Mee Heng Low

Chinatown in San Luis Obispo is an almost invisible relic.  While the district (mostly confined to Palm Street, near the intersection at Chorro) was once home to probably hundreds of migrant Chinese laborers and several more permanent Chinese families, their presence is mostly gone these days.  Among the holdouts from yesteryear, relatives of Ah Louis still own his landmark store, and the Gin family still own the building housing the legendary Mee Heng Low (go ahead and titter if you haven’t heard that name before, we all still do) Chop Suey Shop.  But after generations of running the place, Kim, the establishment’s sole waitress, hostess and busser, and her invisible husband who was equally busy and alone in the kitchen, decided it was time to retire.  All of the regulars knew the end was near — so each trip for egg rolls and cashew chicken was like a trip to the grandparents once they had gotten up in age.  Every little cup of tea and fortune cookie joyfully relished as if it might be the last; Kim’s sing-songy voice recorded in memory lest it be forgotten:  ”Yes?  Anything ELSE? Thank YOU.”  The last words of each sentence lingered over before she darted to the next table.  

The restaurant was somewhat of a relic itself.  Vinyl booths and formica tables covered in glass lined the walls, chrome coat hangers neatly aligned at the end of each booth.  Place mats with the Chinese zodiac and curious looking chinese baby nudes informed patrons that they might be “strong willed and independent” or “artistic and poetic.”  No attempts at modernization had been made since the shop opened in 1957.  The china was probably original.  The menu evolved very little too.  Fusion food never made its way too Mee Heng Low.  Kim served the staples of Chinese-American cuisine:  Kung-Pow Chicken, Moo-Shu Pork, battered and deep fried egg rolls that looked like footballs, and of course, glorious Chop Suey.  

Mee Heng Low was a wonderful place that had to be discovered.  Two blocks from Higuera Street and the bulk of the city’s pedestrian traffic, the place relied on loving regulars for business.  With each trip one could overhear families in booths adjacent:  ”the first time I came here, I sat in a high chair,” “My mom used to order take-out from this place when we were kids.”  Loving Mee Heng Low required some humility.  Kim wasn’t going to take your credit card, wasn’t going to allow substitutions and wasn’t going to take special orders.  If she was busy with a full house, she certainly wasn’t going to meet all the expectations of most modern restaurant patrons.  She certainly didn’t pander for tips.     

When they closed shop, the building sat sad and empty for months.  The massive faux-gilt mirrors reflecting empty, dust covered chrome and formica.  Today, the shop is open again, taken over by a new family (not Chinese) with a very different vision for the place.  The furniture in the familiar little dining room is all gone, but plans for resurrecting the upstairs dining room (unused since the 70′s) are in the works.  The Low Mein with pork is wonderful.  It’s not the Mee Heng Low I once knew, but it’s still only a block away, so I’ll look forward to getting acquainted again.

Feed the Birds?

Sandra is my neighbor.  She sleeps at the Regional Transit Terminus one block from the Berk.  During the day she can be found all over town, usually sitting on a bench, covered from head to toe in layers of clothing.  Her wrists and fingers are covered in jewelry, most of which she has made herself.  She wears an enormous rosary around her neck, that she has also made, though she does not attend the Mission Church.  “I don’t agree with all of their teachings,” she says.  “They say Jesus loves sinners.  He doesn’t.  You have to stop sinning for him to love you.” 

Sandra has a lot to say, and the more she talks, the greater her suffering is revealed.  Paranoia, visions, voices…  I may specialize in drawing pictures of buildings, but I think I can see some very clear glimpses of schizophrenia.  Sandra is a woman who suffers from a severe mental illness that remains uncared for.  She is also a woman of great depth, whose enthusiasm for truth and beauty are heavily clouded. 

Sandra is one of dozens of homeless people who make their homes throughout town.  But she is part of a smaller group of homeless residents who are permanent.  Unlike many of the other homeless, most of whom are transient, Sandra does not panhandle.  She does accept help graciously, but never asks for it.  This is a contrast from the dozens of other homeless folks who make the city home.  Sandra does not treat people like ATM machines.  She knows my name.  She says “hello” and smiles. 

I met Sandra because I was challeneged by my brother, a former InterVarsity worker.  He passed the same homeless man on his way to work most mornings and decided he “wasn’t going to be the guy who just passed by everyday.”  I agreed.  I think in InterVarsity speak they call that “being intentional.”  I call it being a good neighbor.  I don’t have to solve all of Sandra’s problems.  But I can greet her warmly, and treat her like a friend.

Can I get a cup of coffee?

 

One of the most commonly heard phrases among planner types who describe good neighborhoods is “a place to go sit and have a cup of coffee.”  For planners, architects, New Urbanists, and anyone else who likes to use the term “built environment,” a good coffee shop is one of the most essential components of a neighborhood.  Coffee shops can act like communal living rooms, allowing folks from all over town to get together and drink hot beverages while listening to good music, playing games, doing a little work, or having a nice conversation.  For many, the coffee shop becomes an extension of the home, or at least a place for a quick daily visit.  But is there such a thing as too many coffee shops?

