Dry Creek Cafe

Austin has changed a lot in 70 years. The cannibal hordes of real estate developers, software engineers, NFT hucksters, cryptobros, and shitbag billionaires are currently busy turning the city into some slick cyborgverse. Old Austin is long gone.That's why my visit in that final week of Dry Creek Cafe's lifespan was so damn memorable. Surrounded by gaudy mansions on the scenic Mt. Bonnell Rd and overlooking the beautiful west Austin hills, @drycreekatx stuck out like Nick Carraway's bungalow in the shadow of Gatsby's West Egg estate. Former patrons pulled into the dusty gravel lot in their high-priced convertibles and Teslas to pay homage to their former hangout and share time-tested stories of debauched nights. One last time.

I sat at a table with a stack of postcards I had picked up in Fredericksburg, writing to friends back home while listening in on conversations and sucking down longneck beers–there was no liquor or taps at the cafe and you had to return your used bottle to get a fresh beer. The bartender was so obviously sick of fielding questions that she had written out a FAQ section on a piece of cardboard next to the bar. (Yes, the bar is really closing. No, you can't offer to buy it. Yes, the last day is Sunday. Etc.) I hadn't been there long, but as the sun began to set over the hills, I was already sad to see it go.

According to Preservation Austin, "Dry Creek Cafe was built sometime before 1950, and, according to legend, with '100% ‘appropriated’ materials … An Austin Monthly article adds, "Sarah Ransom—the late owner of Dry Creek—was famous for her sharp tongue. She took over the bar from her brother in the 1950s, when rough-tongued cedar choppers frequented it. Her favorite song on the jukebox, someone told me, was 'Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road.' Ransom died in 2009 at age 95. Her obituary in the Austin American-Statesman notes that she was affectionately known as the meanest bartender in Austin and that she didn’t mind the moniker."

RIP Dry Creek Cafe.