restaurants

I had a dream my life would be, so different from this hell I’m living

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Today is one of those days where you think you know what you are going to write.  Then you sit down at the computer and NADA.  Nothing.  

It might be because I’m tired.  Not exhausted.  Not wiped out.  Just tired. 

I haven’t written about it yet, but after 7 months, of looking, I finally found a job.  It was a very long 7 months.  As I mentioned a couple of posts ago, there are few things more daunting than entering the job market as a 60 year-old.  

I had too many first interviews to count.  But none of them seemed to land a second interview.  I can assure you my answers to the questions haven’t changed that much in the 15 years I’ve been doing this, when a second interview was almost a given.  

What was really frustrating was that every first interview I went on, and I do mean every one, I was promised a second interview.  

“Thank you for coming in.  I’ll reach out to my team and set up a second interview for you at the beginning of next week.”  

Then silence.  

There were several prospects that I was excited about.  There were many more that would have just been a way to pay the mortgage.   But alas, the choice was not mine.  

The job I finally got was handed to me on a silver platter.  Adam and I were sitting on the couch one night around 10:00 when his phone dinged.  It was a former co-worker asking him if he knew anyone looking for a management position.  He showed me the text and asked what I thought.  I said sure.  Less than a week later I was given an offer.  

Fun fact.  I interviewed with this company in 2019.  Was given an offer, and turned it down because the company I was working for at the time, gave me a big raise and a promotion to stay.  I wonder now what would have happened if I’d made the jump.  

I hate to jinx it, but I’m really liking it a lot.  The team is incredible.  There is so much laughing, and playfulness from everyone.  It’s clear they all like going to work.  That they all like the company they work for.  

It is a seasonal restaurant.   We are only open from May to October.  Right now, we are prepping to open.  With a seasonal restaurant, it’s like opening a new restaurant every year.  There are orders to place.  Employees to hire.  Training to coordinate.  Beverage lists to curate.   My friend Laura, who I love dearly, and I call this “playing restaurant.”  It’s all theoretical until the first employee clocks in and the first guest gets their martini.  Then it’s real.  

So here I am at 8:00 and I’m tired.  And the reason for this is, because we are not currently open, my schedule is 9 to 4.  It’s a more mainstream schedule, that allows for us all to be in the room together and “play restaurant.”  

Here’s the deal.  I’m not a morning person.  Adam is not a morning person.  And after 6 weeks, we have not figured out how to get to bed at a reasonable hour.  We’ve been getting to bed around 12:30, and by the time the lights are off its pushing 1:30.  I have to be up and out the door by 8:45, so that’s not a lot of time for sleep.  

I make it to work just fine, and do great, until around 4:30, and then I crash.  The first few weeks I had to take a nap when I got home.  These days I push through to bedtime, because I sleep better.  But boy, oh boy, am I tired.  

Everyone who knows me, knows that I don’t like mornings.  

But.

My first job out of college required me to be at work at 7:00 a.m.  

And I taught at the Lexington, School for Creative and Performing Arts one year and our classes started at 6:30.  My alarm would go off at 5:30, I’d shower and drive across town and be ready to teach at 6:30.  

Fun fact:  NO ONE is creative at 6:30 in the morning.  Especially not high school students.  And, there was very little heat in the theater where we taught, so imagine doing scene work with kids in parkas and hats.    

I have my current 9 to 4 schedule for 4 more weeks.  Then I go to a regular restaurant schedule with weekends, and nights and I’ll be able to sleep a little later.  

However, while I don’t like being tired, I do like being free in the evenings.  I get to have drinks and dinner with friends.  I have been able to see local theater that only plays on Friday, Saturday and Sundays.  I’ve gone to the movies.  I have dinner at home with Adam.  

It’s well worth the price of being tired to have a little more flexibility with my schedule and to have a job that I really like.   

But please don’t give me a hard time if I fall asleep watching TV tonight after dinner.  

Tonight’s prompt was tire. 

Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong

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I’d like to speak to the manager.

The first time I ever had chicken fried steak was in Memphis, Texas. Adam and I had driven from NYC to Memphis, Texas to see his family. It was a two-day drive (should have been three) that started in an intense snow storm.

If you’ve never had chicken fried steak, it is a thin cut of beef, pounded even thinner, coated in flour then pan fried, and finished with cream gravy. When done right, you should be able to cut the steak with your fork. It should also be melt in your mouth delicious.

I can still remember that day clear as anything. It was coldish, and we parked in the city square where Gloria’s restaurant was located. We got out of the car and walked toward the front door. Adam put his hand on my back and told me I was going to love it. We walk in and someone from across the restaurant says, “Hey, are you Kelly’s boy? I haven’t seen you in forever.” Adam waved and said that he was. We were told to sit where we wanted.

