Cleburne’s was a neighborhood habit to cherish
Cleburne Cafeteria was my neighborhood place, over there on Bissonnet, between Weslayan and Buffalo Speedway. I could walk there from my house.
I knew Cleburne’s menu by the days of the week. Mondays: the special was beef stew. Tuesdays: my favorite, chicken & dumplings. Sundays were fancy: prime rib.
When I reached the end of the counter on Thursdays, I always had to push the turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and spinach to the side of my tray to make space for a couple of yeast rolls (baked fresh every 30 minutes) and a piece of
chocolate icebox pie.
I had never heard of chocolate icebox pie, or “chicken fried chicken,” either, until I found Cleburne’s.
But Cleburne Cafeteria really belonged to Houston. It was part of our history, a story that makes us special.
Original owner Nick Mickelis came to America by boat, past the Statue of Liberty, through Ellis Island, in 1948. He made his way down south by train, not speaking a word of English, a piece of paper with the word “Houston” pinned to his jacket. He had family here. Nick went to work washing dishes in his brother’s
small restaurant.
He saved his money, got married, and opened his own restaurant, Cleburne Cafeteria.
Cleburne’s caught fire Monday night. By Tuesday morning, nothing was left but the walls, which will have to be knocked down, so the Mickelis family can rebuild. That’s the plan. Too many customers need their chicken pot pie on Wednesdays.
Cleburne’s was a cafeteria, but no ordinary production line of preportioned, pre-cooked, heated-up food slopped on small plates (to make the portions look bigger) by workers yawning, “Next!” like we’re bothering them.
Shortly after I moved into the neighborhood about 20 years ago, owner George Mickelis, Nick’s son, invited me to tour the restaurant. He brought me into the kitchen. I saw massive 24-pound whole turkeys coming out of the oven. Cleburne’s didn’t take the plastic wrap off cooked turkey breasts from prepared food wholesalers. If you wanted thighs or drumsticks, or the skin (I’m guilty), that’s what you got.
There was a chilly room for fresh vegetables bought that dawn, prepared that morning for lunch, prepared fresh again for dinner. Everything on the menu was made from scratch, no cheating.
Cleburne Cafeteria was a beloved spot for afterchurch-goers, for grandparents and grandkids, for families celebrating birthdays and births, for newspaper people grabbing lunch, for Little Leaguers thanking Cleburne’s for sponsoring their team.
My friend Mike the Comedy Cop, standup comic and real-life West U officer, moonlighted at Cleburne’s. He always maneuvered to work Tuesdays — big fan of their chicken & dumplings, too. He didn’t just hang outside the door and check the parking lot.
Mike would lift some older customers in wheelchairs and carry them inside the restaurant. If a napkin fell to the floor, he’d pick it up. Mike treated Cleburne’s like family. That’s how customers and employees felt about the place.
Cleburne’s was open for lunch and dinner on weekdays. Open all day on Sundays. Always open on Christmas. Christmas dinner at Cleburne’s was a local tradition, generous and sweet. That day, every penny spent at Cleburne Cafeteria — all of it, not just profits — was shared by employees as their Christmas bonus.
Cleburne Cafeteria is down, but it will be back. Until then, Houston will be missing something special — especially on Tuesdays.