San Luis Obispo has a designated Downtown district.  Within that district, there are no fewer than seven coffee shops.  Within the 24 city blocks that make up the Downtown district, there are 13 working espresso machines in various restaurants.  In the surrounding commercial neighborhoods (Uptown, Old Town, Railroad District) There are an additional eight places to get something foamy, caffeinated and expensive.

Apparently market saturation has not yet occurred, as there are no signs of any of these shops turning off their steamers.  So what keeps them all going? With so many to choose from — all in walking distance — proximity probably does not play the greatest roll in choosing one.  Perhaps it is the special niche that each shop seems to fill that creates a sort of brand loyalty among customers.  Here is a summary of those niches:

1.  Linnea’s:  Artsy.  Probably the oldest coffee place in town.  Rotating menu.  Regular art exhibits, live music, poetry, events, etc.  Beautiful garden.  Games to play, books to read.  A favorite among the “born in County General” and “Cuesta College class of ’69″ set.  

2.  Black Horse (aka Uptown):  Hip.  Street side patio allows smoking.  A favorite among the tattooed & pierced hipsters and county employees.  Has an indoor/outdoor fireplace and a big TV.  Bakery in back.  

3.  Starbucks:  Familiar.  Downtown Centre location makes it quick choice for folks who get lost downtown.  Great people (i.e. tourist) watching location.  Frequented by Republicans and off-duty Starbucks employees. Great choice of books, music and chochkies selected by Corporate Marketing Department.  Baked goods from a warehouse in the Valley. 

4.  Peet’s:  Alternative/Familiar.  A favorite among those who despise Starbucks’ largesse and who claim to enjoy a “superior” coffee bean, but who nonetheless are willing to go corporate.  Court Street location makes it another favorite among tourists who like to spot a familiar brand name.  

5.  Monterey Street:  Cozy.  This tiny shop is frequented by city employees and music browsers at Boo-Boo’s, with a strong following among those who shun the nearby corporate shops (Peet’s is just 300 feet away).  Morning and afternoon crowds only, as they close up shop early.  

6.  Steinburg:  Uber-artsy.  Art gallery and coffee shop are joined to make the ultimate setting for art shows, large lectures and concerts.  Probably the largest floor space in town.  Nifty Art Decco building.  

7.  Outspoken:  Political.  While most independent coffee shops tend to draw a left leaning crowd by default, these ladies tend to make their politics explicit.  Life sized Barrack Obama cut-out and “No on 8″ placards on hand.  The smell of beans mixes with the smell of rubber, as the floor space is also shared with a popular bike shop.  Popular with the design team at Westberg + White who like to take frequent coffee breaks to get away from the computer.  

8.  Koffee Klatch:  Shoppers.  A tiny shop with lots of coffee equipment for sale.  Probably mostly frequented by tourists making their way down Higuera Street.  Not a lot of space to provide a social scene, but a good space for people watching.  

9.  Westend (aka Rudolph’s):  Crazy.  Perhaps this is an unfair and anecdotal assessment, but given its proximity to the creek and other homeless haunts, this otherwise clean and pleasant place seems to attract its share of people who might yell at you for no reason.  They do sell coffee beans and tea to take home, so if you are accosted, just get a one pound bag and be on your way. 

10.  Cafe Luna:  Expensive.  Said to employ only the finest, fair-trade beans and most authentic coffee making methods to produce a pricier, and perhaps better cup of Joe.  Whatever.  Rotating art exhibits.  A favorite among Unitarians and Hope Dance and Rouge Voice readers.

Worn out shoes

Part of the appeal of living downtown — particularly in a town like SLO — is the ability to walk almost everywhere I need to go. For those of us in the architecture and planning fields, or those with a passion for all things “green,” the idea of walking, instead of driving, is nothing new. However, for those for whom a trip anywhere outside the confines of the home involves an automobile, the idea of walking most places may sound either hopelessly impossible or ridiculously idealistic.

Of course, most communities planned anytime after 1945 aren’t meant to be walked through — they are meant to be driven through.  So, while being on foot in San Luis Obispo can be quite liberating, being on foot in Bakersfield could be more of a punishment.  Choosing to live in the right city is the first step toward being an avid walker.  

What does the right city look like?  It’s probably dense, with narrow streets and lots of diversity in the building types.  There should be houses, apartments, stores, restaurants and civic buildings all within a half mile radius (some folks like to extend that radius to a mile) of your home.  It’s probably an inconvenient place to have an automobile.  Traffic will move slowly and there will inevitably be almost no place to park.  But that won’t matter, because moving about on foot will be a breeze. 

The following entries in this category will describe the experience of getting around the city on foot.