Mon Café San Leandro, California
Mon Café is a coffee shop located in the heart of Washington Manor. The name Mon Café means "my café" in French, but all of us at Mon Café believe that the café belongs to the whole community. Owned and operated by Manami Wegner,a local retired woman, Mon Café is a community cafe tucked deep within a residential neighborhood in San Leandro, California. It is cozy and full of laughter and rich with the culture of our own real people. Coffee and food are made by local baristas, who are loved and supported by our neighborhood customers. The musicians who play live music at Mon Café are also local, and the beautiful arts and crafts that line the walls are by local artists. There is no other Mon Café like us in the world!
All different types of people love Mon Café. No matter what walk of life you are from, you are welcomed with a warm smile and a delicious cup of coffee or tea. Busy mothers duck into the cafe and run out with a cup of coffee. Teachers meet to talk about new school projects. Grandparents come and talk of their family and show off pictures of their grandchildren. Relaxed retired couples gather with friends. Police officers take a break from their stressful day. An elderly man talks about his youth to a youngster. Students and teenagers come in with their shy, beautiful smiles. Many ongoing conversations continue each time friends and neighbors meet at Mon Café.
There are so many talented people in the bay area and Mon Café strives to support and encourage them. Many local people bring their talents to the cafe. We have art shows, musical performances, and other events all the time. Please check our event schedule and come by to show your support for all of our local talent!
When you want to have a wonderful time relaxing somewhere other than at home or work, stop by for a cup of coffee at Mon Café--"my café." It is your place to make your life a little happier and to give you the energy to start a lovely day.
~THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL~
Written by the owner: Manami Wegner
When I was five or six years old, there was a little brick wall coffee shop in my hometown in Tokyo. I was instinctively attracted to this place. I was too young to go inside the coffee shop, but the place held some magical sway over me and I was always drawn to it. Then one day, the shop disappeared. I was very disappointed and wondered what had happened to it.
A few years later, my family moved to another town not too far away. One day, as I was wandering around downtown with my mother, I noticed a small brick-wall coffee shop just like the one I liked when I was little. It even had the same name. I was still too young to drink coffee, so I waited, dreaming of the day I’d be old enough to go in the shop.
When I started high school, I finally felt old enough to enter the coffee shop. With my heart pounding, I pushed open the shop’s heavy, narrow wooden door. Oh my goodness! The tiny shop was full of antiques: old guns, clocks, hanging nautical lamps, toys, tools, dolls, books, other things I couldn’t identify. A tall, skinny man with a pipe and long hair dyed red was making coffee behind a tiny counter. He looked scary to me. I don’t remember the taste of the coffee I ordered because I was so excited and nervous. I went to the coffee shop often after that, but since the place was so small and the hours were inconsistent, I was only able to enjoy going inside about once out of every three visits, if I was lucky.
Many years passed and I came to the U.S. I worked while raising a family, and I didn’t have too much time for daydreams. But as I reached the age of retirement, I began dreaming of owning a coffee shop in the town that became my American home—the town where my kids grew up.
Then, one year, my mother in Japan got sick and I went to visit her. On the way back from the hospital, I stopped by the old coffee shop. More than twenty years had passed since my last visit. The shop master had gotten old and looked sweeter, as if time had worn down his edges. I had to return to the U.S. soon, so I finally decided to talk to him. He was very kind and polite. From talking to him, I discovered that the coffee shop I loved when I was a little girl in my old town was, in fact, his coffee shop.
The shop master had a special story about why he started his shop. He was in the Navy during World War II and was assigned a post on a large ship. After working on the ship for a long time, he left on a short leave of absence to tend to a family emergency. While he was away, the ship sank, and all of his fellow sailors drowned. After the war, he wanted to do something meaningful for his friends who lost their lives in the water. He chose to open a coffee shop, which was very rare in Tokyo at the time. It wasn’t easy even buying coffee for the shop. But he started his first shop in the town I was born and moved to the town I was raised. Perhaps this is just a simple coincidence, but perhaps there is some meaning there.
I was 55 years old at the time we first spoke, when I finally learned all about the coffee shop that always had me spellbound. By that time, the shop master’s small, unique, and beautiful shop had become famous in Tokyo. Eight people had been inspired by him and opened a coffee shop just like his, but reinterpreted in their own way. I told him that I also dreamed of opening a coffee shop, but in the United States. He smiled and said, “Sure, go ahead and do it. I will help you with anything if I can.” After that, I went back to Japan a few times and learned how to make his special, magical coffee. He is my master. His coffee shop’s name is JASHUMON, and that is why my coffee shop’s name is MON CAFÉ — the word “mon” comes from the name of his shop.
The shop master passed away in December 2008 of natural causes. He was 88 years old and he had brewed coffee in his tiny working area for over 55 years, right until he died. As he had requested in his will, his loyal fans quietly closed JASHUMON on December 21, 2008.
Manami Wegner,
Dedicated to Mr. Takatoshi Nawa
June 16, 2009
