Velvet Elvis at La Misión, 359 W. McKeown Ave., Patagonia. Open 11 a.m. to 8:30 p.m. Wednesdays through Sundays. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays. Reservations recommended for parties of six or more, required for parties of 20-plus. (520) 394-0069, velvetelvislamision.com
Unexpected miracles: Cecilia San Miguel’s life has been filled with them. Moving to a new state, opening a restaurant without experience; in the end, uncertainty has proved to be an ally.
Velvet Elvis is now in its 26th year and, like its owner, continues to evolve. Two years ago, the restaurant moved from its Highway 82 site in Patagonia to the current location on McKeown. Built as a home in 1915, it was The Big Steer, a local bar, from the 1930s until 2001. In 2004 the building was purchased by San Miguel and became an entertainment venue, then her residence. In September 2022 it ascended to a new life—Velvet Elvis at La Misión.
And more than a place of food and drink, Velvet Elvis at La Misión is an experience of joy brought to life by whimsy and color—an allegory celebrating the area’s border culture and the owner herself.
“I’m a tropical flower,” said San Miguel, referencing her native Ecuador and then Eugene, Oregon, where rhododendrons (“those shameless flowers, such color,”she said) grow unfettered.
That San Miguel would end up relocating from Eugene to the “desert” would seem inconceivable given her love of color and greenery. But in 1996 she did just that, after a healing journey to the Amazon following the death of her husband.
Call it a stroke of fate. Having sold her house and looking for a fresh start, she crossed paths in the Eugene airport with acquaintances who had just spent time in Patagonia. ‘Check it out,’ they told her.
The initial trip, arriving at midnight, was met with a hard “no.” But things looked different in daylight. And in less than a week, she was a Santa Cruz County homeowner.
Then, at a local meditation gathering, the idea for a bakery came up. The notion appealed to San Miguel, and others in town expressed interest. Building purchased, demolition begun, partners evaporated.
“I cried. A lot,” San Miguel said. At that point, the woman of constant smiles focused on the ongoing renovation and prayed for a baker to appear.
Enter Eric Baker, a Los Angeles engineer fed up with city life. He cottoned to the idea of a bakery. But Baker and San Miguel’s visions clashed. His: Disposable plates and cutlery, beer and a peanut-shell ladened floor. Hers: classy. Which meant, not that.
There was, however, lasting fruit from their two-week partnership.
Baker believed the establishment’s name should reflect both sides of the border. He proposed naming it after a musician named Elvis Gonzalez, whose name does just that.
A friend loved the idea of “Elvis” and suggested putting up a velvet portrait of “The King.” The concept struck a chord with San Miguel, and a Patagonia couple provided the artwork.
On Dec. 12, 1998, Velvet Elvis opened with a parade and potluck celebrating Our Lady of Guadalupe. Pizza was served.
“Opening day, I was terrified,” San Miguel said. With a line extending out the door, San Miguel was nowhere to be found. She was in the kitchen washing dishes.
Today, a family of workers assists her with this, and other restaurant tasks. Family, literally. The Leons fill a variety of positions, including Elizandro Leon, a culinary school graduate, who has the lead chef position.
While pizza is the calling card, the Velvet Elvis menu features distinctive touches matching the bold surroundings. “Designer pizzas” such as El Sassy and Cara Mia with White Sauce bring together provocative ingredients that reflect San Miguel’s influence.
“All the breads are homemade,” San Miguel said. “We roast our own peppers. We make our own desserts.”
The scratch approach to food is something that appeals to Carol Ford. She and friend Sandra Powell have been frequenting the Velvet Elvis nearly every Thursday for more than 20 years.
At times, when the restaurant has been closed for one reason or another, Ford and her friend have “suffered.”
“We nearly starved to death,” Ford joked.
Here’s how those regular Thursday visits unfold: Walk in, ask about the soup and specials, order a drink, and badda bing, badda boom—done.
Powell, who lived in Russia, is particularly fond of the beet soup, known to Russians as borscht. She also loves the lentil soup. Ok, she loves all the soups.
As the two women have gotten to know San Miguel, first as customers and then as friends, they’ve seen firsthand the blood, sweat and tears that have been poured into the place.
“She’s worked so hard for this,” Ford said. And while Ford loves the food and appreciates the service and “museum quality” of the establishment, she can’t help but mention the Thursday night entertainment that adds to the pleasure—the sweet sounds of Sierra Vista pianist Lamonte Arthur.
San Miguel is thankful for the two women’s patronage and that of other locals. But she also believes the restaurant is a dining destination, attracting visitors intrigued first by the name and then returning for the fare and atmosphere.
“For 26 years, this has been my life,” San Miguel said, looking around.
Courage, protection, divine intervention. Not a bad road map.
Velvet Elvis Avocado Dressing
2 ripe avocados
½ cup green onion
½ cup chopped cilantro
¼ cup fresh lime juice
¼ cup Perrier
1 teaspoon crushed fresh garlic
½ teaspoon thyme
¾ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon oregano
Place all ingredients in a food processor until it reaches a creamy consistency. Dresses about six dinner salads.
Carrie White can be contacted at CarrieWhitePRT@gmail.com.