We grabbed a table near the middle of the restaurant, that was open. There were several other tables occupied by people enjoying a midday lunch of Texas home cooked comfort food. We looked at the menus, and Adam said he didn’t need a menu, he was getting country fried steak. I told him I was going to get the same, as I’d never had it. He assured me this would be one of the best versions I’d ever had.

A waitress came over and got our order. Two country fried steaks, and two Diet Cokes. She takes the menu and Adam gently reaches out for my hand. He squeezes it and I squeeze his back in return. We sit there talking as I look around.

It is a very simple café, no frills. Plain tables. Paper napkins. In the back of the restaurant, sat a very thin older woman, taking a drag off a cigarette. It had been a long time since I’d been in a restaurant that allowed smoking. For all I knew that might have been Gloria herself.

We sit there holding hands as he tells me what the rest of the afternoon will look like. We are going to see his cousins. He’s going to drive me around and show me the town he grew up in. And we are going to go a little further out of town and he’ll show me the house they built when he was a really little.

I wish I could say, I was relaxed and comfortable during this conversation. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I was holding a man’s hand in a VERY small, very conservative Texas town. Were we going to get beaten up?

Here’s the thing that straight people don’t deal with that the LGBT community does. Internalized homophobia. The paralyzing fear that someone might find out your deepest darkest secret.

As I tell this story, I was 43. I’d been mostly out my whole adult life. I first came out in Atlanta in 1987. But even then, there were people who didn’t know. I was secretive in my professional life. I was secretive with my parents. And I certainly wasn’t walking around holding anyone’s hand.

Yes, I said my parents. I didn’t hide the fact that I was gay from my parents. I also didn’t share the truth either. I lived in a one-bedroom apartment, with several boyfriends. My parents came to share meals at these homes. There were Advocate magazines on the coffee table. There was a rainbow postcard on my fridge. We just didn’t talk about it.

Adam was shocked when he learned this. About four weeks into us dating, he told me that we couldn’t move forward if I didn’t tell my mom about him. I wanted to ask him why.

I loved my mother as much as I could. But she was not interested in my life. She barely knew what classes I had taken in high school, let alone what I was doing in grad school. Our phone calls consisted of how’s the weather, how’s everyone doing, have you talked to so and so, and when are you coming home. She really didn’t need to know that I had a new boyfriend.

Adam was adamant.

A week before Valentine’s Day in 2009, while standing in Hell’s Kitchen on the Upper West Side, on Eighth Avenue, I told my mother I was gay. I told my her I had a date with a boy on Valentine’s Day. His name was Adam. That I liked him a lot. She was non plussed. She wasn’t surprised, but I wouldn’t say she was interested either. We talked for a few more minutes and then we hung up. That was done, I could keep my new boyfriend.

The other thing that Adam did, which I had never done before, was hold my hand everywhere we went. Walking down the street. In the grocery store. On the subway.

And eventually, in Memphis, Texas.

To say I was self-conscience, is an understatement. I learned to hold my breath and just go with it. I was convinced that we were going to get beaten up any minute. But it never happened and as the years passed, I stopped giving a fuck. About people knowing in my professional life, and about holding my boyfriend’s hand.

Now we hold hands everywhere. In the airport. In the mall. At dinner in a restaurant. In Kentucky and even in Texas. I keep my fingers crossed that we’ll never get beaten up.

I now love that he unconsciously reaches for my hand. That whenever we are together, whether at home or in public, that I’m only a few seconds away from him reaching for me. It’s comforting and loving. It’s one of the things I like most about him.

There we sat holding hands at Glorias, in Memphis Texas, when our waitress arrived with two chicken fried steaks. It was beyond delicious. I never picked up my knife, the fork cut right through it. The steak was tender. The breading was perfect. And the cream gravy might have been the best I’d ever had.

We ate, continuing to talk about what our time in Texas would look like. Holding hands the whole while.

Adam’s and my relationship is not perfect. Is anyone’s. But he’s made me a better man. And he’s done a lot to eradicate my internalized homophobia. At 61, I don’t much give a fuck anymore. If the sight of two middle aged, well one middle aged, one old man, holding hands upsets you, I really think you need to reevaluate your life.

Because at the end of the day…LOVE IS LOVE.

And sometimes it comes with a serving of the best chicken fried steak you’ve ever had, covered in white gravy.

Today’s prompt was gravy.

When you’re gone, I’ll go mad. So don’t throw away this thing we had. Cuz when push comes to shove, I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!

I’ve worked for a lot of restaurnts in my restaurant career. A LOT!

