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The Yellow Deli

315 E. Broadway, Vista

"Isn’t it nice here?”

“It’s beautiful,” I said to my friend Jen. I made a sweeping glance of the restaurant’s patio, taking in the coral bougainvillea blossoms, the green leaves cascading from the trellis, and the tiny, bold finches that swooped and hopped all around us. Soft “Kumbaya”-esque folk music wafted through the air.

“Don’t they seem so peaceful?” Jen was talking about the servers, who were welcoming diners and checking on tables, all of them sporting the same vacant smile.

“Peaceful? No,” I said. “Those empty gazes and dopey grins are like giant red flags being waved in my face. It’s not natural. I can tell by the muscles flexing in their cheeks that they’re forcing those expressions. Means that they’re hiding something.”

Not one to be thrown by my skepticism, Jen laughed. “Just wait — this is only one of the many, weird little places I’ve discovered in Vista,” she said.

Until Jen moved there, I’d always thought the town of Vista was some farmland by Riverside, inland and rural. I was surprised when I mapped it to see that it’s not far from Carlsbad. Still, because it’s a good 45-minute drive from my place, I need more incentive than an occasional whim to get up there. The first time I visited, it was to see Jen’s new home, which she bought shortly after marrying her beau. The second time, about a week ago, it was to meet her new puppy, a sweet-tempered black Labrador name Loki.

I wasn’t planning on making the long slog to Vista again for a while, but then Jen dropped a big-ass ball of bait to lure me back to the ’hood: “Did you know we have a restaurant here that’s run by some hippie commune?”

David and I drove up to have lunch with Jen at the Yellow Deli, which is owned and operated by members of a group called Twelve Tribes. I’d never heard of them before, but a quick googling before I hit the road revealed the religious sect not to be an association of free-loving hippies, but... well, as one ex-member put it, “Somehow Christian hippie love and a free communal life degenerated into a total control religious cult mixed with Jewish Old Testament and the Christian Gospel.” But, hey, artisanal bread and farm-fresh food! That, combined with my curiosity, was enough to help me overcome my fear of religious fanatics and get on the freeway.

While waiting for an organic version of Diet Coke (some caffeine-free, au naturel substitute), I caught the eye of the scruffy-bearded, long-haired man who’d greeted us when we arrived. He smiled through me. “I’m feeling really judged right now,” I said.

Jen, whose eyes were bright and alive, smirked knowingly. “That’s because you know you’re a sinner,” she said.

“You’re the one who’s dressed like a whore in that tank top and those shorts. Look at these ladies — all clean-faced and covered from neck to ankle. And you, you harlot, coming in here and being all wanton.” For this, I earned another smirk.

One of the women seemed to follow her own dreamy gaze toward us, reminding me of cartoon characters that float through the air as they follow their noses along the promising wispy scent of a fresh-baked pie. She was older, maybe in her 40s, and had stern features — a sharp nose and thin lips that were pulled back to mimic a smile that did not come close to reaching her eyes.

I ordered a turkey sandwich with no onions, sprouts, or mayo. The woman’s face twitched involuntarily — her lips tightened and her eyes hardened into a glare. She recovered quickly, showed her teeth again, and said, “Got it,” before she turned to Jen for her order.

“Tell me you saw that,” I said, once the woman had walked away.

“Oh, yeah, I saw it,” Jen said.

“It’s like a part of her true form slipped through the cracks of her façade.”

“You shouldn’t have ordered off-menu,” David admonished.

“I read online that these women have to be submissive to the men,” I said. “Maybe that one’s finally had enough. Also, speaking of submissive, I forgot to mention — these folks believe that black people should still be slaves.” Jen raised her brows in disbelief, so I fetched my phone to prove it. “Says right here, straight from their cult leader’s lips: ‘Slavery is the only way for some people to be useful in society,’ yada yada... Ah, here it is: ‘If the slaves were mistreated, it was the fault of the slave...even animals know this principle of being submissive.’ And here’s the kicker: ‘No matter what a slave goes through, he can always choose to be submissive — in the same way that wives are submissive.’ He goes on to say that black people can’t be productive without being forced to. Can you believe this shit?”

