A field guide to the wild parrots

The patio flock treats Sierra Madre like its personal amphitheater. The birds arrive green, loud, and entirely unbothered by whatever conversation was happening before them. They have the confidence of regulars who know no one will ask them to leave.

These are red-crowned parrots, the dominant parrot species around the San Gabriel Valley. Their local populations descend from birds that escaped or were released from captivity decades ago, then made a life here with remarkable conviction. The full backstory has accumulated a few neighborhood legends, but the broader history is well documented in this LA field guide.

You will often hear them before you see them. The sound is less melodic birdsong and more urgent committee meeting. Calls overlap, answers come from several trees away, and suddenly a green streak crosses above Sierra Madre Boulevard with a dozen companions close behind.

Mornings are a good time to catch them moving through town. Dusk brings another round of activity as flocks gather, call, circle, and settle somewhere beyond the patio. Their schedule is not exact. Parrots, apparently, do not consult our opening hours, though we are here from 7:30 to 4 every day if you would like to improve your odds with coffee.

Field note: Red-crowned parrot

Identification: Mostly green, with a red forehead that becomes easier to spot when the bird lands and turns toward the light. In flight, look for a compact silhouette, quick wingbeats, and several friends arriving at once.

Call: Bright, sharp, repetitive, and difficult to ignore. If you wonder, “Was that the parrots?” the answer is usually yes.

They are social birds, which explains much of the commotion. A flock in motion keeps in contact through calls, and a flock perched in a tree can sound like it is reviewing several agenda items at full volume. There are quiet moments, but they tend to be brief and suspicious.

The easiest way to watch is to stop trying too hard. Choose a patio table, order something from the menu, and let the morning unfold. A Pour Over rewards patience. A Flat White keeps things simple. A Bee Keeper gives you something a little more spirited while the flock conducts business overhead.

A Butter Croissant also helps. We cannot claim that laminated dough improves bird identification, but it improves most situations adjacent to bird identification. Pull apart a flaky corner, keep your eyes on the trees, and wait for the next burst of green.

Patio etiquette is straightforward: the parrots win. If they interrupt your conversation, pause. If they choose the tree above your table, accept the seating arrangement with dignity. If they drown out the sentence you were halfway through, you may begin again when the board meeting adjourns.

Please do not feed them. Wild birds do best with the food and routines they find on their own, and our pastries are intended for human regulars, even the Morning Bun. Watch from a respectful distance, keep crumbs managed, and give any bird on the ground plenty of room.

Field note: Patio flock, active

Habitat: The highest branch available, preferably one positioned directly above people attempting a quiet breakfast.

Behavior: Arrives without reservation. Announces itself. Rearranges the mood of the entire block. Leaves before anyone has reached a conclusion.

Their color can be surprisingly hard to see among leaves. Green disappears into green, especially when the flock goes still. Watch for movement near the outer branches, then look for the flash of red around the head. Binoculars are welcome, though a patient pair of eyes and a comfortable chair work nicely.

If the birds are only passing overhead, follow their direction rather than chasing the sound. They may land a block away, or keep moving across town in a loose, noisy line. Sometimes the sighting lasts ten seconds. That still counts.

There is something reassuring about their disregard for human volume settings. Sierra Madre can be going about its morning—doors opening, cups landing on saucers, someone deciding between Avocado Toast and a Morning Bun—and the parrots arrive as if the whole foothill belongs to them. For a few minutes, it does.

We like the patio because it leaves room for this kind of interruption. Coffee asks you to slow down enough to notice what is already happening. Sourdough does too. Fermentation and lamination both resist being hurried, and the parrots seem to have their own stubborn sense of timing.

So come in the morning, or linger nearby toward dusk after we have closed. Listen first. Look toward the treetops second. Then settle in with your drink and allow the local wildlife to be louder than you planned.

They will not pose. They will not keep a reasonable volume. They may vanish just as you point them out to someone else. Honestly, what professionals.