing ritual, and for that I am grateful. I can’t wait to return to Pacific Grove and experience Karen’s scones and tea in the afternoon sun, and meet Karen herself! For now, the apricot-brandy black tea was so glorious, I look forward to it every day.
Fresh flowers and fragrant apricot-brandy tea with lemon gluten-free scones. This was the perfect moment to reflect after an eye-opening, beautiful road trip.
My time near the Monterey Bay was serene and peaceful, even with the weekend crowds. Some local surfers and the sweet young lady working at the B&B advised me of a common seaside trail, the Monterey Bay Coastal Trail, and I enjoyed that walk from the busy Monterey wharf area all along the clear blue coast, past tourists, bikers, vendors, and musicians until I reached busy Alvarado Street, lined with shops and eateries. It was one of the few times I thoroughly enjoyed walking amongst crowds. The laughter and conversations breathed life into an already excited town.
I trekked past the bustling street life and found a discreet building where my next destination was located. Old Capital Books, a wonderfully cozy and well-stocked used bookstore, offered an experience I wasn’t expecting to encounter. It’s located in a building with an open plaza feel. Most of the stores were closed by 5pm on that Saturday evening, except for Old Capital Books and the smoke shop downstairs where I swore I smelled some incense as well. As soon as I stepped inside the building, the outside noise faded and I sensed serenity around me as the faint scent of an incense stick neared the end of its time. It’s amazing how the stillness existed amidst yogic-style music playing in the background. A sign for the bookstore on the staircase guided my willing self upstairs where the music tapered off. And there, nestled in the corner of the quiet second floor was Old Capital Books, dimly lit and inviting.
Walking in to Old Capital Books, Monterey, CA
It felt more like walking into someone’s home than it did a bookstore, and that’s a beautiful thing. I was careful to step quietly so as to avoid the sound of a creaking floor. A young man with kind eyes greeted me. He matched the peacefulness of the moment, and I could tell he was perfectly in his element, surrounded in the most magical way by books. He assured me that I had time to browse, and after some small talk of the neighborhood and the bookstore itself, I felt comfortable enough again to share my travels with a good-hearted stranger.
Jordi seems well beyond his years, an intelligent young man whose demeanor reminded me so much of the girl’s demeanor in the San Francisco bookstore before I left on my trip, the girl who tilted her head in the sincere way and listened to my self doubts. Jordi did the same. I’ve made it a priority to pay attention to people’s smiles, with or without a mask on. With a mask on, the eyes smile and it’s almost more special to see than without a mask. If you pause to watch someone smile, I mean REALLY take it in, you can see all things. Jordi smiled with his eyes and heart.
There was a mutual understanding after speaking that allowed the other to retreat to his and her peaceful spaces to spend time with the books. And so, I had thirty minutes left with the books around me. I knelt on the floor and studied the row at eye level. What sounded like spiritual chanting echoed from the store below. The lighting was perfect, my spirit was open, and kneeling on the floor I thought, “this is church. This is how church feels when nobody is there except for the essence of things.” I scanned so many books, enchanted, and let each book teach me little lessons. My eyes eventually found a book called Streets of Hope, and as serendipity would have it, when I flipped it open, I focused on a page with these words:
“We’re learning how to be a better community together…But whether we look perfect at the end is really, not to me, the issue. It’s how many people have participated along the way…”
I closed the book, stood up, finished my prayer and made my way to the counter to pay. I gave Jordi a card with my travel blog name on it and asked him to give it to the owners, hoping his kind soul would also remember my blog, and come across it sometime to see how people might build better communities together, too.
I didn’t know it then, but I know now that Jordi, the store downstairs, the essence of incense, and the carefully curated books with that particular feeling of “church” have all participated along the way to make a better community together.
Little sacred spaces can be found in this wonderful place at Old Capital Books, Monterey, CA.
After Monterey, Paso Robles was the next place where connections took on a whole new meaning for me. This leg of the trip was particularly important because it would be the culmination of the trip. Geographically, it was. Spiritually, it was only the beginning, but I’ll get more into that when I write about Paso Robles at a later time. As the great Yusef Komunyakaa wrote in his poem, “Thanks,” in reference to a miracle that saved him: “I’m still falling through its silence.” Weeks after returning from Paso Robles, I’m still falling through the silence of all that happened there.
