An 80s Valley Girl’s Guide to Sunday Brunch

I’ve always loved food—it’s what I live for, ask my family. Growing up in the San Fernando Valley in the 1980s, Sunday brunch wasn’t just about eating; it was a full-on experience. The Valley, a sprawling region in Los Angeles County, is known for its suburban neighborhoods, entertainment industry ties, and a surprisingly robust restaurant scene. If I’d been a little older in the late 1980s, I might have been a food critic in training, documenting every sizzling fajita, towering plate of prime rib, and perfectly crisp waffle. Dining out was an event—a feast for all the senses—and the Valley was full of spots that made brunch feel magical.

Velvet Turtle – Woodland Hills, Los Angeles Metro, CA

Walking into Velvet Turtle was like stepping into a Velvet dream: emerald-green velvet booths, gleaming brass handrails, and rich wood paneling that made the space feel both elegant and indulgent. Smooth jazz floated through the room—you almost felt guilty just sitting there among all that opulence. The soaring ceilings and big round bar buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of a champagne flute.

I went more times than I can count, sometimes with friends, sometimes with my parents. I’m pretty sure the hostesses and waiters thought I had a secret twin, given how wildly my behavior changed depending on who I came with. Running into my parents while with friends was always awkward—my mom was a little uptight and definitely not a fan of my carefree antics, and my friends always gave me a hard time about my different personality when my parents were around.

Celebrities like Heather Locklear, Farrah Fawcett, and Tom Selleck frequented the Velvet Turtle. Most were not impressive because we were too cool to do that. But musicians—if I’m honest—that’s where I could get a little star-struck. One time, I literally rubbed an elbow at a Woodland Hills sushi bar with Christine and John McVie from Fleetwood Mac while they enjoyed salmon sashimi. Sometime later, seeing them at Velvet Turtle, I wanted to say, “Oh, hey! Chris! We’re friends! Remember me? The elbow-rubber from Something’s Fishy?” Of course, I didn’t say a word, because LA etiquette is serious business. But in my head, we were besties. Christine was effortlessly cool, looked like a beautiful songbird, and John? Well, I’m not sure he knew he had hit the jackpot with her.

The champagne brunch was a spectacle: chefs in pristine white jackets and towering toques flipped sizzling fajitas, twirled fettuccini, flambéed bananas foster and manned the Belgian waffle station. But the prime rib—rich, tender, and perfectly cooked—was the real star of the show. Holding your plate felt like a ritual as you wandered among the stations, soaking in the sights, smells, and sounds. This was all-you-can-eat glory, none of that “order off the menu” nonsense, and it left every bruncher, celebrity or not, completely satisfied. Velvet Turtle wasn’t just a meal—it was a full sensory adventure, and the memories lingered long after the last bite.

El Torito – Northridge, Los Angeles Metro, CA

El Torito was more casual than the other brunch spots, but that was part of its charm. There were lots of El Torito's scattered across Southern California, but this Northridge location? This was ours. Brightly colored tables, sizzling fajitas, and lively Mexican music made every visit feel festive and full of energy. The stations were fast, easy, and close to home, perfect for weekend brunch without fuss.

When I went to brunch with friends, there were always many of us, often the same crew, a boisterous, laughing crowd jockeying for seats, juggling plates of sizzling food, and making a scene wherever we went. Some of my most vivid Valley memories happened here, because this is where I got together with my first boyfriend. Between laughter, chatter, and a few too many melon margaritas, the energy was chaotic in the best possible way.

Three years later, I was crying in my Sopa de Albóndigas with some of those same friends, over my breakup with the same guy. But a champagne toast and a warm churro for dessert lifted my spirits. It was a sweet combination, and it saved the day. Then it was time to move on. Adiós, El Torito!