“The soup’s pretty good,” Jen said.

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed. “I dig the bread, too. Haven’t gotten my side of ranch yet, though. She’s probably back there mixing her spit into it.” David slapped me playfully on the arm.

While waiting for the rest of my meal, I regaled David and Jen with more factoids about Twelve Tribes. “They’re super into beating their kids, they expect them to be quiet and obedient. It’s a pity they’re not allowed to use the internet, visit a library, or watch TV. I mean, if there was ever going to be a kid I’d be okay sitting next to in the movie theater, it would be a Twelve Tribes kid.”

“Oh, you’re going to Hell for that one,” Jen said.

“Probably. But that’s cool, I’ll see you guys there.” I stared off to the side of the table to watch a little bird hop along a low wall. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall at one of their house meetings,” I mused. “All the subtext, all those undercurrents of suppressed emotion. How fascinating it would be.”

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Comments

Ed Bedford Sept. 12, 2012 @ 3:53 p.m.

Great piece, Ms. B. I've eaten there myself and very healthy and nutritious, and reasonably priced. I knew the cultish side was there, but guess I should've researched it better. Now it makes me think of Loving Hut, the vegan eatery on El Cajon Boulevard. Great vegan food, great messages promoting kinder ways to live on Mother Earth, but, turns out, part of a worldwide network of restaurants run by someone who calls herself "Supreme Master" Ching Hai. The real price for eating there? You've got to watch Supreme Master TV showing the Supreme Master herself speaking Words of Wisdom to her adoring masses on how to live. How long before she tells them how to vote? I'm sure the people running both joints are reaching out to us with love, but you can't help believing their Masters have figured (rightly) that the best way to get to people is through their stomachs.

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Siobhan Braun Sept. 12, 2012 @ 4:39 p.m.

I spent the day at the Twelve Tribes commune a few months back for a farmers market article I wrote. It was a crazy experience. I wore a tank top and felt like a massive whore.

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Ruth Newell Sept. 16, 2012 @ 2:16 p.m.

I'm a fan of yours, B, but stand opposed to you (and the Reader) on this one. Regardless of what my own personal beliefs may be, this IS a free country that legally supports freedom of speech AND religion. For that reason, our legal system struggles with cultism, i.e. psychological and sometimes physical shunning/disciplining of dissident noncomplying/assimilating members of a legally recognized church. But, that's not what your article is about.

The conscious spiritual choices those in homespun baggy pants and kerchiefs make include some practiced by the Dali Lama. Wouldn't slam him, though, would you? Did you know, for instance, that when they join, they are given new names meant to serve as reminders of what they feel is their biggest lesson/challenge in life? No, because you didn't ask. They work aggressively on improving themselves in everything they do each and every day. They've chosen simple lives of servitude close to and in harmony with the land without many modern conveniences which they--and others not of their community-- see as distractions. They, like some of those closest to me, are believers in God who are not believers in The Church. But, that's not what this article's about either.

It's not about the people or their choices. It's not even about the excellent wholesome food they grow/make/serve--their contributions to the communities in which they live. It's about judgement, as your title so aptly states.

I understand that this article is in no way representative of investigative reporting, and that regrettably, the Tribes is only too accustomed to receiving negative press coverage such as this. Yet, in 30 years, it has never been my experience that any member of the Tribes judges or preaches to patrons (at any of their businesses) unless invited/asked to do so.

Twelve Tribes is hardly the only corporation with such controversial views. It is our choice as consumers to support such enterprises or not to. To their credit, theses people do not vote, as other corporate leaders with similar views do.

Sadly, you haven't written anything I haven't read before.

PS--Question: If you know that the deli's are run by a religious sect in favor of modesty, then it is your conscious decision, is it not, to dress in a manner that they might consider immodest? Not that I have ever seen or experienced any kind of judgement from any of them based on how their patrons look. I mean, they are conscious of how THEY look, after all. Would you (B and Siobhan) go to --oh say--Saudi Arabia in a tank top and hoochi mama shorts without head cover knowing full well that if you did any man would be within his legal rights to slap you silly?

PSS-- You do know, don't you, that there are happy and thriving minorities within the community who are not, by the way, enslaved?

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