The Skull Valley Cafe is back!

Glad tidings -- the Skull Valley Cafe reopened five weeks ago. All dolled up western style, which is a hair on the hokey side; after all, it was a plain pipe racks operation all those years under Helen and Dick when my LH and I breakfasted there almost everyday.

But, hey! I can certainly live with such details as painted cracks and hasps just to have this welcome little out-of-the-way restaurant open again!

There's still a counter plus the small tables. And a side order of B&G for only 99 cents, as well as a much more expansive menu than in the G.O.D. (Good Old Days).

A real innovation is this patio, already occupied on a warm February day.

The decor includes pictures of Skull Valley in older days; the paintings of the store and the pre-upgraded gas station are by one of my favorite local artists, Linne Thomas, who chronicles the remains of an earlier time hereabouts.

The cafe's bulletin board continues to be news central for the countryside.

The real theme, however, is the Santa Fe railroad which still passes through Skull Valley on its run between Phoenix and the main line up north. And, yes, trains still park on the siding so that engineers and other railroaders can grab a bite to eat. Just as I remember from the 80s.

Sunday's customers looked as though they came from all over. In the old days, local cowboys and ranchers, scruffy miners from the Copper Basin, and bikers riding the back roads up from the Valley of Death were the primary customers. When an out-of-the-area Rancher entered, Helen always made a point of introducing him to any other Baron who might be present. And the mid-morning and after-lunch gossip was great! Hope it still is. I'll be back next time I get a ride down Iron Springs Road.

Words & Graffiti: If wordplay is your thing, have a look at Urban Dictionary, DoubleTongued and/or Wordlust. New Scientist, of all places, was where I discovered these sites that deal with the latest slang, lingo -- and made-up words. And if your normally staid exterior hides an inner biker, go over to Hoarded Ordinaries for pictures of a long block in Cambridge MA where street artists and graffiti types own the wall.

Skull Valley -- a Quick View from the Road

Getting to Skull Valley is easy. Just turn left onto Iron Springs Road and keep driving. After a few mountains, the highway leaves PNF forest land, the road narrows and downhill on the left is a valley that's green and lush, compared to the sere roadside. The outskirts. Important fact about this ranching community -- it has possibly the best water availability in the whole county.

Ahead on your right looms a dark, rounded mountain. Volcanic, obviously; mountains built of other kinds of stone (granite, schist or even limestone) display their rocky origins in a muscular way. Do take note of the two dimpled blowout spots. Busy mountain at one time. Very busy.

Downtown Skull Valley ahead -- the gas station. The only place to gas up between Yarnell and Prescott, by the way. And not on SR89. This is the county road that semi drivers travel to avoid the many "curves and mountain grades" of the White Spar coming up from Wickenburg.

Downtown includes the cafe, currently closed and on the market. Will someone please buy the cafe; I miss it. When my husband and I first moved to Wilhoit, we almost always breakfasted here. Dick's chili was a great way to start a day of exploration; Helen handled the cowboys, ranchers and outlanders with a fine rural finesse. It was at the cafe that we learned when there would be roping or a gymkhana down at the Kirkland arena. Occasionally a miner from the Copper Basin would drop in with a vial of gold flakes. Oh, yes, bikers from the big, hot valley down south would show up, as well. Not only that, but railroad crews would radio ahead with their orders-to-go and then park their trains to pick up lunch.

After the disappointment of the closed cafe, heading back into town -- except that a train is coming. Giving me time for a good shot of general store -- #3 of downtown Skull Valley's three buildings. All kinds of special goodies sold here for ranch living and operation.

I am reminded that, in Prescott, I really miss the trains!

Admittedly, the modern train, consisting almost entirely of piggy-back trailers, is not nearly as interesting as the old-time mix of box cars, tankers, gondolas, and refrigerator cars, punctuated by the all-important caboose. (Anybody know where all those old cabooses went to retire? Maybe you can buy one on e-Bay...)

Once the train is gone, we can leave Skull Valley for the drive uphill back to Prescott. There's certainly a lot more to be said about Skull Valley, but not on this short visit. If you are curious, the Sharlot Hall Museum site has some background reading.

B&G Is What's for Breakfast Today

Some years ago, while breakfasting at the Skull Valley Cafe, I heard a local young woman comment about her recent trip to a Big City -- Chicago or St. Louis or some such. "I didn't see any pick-up trucks," she said, querulously, wondering what the heck was wrong with city folk.

My experience with things country and western is similar, in the opposite direction: until I moved to these parts, I had never heard of biscuits and gravy. Honest.

This despite the fact that I was an editor/writer on the biggest of the restaurant trade magazines in the country. For over 30 years. In all those years, we never ran an article that involved--or even mentioned --biscuits and gravy.

As a kid, I learned about grits when the family moved to the South. "Aren't yuh gonna eat yer grits, honey?" was the standard question in the cafes back then. And, no, I wasn't. Grits struck me as a tasteless, unnecessary side dish. Like rice. I never did eat my grits, honey.

But once I landed up in the hills here, I quickly discovered that B&G is another matter. Tasty! Especially when it is cold and you are about to climb down a little canyon as the morning's exercise. Besides, I always did like breakfast sausage.

When we moved West, my late husband, another city sophisticate, drove some of our goods west, accompanied by his son and a couple of young stalwarts. Son, who had recently been in the army, not only was a connoisseur of B&G, but knew which parts of the country offered the best. He was looking forward to Missouri, in particular.

It turns out that in the Missouri countryside, a serving of biscuits & gravy is yeti-sized -- even bigger than the standard oval plate out at the Iron Horse in Chino Valley, where I always settled for a 1/4 size bowl. Today, my little walks in the city hardly exercise me enough for a hearty breakfast of B&G, but then we might have a real winter one of these days.

It's been 30 years since we moved West and times have changed. I suspect that with the emergence of down-home chic, you can get an upscale version of B&G in any Manhattan bistro that serves meat loaf made from premium Angus beef.