94th Aero Squadron – Van Nuys, Los Angeles Metro, CA

This was our go-to brunch in the winter during football season, when the weather was cool and darkness came early. Walking into the 94th Aero Squadron felt like stepping onto a historic airfield. The stone wall hugged the small staircase into the lobby, warm and welcoming, immediately putting you at ease. Planes hung overhead, and the scent of hearty brunch mingled with polished wood and leather. The stations were robust and hearty: eggs Benedict, massive omelets, crispy potatoes, and fresh pastries. The ceilings here were lower than the other restaurants, giving it a cozy, tucked-in feel.

Located right next to Van Nuys Airport, one of the busiest general aviation airports in the world, the restaurant offered a front-row seat to aviation history. Opened in 1928 as Metropolitan Airport, it quickly became a hub for Hollywood stars and aviation enthusiasts, including names like Gene Autry, Cecil B. DeMille, and Howard Hughes. The airport even appeared in classic films, cementing its iconic status.

We would spend the entire afternoon watching the planes, talking, laughing, and drinking Heineken as the fire pits glowed and the sun set. Between the historic charm, my antics with friends, and the little touches of aviation magic, the 94th Aero Squadron was more than a brunch—it was our high-flying adventure.

Sagebrush Cantina – Calabasas, CA

This last Sunday brunch review lands a special award as the only surviving restaurant from the 80s still open in 2025. Sagebrush Cantina was a different kind of Sunday brunch—less about the food, more about the music, drinks, and atmosphere. It was definitely the cool place to be in the 80s.

A perfect rest stop between the beach and the Valley, summer Sundays were when real bikers and weekend warriors alike congregated, drank, and sometimes intimidated the crowd. Billy Idol was often among them, looking effortlessly cool, leaning up against the wall wearing his white t-shirt, black leather vest with pants to match. Motorcycles dominated, engines rumbled, while guys and girls smoked all kinds of things in the back parking lot.

The outdoor patio, with its red-and-white checkered tablecloths, was the orbit of this place. Acoustic music played all afternoon. We all hung out there, soaking up the vibe with an ice-cold Corona (or two). Everyone seemed to want to be there on Sunday afternoons. It was impossible not to get caught up in the energy.

I also remember so many of my own motorcycle rides to Sagebrush, riding on the back of my then boyfriend’s Honda V65 Magna wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and thongs—the shoe kind. Oh my gosh—how free I felt. I was a rebel—a bit of a troublemaker in those days, according to my parents. I think I agree with them.

Sagebrush was chaotic, loud, and completely alive, a sharp contrast to the structured elegance of some Sunday brunch spots like Velvet Turtle. Stamped in my mind are many core memories of having so much fun there. Sundays weren’t about what was on your plate; they were about the energy, the music, and the people you met.

Despite the celebrity visits and musician hangouts, the true stars of Sagebrush were always Sunday regulars. We know who we are—and the music. The people, the laughter, and the music wove together into something unforgettable—a kind of magic on those warm summer afternoons as we all sang American Pie in unison, voices carrying across the patio and stamping those core memories of so much fun permanently into my mind.

Closing / Reflections

From Velvet Turtle’s elegant atmosphere to El Torito’s casual energy, the high-flying 94th Aero Squadron, and the lively Sundays at Sagebrush Cantina, these spots weren’t just restaurants—they were memories etched in my mind, marking a defining season of my life in the 80s. Laughter, music, a touch of rebellion, and a hint of celebrity sparkle all blended together in true 80s style. Whether crying in Sopa de Albóndigas, us girls pretending to understand airplane ergonomics with the guys or just soaking up the cool vibes on a shaded patio, every moment was vivid, full, and unforgettable. Life—and brunch—was best enjoyed to the fullest, with a little indulgence and a lot of heart: sharing a perfect platter of tacos with my best friend or singing the chorus of American Pie with perfect strangers. Moments pile up like a landslide, and today, with yesterday gone, Sunday brunches still linger, reminding me that some moments are too rich and too fun to ever really drift away.