Cachagua General Store has closed permanently.

Outside, a middle-aged man smoked Camel cigarettes in his truck and listened to lonely music on his radio with the driver's side door swung open.

"It's the last day of the store," he said with sad eyes. "The last day of the store."

The repetition didn't seem to diminish his disbelief.

Inside, shelves sat naked, and much of the remaining inventory appeared on a wire rack at the center of the cement-floored Cachagua General Store.

Next door, at the former once-a-week restaurant, a rotting smell attended the sadness and the clean-out effort underway.

On Sundays past it would host some of the best brunch in Monterey County. (For the money, it was simply the best.)

On this Sunday, Oct. 16, the roof sagged in moldy patches. Greasy kitchen appliances hunched in various states of decay. The heavy belly of the dining room stove and a ladder joined the assortment of items scattered about.

Through the door, Cachagua General Store's driveway filled with A Moveable Feast's catering van, various overturned ice chests, a Shop Vac and a stovetop that looked more than ready for the graveyard.

"And you should see our driveway," said Amanda Girard Jones, who (per usual) was helping spearhead disaster management.

A light curtain of rain veiled the proceedings. The moisture fit the mood.

Only lightning rod Facebook ranter and electric talent Exec Chef Michael Jones says the precipitation offered comfort.

"Any residual sadness dispersed when it started raining," Jones says, "and it was raining just as hard in the bathroom."

I'm pretty bummed. The place easily made my top two Monterey County food adventures. It inspired a cover story that won a national award ("Spitfire Flavor: Michael Jones’ mercurial personality feels larger than life – just like his food").

There was nothing like it, anywhere—Jones says the owner of NYC's landmark wd~50 attended the last Monday night dinner there a week ago today, and had to excuse himself to go outside and cry at the loss of the legend.

You do have to take many things Jones says with a grain of pink Himalayan salt.

Earlier this summer, he blamed the impending doom of Cachagua General on his landlord and yours truly when he was more than six months behind on rent and in violation of his lease.

In the course of reporting that piece—"Fiery Truth: Cachagua General Store is in jeopardy, but there's hope"—he, shall we say, stretched the truth a touch, and generously offered to kick my ass.

My depression at its demise is tempered by the fact that Jones will move his catering operation to his son Brendan's Carmel Valley Village spot Lokal (659-5886), and collaborate on some dinners there.

There's little more exciting than two of the most combustible and talented chefs of the region in one cozy kitchen.

There are other facets to my sadness, though.

I hurt for the remote trailer park residents CGS served so steadily. 

Some can't drive, and others are housebound and received drop-offs from saintly Girard Jones.

Now they're left with little more than an empty feeling.