Where The OldWest Cafe Begins

by Ellen Ritscher Sackett

It’s just after 6 a.m., and the door has just opened at the OldWest Café in Sanger, Texas. Already three white pick-up trucks are parked in front with customers awaiting breakfast. This is a typical morning for the owners. Mark is hidden behind the scenes in the kitchen, and Carolyn, his wife, is starting her day in Denton at their sister restaurant by the same name.

The wait staff is ready. The coffee flows first, and the orders are taken. More customers dribble in, young and old, and soon the place is filled with the clatter of plates and the chatter of conversation. Some come in jeans, others in cam-o, all hungry, all anticipating what will likely be their best and biggest meal of the day. One can only hope.       

Before long, heavy, overloaded plates arrive at the tables, stacked as many as three and four deep up the waitress’ arms. Eggs, bacon and grits; three-egg omelets stuffed with sausage, veggies and cheese; pancakes stacked high; burritos with a side of homemade salsa and iron skillet dishes with everything including the kitchen sink. The menu items are cleverly named to conjure images of the wild, wild west. There’s the Alamo, The Indian, The Bandit, The Gunslinger. The Warrior omelet, made with grilled chicken, “might make you squat with yer spurs on” and the Texan, made with your choice of sausage, ham or bacon, onion and bell pepper, and three kinds of cheese will make you “hold on to your boot straps.” Hold on, little doggie! This is what you call a real breakfast.

“Can I getcha anything, hon?”

I put in my order and point to my coffee cup. The waitress is back in a jif to fill it. I reach for a packet of Sweet ‘n’ Low next to the sugar across the table. My elbow sticks to the surface, as the varnish has been wiped down so many times, it’s soft. A voice from my childhood reminds me this is not a horse’s stable. I adjust my posture, shake the contents of the package in my mug and take a sip.

My bowl of steamy oatmeal, raisins and brown sugar arrives with side of fruit from a jar. As I eat, I observe in awe as a stout young man wearing a cowboy hat devours a burrito half the size of a football. I wonder how it can be done, although I doubt his eyes are bigger than his stomach. Sure enough, by the time he finishes, he’s eaten the whole thing, plus a generous side of crispy hashbrowns slathered with ketchup.

At the next table, a young mother in pink sweats lean over to pick up her toddler’s sippy cup off the dark-stained cement floor. A middle-aged couple sit at the table in the corner, holding their hands in silent prayer. Behind them on the recycled tin-lined wall, a wooden plaque reads, “Now that my kids are teenagers, I know why some animals eat their young.” Across the room an old-timer with stubble for a beard sits by himself. He smiles a toothless grin at his pony-tailed waitress, who calls him by his name, which I can’t quite catch. Hanging on to her arm, he says something that makes her laugh as she slides his check between the salt and pepper shakers.

I catch her eye as she leaves his table and ask her for his ticket. She nods and retraces her steps, whisking it out from under his nose before he has a chance to notice. I feel like I’ve won a prize–today’s pay-it-forward recipient–and head to the cashier’s counter to pay up. I’ll be gone before the gentleman notices I’ve left.

Before long, the place will be revving up for the lunch crowd in addition to serving its all-day breakfast. The restaurant has built a steady stream of loyal customers in twelve years. These are good folks who don’t mind paying a fair price for home-style cookin’ and service that rivals any five-star restaurant. They know a good deal. Despite the economy, business is holding its own. In fact, OldWest Café now has four locations, in Sanger, Denton, Grapevine and most recently in Bedford. If the other locations are any indication, soon-to-be regulars will find their way to it as well.

So where does the OldWest Café end? There’s no telling how far it’ll go or for how long. But God willing, the Old West Cafe will continue ’til the cows come home.