A Cup of Java : Coffee: It Gives People an Excuse to Gather, Sip and Reveal What They’re Thinking

Coffee makes politicians wise (according to Alexander Pope), fills 400 million cups in the United States daily (according to the World Book encyclopedia) and was discovered more than 700 years ago by Ethiopian shepherds who noticed their flocks nibbling green shrubs and staying up all night (according to a legend we wonder about).

But the best thing about coffee may be that it gives people an excuse to gather, to sip and to disclose what they’re thinking. And you never know what someone’s thinking until you listen, especially in a place like Ventura County, where the population swells daily with new surfers, Seabees, Angelenos, agricultural workers, Oxnard youths and Simi Valley seniors.

And so, seeking the hidden truth about this place, Ventura County Life went out for coffee--a dozen cups of it, in sturdy mugs and fine china, by the ocean and the avenue. Through eavesdropping and inquiry, we met a sleeping snake and a crew-cut revolutionary, heard talk of camel-mounting and numerology. We pondered an insect collection, and the subtle circumstances said to produce a pink moment.

And we switched to decaf.

Live Lions and One Dead Deer

Cactus Patch Cafe

197 E. High St., Moorpark

The Scene: Amiable and countrified. On the wall behind the counter, the stuffed head of an eight-point buck. A rack of mugs belonging to George, Andy, Nina, Howard and someone who loves his or her spaniel. Also, some Western art, assorted firearms and hatchets, and a lariat dangling from the ceiling. On first and third Thursdays, Lions gather here--the dues-paying variety.

The Cup: White, of standard cafeteria stock, with a red leaf pattern running around the top. Liquid cream in a stainless steel cup on the counter--65 cents.

The Soundtrack: Music involving a fiddle on the sound system. Soft clinking, as a busboy strides down the aisle with seven coffee cups, empty, in one hand. And lots of chat, it being 9 a.m. on a weekday.

The Truth: None of the regular customers really loves his or her spaniel that much; somebody just left the mug behind one day.

Where Oil and Water Mix

The Cliff House Hotel

The Shoals Restaurant

6602 W. Pacific Coast Highway,

Mussel Shoals

The Scene: A 43-year-old family-run hotel and restaurant with a lap pool, half a dozen palm trees drooping over it, and a bizarre position near the Rincon shore between two oil platform bridges.

The Cup: In the morning, free to hotel guests and stealthful interlopers--but forbidden to others, since the restaurant is closed then--$1 with a dinner (which begins at $11.95) or just dessert ($4.25) from 5:30 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. The cups are plastic foam by morning, with cream in plastic thimbles. By night, china.

The Soundtrack: Waves crashing on rocks. Bird twitter. And Michele Porter, co-proprietor, saying, “Most of our guests are yuppie types from L.A. looking for peace and quiet. And finding it.”

The Truth: The place looks downright dignified now, but through the early 1970s, Porter says, it was a bohemian apartment complex--lots of surfers and students from Santa Barbara’s Brooks Institute of Photography, who for a while had their own darkroom on the premises. Notable detail: This is the westernmost cup of coffee in mainland Ventura County.

Coffee-Mate and a Snake

Little Manila Restaurant

3630 Saviers Road, Oxnard

The Scene: In the corner of a strip mall, between Tino’s Pizza and the D-Mar Beauty & Barber Shop. Inside, duct tape on the red carpet, a pool table in the corner, and a reflecting ball above the central dance floor (this is Club Manila on Friday and Saturday nights). Also, a couple of aquariums and one terrarium (its scaled occupant was asleep), which may make Little Manila the only restaurant in the county offering snakeside dining. What kind of snake is it? “Ah, I don’t know,” says owner Sing Cunanan. “It’s just here. . . “ and he finishes the sentence under his breath.

The Cup: Shiny cafeteria white, with a green pattern on its side. It comes on a saucer, with a packet of powdered Coffee-Mate, for 50 cents. Prompt and solicitous service.

The Soundtrack: CNN on the big-screen television, the clinking of balls on the pool table. Among the four or five patrons on a Monday afternoon, lots of animated talk--and all of it in Tagalog or other Philippine dialects.

The Truth: Unascertainable, until we learn Tagalog.

The Numerologist’s Tale

Le Petit Boulangerie

968 S. Westlake Blvd., Westlake Village

The Scene: A popular morning stop in a leafy, tile-topped upscale mall. Lots of red and white, and at 7:45 on a Friday morning, a steady procession of prosperous coffee consumers.