The highway I was petrified to drive; Highway 46, the road to transformation
Like Julia Roberts’ character adamantly declared in Eat, Pray, Love, “I’m going to Italy, and then I’m going to David’s guru’s ashram in India, and I’m going to end the year in Bali,” I, too, had resolved to travel with a specific goal. Santa Cruz was for beach fun, Monterey for relaxation, and Paso Robles for celebration. I had decided that my welcome back to wine after the year of the pandemic would happen in a tasting room in Paso Robles called Indigené Cellars.
Where great conversations happen…the tasting room area of Indigené Cellars
I’ve had countless wine tasting experiences throughout the years working in the travel industry, many of which are memorable in their own ways, but the time spent at Indigené was special because the conversation flowed like water (or wine). There’s something special about the place you decide to have your first glass of wine at after a difficult year.
Walt, the wine expert I would come to trust with all his pours and recommendations, greeted me for my reservation. Maybe it was the sun in his eyes, but he reminded me of an introspective yet friendly Clint Eastwood type (circa Dirty Harry). Yes, I said that, because that’s the kind of night it was: open, bold, fun, honest.
When Raymond, Indigené’s owner showed up, the conversation continued to get more honest. “This is the first glass of wine I’m having since February 2020. I had no reason until now to celebrate.” It was a night of questions, and answers, and discoveries, as I learned why Walt and Raymond were motivated to do what they do. Why did Walt pick up and move across the country for wine? Why did Raymond leave his life in Oakland to make wine in Paso Robles and start another life? I got all my answers over Raymond’s exceptional Pinot Noir.
just to compare…at Indigené Cellars
I drank slowly and spoke quickly and there just wasn’t enough time in the two hours I was there to say all I wanted to say or learn all I wanted to know. It was one of the most enjoyable tastings I’ve ever had, and this Chardonnay girl fell back in love with the Reds. I learned that someone who is passionate about what they love will put down roots anywhere to follow that passion, whether it’s for wine, better weather, a dream or to write travel stories.
I appreciated Paso Robles so much more that night for being a wine country in its own right.The East Coast gal in me (not the wine) can boldly say the humble truth: someone who knows great wine also knows not to compare great wine regions. “We can be all things,” and all the regions offer their own genius cultivation of great wine.
I didn’t need a vineyard, not at all. The views were just a bit farther down the road; all I needed to do was turn my head. Most importantly, the views didn’t matter if the conversation was missing. And I don’t think the same conversation could have happened anywhere else in the world other than that tasting room, on that day. Note by note and word for word, I had something to celebrate that evening.
Days later, back at my writing desk in San Francisco with a cup of strict apricot-brandy tea, everything came full circle. I thought of my good friend of twenty years, my Black friend who didn’t encourage me, the same man who broke my heart by saying the encouragement I received to write a blog about Black-owned businesses was “just one person’s opinion.”
“I’m still falling through your silence.”
But, twenty years also means I can’t erase all the good. Maybe it was Akindele’s love for the world, or Karen Murray’s loyalty to tradition, or Jordi’s enchantment with the community around him, or Raymond’s pursuit of the best soil to make dreams grow, but I saw the good in us for the past twenty years. This good friend once comforted me during the greatest heartache when he said “Don’t worry. She’s not you.” I remember these words in moments of self doubt when I think, maybe someone else should have written this? She’s not me, though.
The ultimate truth of travel writing is that it connects others to a place, even though nobody else can have the same experience. It’s magical. It changes every time. The entire time I thought I wasn’t the right person for this blog post, yet I was pulled, not drawn, to write it. At every stop I sought validation to keep going, yet I kept going. I would have always kept going because I knew it would have been wrong to let this go.
It took me over 500 miles to end up a different person in the same place. I understand my friend’s statement now. He was neither right nor wrong. No matter how much we have in common, sometimes we want to be seen in entirely different ways.
