Topanga Living Cafe
You know that slogan “Keep (insert any city with a primarily young, white demographic) weird!”? Like, Keep Austin weird! Or, Keep Portland weird! But of course the operative word ‘weird’ not actually meaning weird — instead just ‘not mainstream’. Right? For example, don’t put a Target and apartments on a richly historic block with a janky little record store and family owned bakery. Those things are often unique to the location, making it meaningful. Targets are everywhere and everywhere is boring. I get it.
But these places aren’t actually weird, when looking at the definition of the word. Which is, ‘of strange or extraordinary character’. That janky record store may be blithely esoteric, insofar that its customer base is primarily socially awkward audiophiles — but it isn’t strange or extraordinary in any way. And not to get hung up on semantics here, but it’s been done before and therefore is not weird. In fact, it’s just like every other independently owned record store you’ve ever visited, and more often than not they’re gonna have your 1966 Lou Rawls LIVE! record that you lost while moving last summer. (That thing simply VANISHED).
If Austin, or Portland, or wherever was actually weird, and was encouraging its residents to be actually weird, there would be some seriously disturbing stuff going on. South Congress wouldn’t be a hip little shopping block, but instead a dingy hive for lunatics and outcasts, social pariahs and criminals. Weird people. People that you can mentally smell. People that sleep on their back instead of their side. Not normal, shocking even. Truly weird would be like suddenly turning to the stranger next to you on the plane and stroking his cheek with the back of your hand. Definitely a strange flight to Seattle for that guy. Or if we’re talking about a place to live being weird, it would be like all the people in that place eating beef tar tar for breakfast lunch and dinner. That’s strange and extraordinary in a bad way, and I hope with all hope that you wouldn’t want to live there. “Keep Austin weird! Raw beef!” (I watched season 10 of American Horror Stories last night and the vampires had to feed on human meat or they would starve).
All of this to say, Topanga Canyon is actually pretty weird. They don’t eat human remains as far as I can tell (there are some alleged Mason family killings, and a serial strangler that stalked Topanga in the 90s) but it is quite pregnant with hippie types and funky spiritual healing centers, peddling magic rocks and moon phase books to the surrounding communes. There’s a “Creat wall of Topanga” with wooden masks and painted things mounted up. There’s a relatively large cat statue outside a residence off Old Topanga, holding a fan with rainbow blades and routinely dressed in seasonal costumes. There’s a human sized sling shot off Fernwood. There’s a lot of teepees, like pretty much everywhere. There’s a flying pig. There’s a really big rock called, “Big Rock”. Also, no one wears shoes. Which I understand is in defiance of a shoe mandate law that existed in the 70s? (Fast track to outwardly demonstrating dissatisfaction with your local government — stop wearing shoes). You’re really only hurting yourself though, right? Anyways, you might be asking, “Where do all of these witchy wildlings get their single origin coffee in the morning?” It’s funny you might ask, because I know the place.
Obligatory Prius parked in front of the Creat Wall of Topanga
Nestled in the heart of all this abandonment of normalcy lives the Topanga Living Cafe. Positioned directly off route 27, TLC is the conduit to the soul of Topanga, from which all energy flows and is eventually recycled by the free spirits that patron its wooded cabin walls. Or LADWP. Either way, this is one of my favorite spots in the canyon to grab a quick coffee and croissant ($8 menu hack). Or if you’re in the mood for something a little more substantial — and nutritious — grab an entree off the menu, but expect to pay a friendly Topanga surcharge. However, you may be getting what you pay for, because the ingredients are local, organic, and fresh! And most of the dishes come with little edible flowers on them. HOW CUTE. Take all your best gal pals for brunch, order one of everything, and simply never look back. I usually find a table indoors because all the wood and Seguaro cacti make me feel like I’m a man of the desert chaparral — wise, leathery, and JACKED on caffeine — but most people sit outside on the patio which is equally as transformative.
One last thing, TLC is always bumping endless playlists of cool ass music through a monitor in the corner. Sundays must be funky, because this morning I spent a few hours listening to all the funk giants of the 70s — Parliament and George Clinton, Sly and the Family Stone, Bill Withers, Curtis Mayfield, among others. If it isn’t clear to you already, I frequent this place. And more often than not I’m asking Siri to “name this tune”. So next time you’re walking barefoot through the Santa Monica mountains, ask yourself, “am I truly living if I haven’t tried salmon tartine? Has my life been a complete waste of time up until this point? Will my peers ever respect me?” Topanga Living Cafe certainly has answers to some of those questions.
- S