The Cup: A high-powered plastic foam cupful--75 cents. Cream on the self-service counter in plastic thimbles or an iced carafe.

The Soundtrack: Classical music, the hum of the revolving bakery display and a wide-ranging conversation among the party of five at the next table. Retinal scans, the relative merits of B. Dalton and Waldenbooks, the merchandise of stores in the Akron chain--none was overlooked. Nor were Shirley MacLaine, crystals and the pursuit of numerology.

The Truth: Or at least it might be the truth. A man in jeans and a gray sweat shirt sits revealing his first encounter with a numerologist. “She told me I would meet a girl with black hair, a black dog, a black car, and who was born Oct. 11,” he says. Five months later, his story goes, he did.

Weiners and Lost Love

Top Hat

299 E. Main St., Ventura

The Scene: East Main and Palm, in a tiny corner building among the antique stores and thrift shops of old Ventura. Two servers in Top Hat blouses power their way through the lunchtime rush. As one reaches for the counter, a tattoo peeks from her neckline. Customers stand, or sit at stools on the sidewalk. “Your mother doesn’t work here,” says a sign in the kitchen. “Clean up your own mess.”

The Cup: Plastic foam, of course, but only 25 cents for a small one. Liquid cream, from a dispenser they keep just inside the counter screen.

The Soundtrack: Traffic, vehicular and pedestrian, and the gurgle of grease in the french fry fryers.

The Truth: An awkward one. “How’s Louis?” says person No. 1. “I’m not with him anymore,” says person No. 2. “That was a long time ago, thank God.”

Global Problems Solved Here

Mission Bell Cafe

3241 Main St., Ventura

The Scene: Close quarters, but comfortable. Heavy traffic in regulars, including Leighton Stuart, a beefy electrician who wears a crew cut and sits at the counter second-guessing city, county, state and federal officials.

The Cup: A light brown mug, bearing signs of more than a few washings--75 cents. Cream along the counter in little thimbles.

The Soundtrack: Somebody on the sound system, not Sinatra, singing “My Way.” The busboy calling for Stuart’s attention, saying “Let me show you one of your relatives,” and reaching for a newspaper photo of some successful bank robbers. And Stuart cutting the busboy off. “Those ain’t my relatives,” he says, “or I’d be down at the Pierpont Inn.”

The Truth: “I’m a revolutionary,” Stuart says, and he begins assembling a manifesto out loud. Exxon got off easy for its oil spill, he says, and the City Council is moving too fast and thinking too little about water-conservation measures. And the drivers in Ventura just keep getting worse.

Of Bugs and Camels

Pierpont Inn

550 Sanjon Road, Ventura

The Scene: A darkish room with a view of a bright garden and, beyond it, the freeway and the sea. Heavy wood paneling and, in the lobby, a collection of butterflies, moths and beetles (including one 5 inches long), framed and preserved under glass near the restaurant entrance. At 8:45 on a Wednesday morning, just two occupied tables (business guests are more frequent on Mondays).

The Cup: Beige, with a brown ring around the top and matching saucer--$1, recently raised from 75 cents. Cream in a cup at the table.

The Soundtrack: Talk from the foursome at the next table, which includes a visiting couple from Chicago. Subjects include medical research and a once-upon-a-time vacation in Morocco, when camels were ridden and there was some trouble with the mounting. The man in this couple has a low, rumbling voice, which carries.

The Truth: “A camel doesn’t get up gently,” says the voice. “It jerks .” (About the bugs. They were part of a collection gathered by co-owner Ted Gleichmann, who died in 1976.)

The Sliding Coffee Scale

The Rock House

396 Ventura Ave., Ventura

The Scene: Positively Ventura Avenue, with the Eclectic Fighting Arts Institute just across the street. Inside, darkness, a dozen framed mirrors with beer-label designs, and at 10 a.m. on a weekday, no customers. The place is quiet and tidy, but the drum set of The Southbound Band, now appearing Friday and Saturday nights, stands in the darkest corner hinting at noises to come.

The Cup: A plastic mug, with a plastic stirring straw and cream poured by bartender David Roundsavill. Free to regulars.

The Soundtrack: Whoosh of passing cars. Jukebox idle.

