Return to Santa Cruz

by Aaron Shreve

To honor my mother by her tireless example of family stories, and to provide something she could add to the collection of stories on the genealogy website for the family:

I recently returned to Santa Cruz thirty years since I was living there while attending UCSC. I had a  perfectly timed day off with a rare Buckethead appearance at The Catalyst so I had to go. I had time to grab a bite along the 10 minute walk from my hotel, The Bay Front Inn, so I checked out what was in this particular section of downtown. I noted on my phone map that there was a restaurant called Zachary’s, open only for breakfast and lunch, was closed now.  However, it took the act of physically passing the place though to jog my dormant memory. Zachary’s was always the coveted spot to grab breakfast downtown. The “Mike’s Mess” was home fries covered in three eggs, bacon, mushrooms, onions, cheese, tomatoes, and sour cream. To my mind there was nothing else I’d ever need to have there. It was the brunch special that had it all!  I vowed that the next morning, after checkout, I’d have to return to Zachary’s on my way back home. 

I then couldn’t help but remember a seminal moment I’d experienced at Zachary’s almost 30 years prior.  

Up on campus then it was opening night for Hemmingway’s “The Sun Also Rises”. This performance was extra special for me as my parents were coming to see the performance and they were also bringing my boisterous great uncle Clem, great aunt Effie, and my grandmother, Mimi.  In The Sun Also Rises I played the part of Robert Cohn, the protagonist’s Jewish friend who naively falls in love with the protagonist’s friend, before she takes up with a Spanish bull fighter. My character, a former Princeton boxing champ, takes matters into his own hands and sets out to beat up the bull fighter, scare him off of the woman he thinks he loves. The punch happens off stage and “Miguel” comes staggering onto the stage from the wings, holding his jaw while I come after him menacing. My (as previously mentioned, boisterous) great uncle was a retired associate warden at San Quentin. Since my grandfather, his brother, had passed away, Clem was a surrogate grandfather to me. He was plain spoken with no trouble being heard, and heard him I did. As I slapped my hands together offstage, watching my costar stagger onto the stage with me closely following, I clearly heard Uncle Clem yell, “Yeah!! Hit him!”

The performance was an electric success, despite the fact that the stage crew in some opening night prankery, replaced the stage whisky (iced tea with a splash of bourbon for authentic flavor) with something a little stronger. This was a lively move as Hemmingway’s character’s tended to enjoy cocktails a lot! Anyway, we got through it, and after greeting my family after the show, and arranging to meet the next morning at the famous Zachary’s for breakfast, I end up back at home at the Porter College dormitory. 

Considering the not so pretend drinking we were doing on stage, I suppose it wasn’t a completely sober decision to further celebrate Opening Night with a friend in the dorm who’d happened to have opened a bottle of King’s Bay Rum. For those not familiar, Safeway sold this rum in a plastic bottle and it should have to have a safety label. Everyone who I’ve known to ever try King’s Bay rum has subsequently reported the worst hangover of their lives. I was no exception. Not only did I wake up perched on the precipice of vomiting, but I remember feeling like two superheated metal, spiked balls were pressing into each temple.

 With considerable effort, I managed to catch a bus into down town and meet my  extended family at Zachary’s.  With no comfort, I sat with my family and didn’t speak more than I needed

to. Every time I opened my mouth required a concerted effort to not throw up. This plus my pekid shade of green prompted my mom to ask if I was OK or not. I deflected and tried to soldier on, but now it was time to order. The “Mike’s Mess” was legendary, and the reason I was there, but the idea of eating that seemed quite impossible in my current state. I heard myself squeak out “…a bowl of fruit, please.”

Sacrificing all the greasy goodness of the Mike’s Mess for bite size chunks of melons, grapes, and berries seemed like the safer option, but as the first bite of cantaloupe came in, the evac orders for the stomach came in. Like out of a comic, my cheeks inflated and only my clenched fist shoved into my lips kept me from projectile vomiting on dear familiy members who had driven far and stayed in a hotel

 for me.  I did manage to speedwalk to the bathroom and limit the damage, but now my stomach was empty again. 

It took sometime to feel human again, and to this day, I can’t have any rum, even good stuff, without awakening the memories of how awful I felt. 

Meanwhile, it’s 30 years later, and true to my promise, I get myself to Zachary’s for a make up brunch. I can’t recall if they had always offered the Junior Mess (only 2 eggs and less of everything else), but that’s what I got this time: all the yumminess, without having to feel uncomfortably full afterwards. It was as delicious as remembered,

from every time, save the one time I came in so hung over I couldn’t even eat a bowl of fruit!

951 words

May 21, 2024

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