Don’t ask me, “Jack, why should I have to travel west of the west to get sausage in my 
gravy?” Just don’t, because I’m not quite certain myself. I have heard a from an Oklahoma short order cook, however, who says that gravy is just gravy unless it says “sausage” before it. If “gravy” doesn’t, then you must inquire and, if necessary, request. 
‘Course good friend Josh’s Aunt Jonnie, an experienced hand with cowboy vittles, always made her gravy with that magic ingredient . . . no questions asked. If you’ve been tuned to this press since the Summer ‘95 issue, well you know my gripe: “there’s no sausage in that gravy!” If you haven’t, well, now you know. But please, let me continue.

I got my sausage, and I got it good. At The Pacific Coast Cafe in Encinitas and Allen’s Alley in Vista, Ca, I got my sausage in hearty servings. Why, I can see those sausage chunks right now, just like a parade of endorphins, secreting a pork-ish scent and spicy dreams of “eat me.”

The Pacific Coast Cafe has been a favorite for myself and my friend of 25 years, Randy. We 
were regulars at a previous location which has great breakfast, but the B&G was lousy to beat the band. And I mean bad. Chokin’ bad. It never made much sense to me when the other food was so exceptional. 

Well, Randy and I defected to the Pacific Coast Cafe when we gave it a go and found a tastier 
breakfast at an even cheaper price! Now when it comes to saving money, I won’t say Randy is a penny pincher, but when we were kids, he would save his Halloween candy and sell it at a profit after the other kids had demolished theirs. So, the Pacific Coast was a natural. Mind you, we hadn’t had the B&G yet . . . 

To the pleasure of my astute culinary appetite for frontier chuck, my taste buds danced a jig 
upon delivery from plate to palate. Now, this was my first B&G experience at the Pacific Coast. 

The second time, we had biscuit trouble. JP came along after hearing my praises, and what did he get? Biscuits you could bounce a fork off of. No kidding. JP demonstrated it the blushing waitress and she went back to show the cook. We let the B&G stay in the kitchen that day. On the third try, a plate arrived at the table and I refused to ingest its contents: English muffins and gravy. I politely said I wanted biscuits and gravy. The owner / cook apologized and expressed his sincere regret, but he was out of biscuits. Still enamored with the gravy of my first visit, I did what I have never done before or since -- Fourth try. I got biscuits, good and fresh, and I got 
gravy. But the biscuits were little bitty square type things, not nearly enough to fill a corn fed appetite. 

Normally, on principle alone, after four attempts and three biscuit disasters, I wouldn’t mention the Pacific Coast, but the gravy. Thick, sausage base gravy, perhaps sweetened just an invisible yet savory shade. Doggone! The gravy is first rate. Every time. So waltz into the PC Cafe with your own home baked biscuits and order some gravy, or for $1.95, shoot the works, roll the dice and treat yourself to a half order. 

At the Pacific Coast Cafe, the atmosphere is pleasant, the help is good and service prompt. 

For a eggs, potatoes, hearty toast and meat breakfast ($10 plus tip three people), the Pacific Coast Cafe is unbeatable. If you’re willing to play “name that biscuit,” the gravy is worth the girth. It still baffles me, though. These guys got the hard part without a hitch, but the easy part just flops all over the floor like spilt batter. It is a cruel injustice. 

On to my next little gold mine . . . Now, I’ve been in the middle of a move since what seems like last May. The latest place myself and Moira have been staying is in Vista. For the last two years, I’ve been hearing stories about the B&G at Allen’s Alley, a little breakfast cafe in circa 1950s downtown Vista. 

But until recently, I had no luck finding it. Perhaps it was the directions I seemed to get from everyone: “downtown Vista, look for an alley and it’s down there.” 

Well, it went like this: I had a manual labor weekend of, you guessed it, moving. It was 
Monday morning, my first day of the next two years of my life (the beginning of a graduate 
program) and I needed to start out right -- guess what was on my mind? Being minutes away from downtown Vista, I hopped into my car, moseyed into the 1950s and hung a right into the first alley I spotted. And there it was, big as a red hay barn in South Dakota -- Allen’s Alley Cafe. 

I took a seat at the counter and grabbed up a menu. Biscuits and gravy was right prominent 
on the menu, full order or half. I got my coffee, ordered a half plate and a bacon and eggs 
standard. (I’ve become wary of going whole hog on B&G at a new place. Too many casualties. Too many harsh memories, let downs and ensuing depression . . . Zeke’s, Skull Valley Cafe, Denny’s. So I play it safe, half order and a standard.) 

Allen’s really was something. On atmosphere alone it scored high. Small but not cramped, 
there were eleven seats at the low counter, four tables of four, and one table for two. It had a wood stained ceiling, and just a smidge of paneling -- not nearly enough to create that “I can’t tell if the table’s clean or not” dark and dank feeling. 

The clientele was working class. Men in power blue business suits sat next to cable company pole climbers, and across from them was a guy in a Harley shirt with tattooed arms (I think he was carrying a picnic basket under his shirt). And I’ll be damned if they all weren’t eating B&G! I tell you, America is a melting pot of culture. 

I got my coffee and it was hot. If I’d have hopped into my car and spilt it all over me, I would have gotten millions for sure. It was the hottest coffee I’ve ever been served. And somehow that seemed satisfying. My chuck arrived in under nine minutes and it was just as hot as the coffee. The honest truth, I’ve never had such hot coffee and grub in one sitting. And it’s a good thing about the B&G being as highly charged as it was, because no sooner had I got my plate, I instinctively took another gander at the ceiling and counted three ceiling fans. 

As I said, Allen’s is a small place, and no matter where you choose to sit, there is a fan 
blowing like a norther across any hapless plate of B&G. As I have written in the past, ceiling fans are anethma to B&G. The heat goes right out of the gravy and you’re left with paste or Playdough. So there I was -- right in the midst of it all. I dug in with haste, determined to save this plate from a sorry fate and chewed and swallered in a rush of gustatory delight.

I won’t go any further than to say Allen’s was worth the search. It certainly doesn’t carry the 
mythic qualities of the Flabob Airport Cafe (Winter ‘95), but it’s a right fine place to fill up on easy going atmosphere and good vittles. For B&G, it was a little on the expensive side at $2.50 for a half order and $3.15 for a full order, but it’s worth the go. But shame on me, I failed to mention the primary source of my pleasure in this plate: sausage. A good hearty dose of sausage and serious grease seasoned gravy. Not too much grease mind you, just enough for that chuckwagon satisfaction. 

So if you’re like me and want sausage in your gravy, go west young man and grab your grub, place your order at the Pacific Coast Cafe or Allen’s Alley and you’re sure to come up with some fine real estate, on porcelain that is. 

“B&G Round-up” appeared in the print edition of the Biscuits & Gravy Quarterly. The current 
web version of the B&GQ can be found at 

http://www.americanfolk.com/bgq/ . 
© Jack Lamb 2000
B&G Round-up 4

Herb and Spice Guide