The Truth: “In the mornings, we’ll go through a lot of coffee on regular customers. If it’s too early to start drinking, we’ll just keep the coffee going,” says Roundsavill, a 10 a.m. glass of beer near his elbow. “If a street person comes in and wants coffee, I’ll tell them 50 cents, and they’ll just walk on out.”

Destiny and Joan Crawford

Stella’s Gourmet Restaurant

2385 Michael Drive, Newbury Park

The Scene: Affluent suburbia--a shopping center with 31-flavor ice cream, 60-minute photo, 30-minute pizza, the whole upper-middle-class magilla. Stella’s stakes out its space with a handful of umbrellas, a smallish indoor eating area and a biggish menu. It runs nine pages, with a table of contents, credits for the copywriter and calligrapher, and this opening sentence: “Perhaps it was destiny . . .”

The Cup: Thick, white china, with liquid cream in thimbles--$1.

The Soundtrack: Soft rock, resonating from the gray-tile floor and the wall-mirror panels. Late on a weekday morning, the murmur of a few quiet customers.

The Truth: Never mind destiny. More likely it was celebrity, and that large menu, that made Stella’s what it is. Stella’s dad emigrated from Greece in 1905 at age 14, and went on to open the 101 Ranch House in Oxnard, which, it says on the menu, fed such celebrities as Joan Crawford, Richard Burton and Charles Laughton. Now, having run her own place since 1981, Stella Scholle serves sandwiches named after John Wayne and Shelley Winters to the people of Newbury Park.

Brickwork and Horse Talk

Appetite Alley

322 1/2 Central Ave., Fillmore

The Scene: On the redeveloping main drag of tiny downtown Fillmore, where ranchers and their new neighbors step carefully around the fancy sidewalk brickwork. A regular morning group inhabits Appetite Alley.

The Cup: White, with the restaurant name in green lettering on the side. Price advertised on the wall paneling near the front--40 cents. Cream from a carton.

The Soundtrack: Real estate businessman John McKinnon asking former jockey Shorty Belloumini what he feeds a young colt. Lots of ribbing among locals.

The Truth: While big-city ways invade the rest of the county, Belloumini and a few of his neighbors cling to country ways. Belloumini sold a horse the other day, says McKinnon, by handing over the reigns and telling the new owner to try the animal out for a few weeks and, if all went well, to send along a check. Belloumini, in his 80s, has lived in Fillmore for 46 years. McKinnon has been there for eight, but says “you have to have someone buried here to call yourself a native.”

Caution: Shells Underfoot

The Oak Pit

830 Ventura Ave., Oak View

The Scene: A barbecue joint, with the scent from the grill rising. A pair of 12-point horns on the wall in the place of honor, and a bear’s head staring out from over the front door. Peanuts in baskets on the tables, a wagon-wheel chandelier, and this small sign at the counter: “Stuff Occurs.”

The Cup: Dark brown and white. Cream in a stainless cup--50 cents.

The Soundtrack: Crunching, loud and steady, as customers tromp on thousands of peanut-shell fragments scattered underfoot. And the voice of manager Tricia Clegg, whose parents own the place, explaining that one night three or four years ago, “these people wanted to have a party here, and they wanted peanuts and beer before they ate. And they had a peanut fight. We just never cleaned them up. . . . It creates the right atmosphere.”

The Truth: Actually, they pick non-peanut detritus out of the shells every night, and they sweep out the shells every two or three weeks. But they keep putting out peanuts, so the shells keep falling.

The Pink Moment, as Advertised

Bill Baker’s Bakery

457 E. Ojai Ave., Ojai

The Scene: A constellation of wooden tables, mostly empty, in the noon calm after the usual weekday morning storm. One waitress at the counter, the other in a seat for the moment, poring over a newspaper.

The Cup: Plastic foam again, at a cost of 45 cents for a small, with cream waiting in a big pitcher on the counter.

The Soundtrack: Mysterious bakery noises emanating from the rear of the building.

The Truth: The summer Ojai Festival is coming up, and one of the event’s promotional brochures is here, urging visitors to come see “the mysterious and breath-taking pink moment (flooding the Ojai Valley at sunset).” Both bakery waitresses deny knowledge of said moment. A woman at the spiritually inclined knickknack store next door suggests that it has something to do with sunlight and mineral dust. Somebody else says it’s the depth of the valley and the angle of the sun. We could probably find another source and puzzle this whole pink thing out over a cup of coffee, but frankly, we’re trying to cut down.