My best count if my memory serves me correctly, which is doubtful these days, is 24.

During those experiences, I worked for some amazing people. I also worked for some assholes.

Keith was an asshole.

Karen was an asshole.

Mike C. was an asshole.

Christine was an asshole.

Eddie was an asshole.

David was an asshole.

Mike S. was an asshole.

When I first started managing I decided that I would emulate the manager’s I’d had who were great. And do the opposite of the manager’s I’d had who were assholes.

I’ve already listed the managers who were assholes. The managers who were great.

Danny.

A different Karen.

Reggie.

Buddie.

Deborah.

Mary.

Follow the good ones. Deny the bad ones.

This week I posted a New Times Article about the chef at the world’s greatest restaurant. NOMA. He had defied all odds, and created something very special. The restaurant was amazing and set the gold standard.

However, the chef, Rene Redzepi, set the gold standard in EVIL. He not only verbally and emotionally abused his team. He physically abused them as well. He’d punch, slap, and hit his team with items, when he decided they had failed him in some way.

I’d love to say that I didn’t understand, but when you are getting experience in the world’s greatest restaurant you turn the other cheek.

Fuck, when you are getting experience in Maine’s best restaurants you turn the other cheek. Trust me I know. Been there done that.

One of the weirdest situations ever, was at Rafferty’s on Nicholasville Road in Lexington. The General Manager’s name was Karen and she was a beast. When you think of the hospitality industry you think of people who are hospitable. She was anything but.

The Saturday, before I quit without notice, around 6:30, she started to yell for all of the staff to meet her in the walk-in. Screaming at the top of her lungs. We all jammed into the small space. It was about 20 of us. Bartenders, servers, etc. There was no one on the floor at this point.

She began to tell us all the ways we were horrible at our jobs. This went on for a good 10 minutes before she told us that if we couldn’t go out there and do a better job then perhaps we should start looking for another job.

And out we went. I knew at the time it was a shit show, and I quit the following week.

Looking back, if I had to do it over, I’d have asked her if she as general manager wasn’t the problem if her entire staff was dropping the ball. The fish rots from the head back and she was the fish head.

In NYC, I had a manager who hated me for no reason. I requested time off to go on vacation. My request, was for the end of one schedule and the first day of the next schedule. She honored my request, but a week later scheduled me on the day I was traveling home.

I called and told the management team that I would not be there as I was traveling. When I showed up for work, for my next shift, she asked to see me, to tell me that I was going to be suspended without pay for missing my shift.

I said okay. The next day I met with the GM and dropped the word harassment about 17 times. By the time I was finished, I was not only not suspended, I was guaranteed quality shifts for the next month. PS. I got her transferred to a different restaurant but that’s another story.

When I worked in Kennebunkport (this deserves its own post) I reported an owner for inappropriate behavior and the next thing I knew I was being reprimanded in the corporate office for a whole host of things that weren’t true. When I documented my experience for HR, I was asked to change the facts so they wouldn’t get in trouble with the owner.

When I worked at David’s, I was once accused of being as bad at my job as the air traffic controllers who caused the plane crash in DC with the helicopter. My restaurant manager, walked out of the meeting, and I still am still amazed at how horribly I was treated. Fun fact, when I started working for him and employee of Adam’s told him I’d last a month as his reputation was known for being someone who was volatile and mean.

The truth is, there is still a belief that hospitality workers have no rights. They should tolerate the abuse. They should tolerate the hatred. They should tolerate the insanity. Because they aren’t as important as the owners, the chefs, the bosses.

I can’t say that I’m perfect. There are things that I’ve said that embarrassed me. BUT I have never verbally assaulted an employee. I’ve never treated my staff without respect.

In the meantime, the backlash at the chef at Noma shows how the times are changing. These horrible people are a dying breed. They have outlasted their usefulness. And hopefully will be a thing of the past very soon.

In the meantime. I ask myself what Mike, David, Karen and Christine would do. Then I do the opposite. Because I’d never want to be known as the asshole boss.

All the children of the world!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

My first real waiting tables job was at Bennigan’s in Atlanta.

At some point during my couple of years there, I decided to try and get a better waiting tables job.

One of my best friends was working at the famous Peasant restaurants and suggested I my try one of their more casual locations.

I applied.

I got hired.

I didn’t stay long. Fine dining lunch was not for me. And to make matters worse, you had to memorize the menu details. I’m sure none of you would be expecting anything less.

However, the menu was handwritten on a small chalkboard with just the items. Part of the schtick was dropping the chalkboard on the table and then spending the next ten minutes, reciting from memory, the details of the menu.

Most of the people who dined there for lunch had eaten there before. But they loved to ask you to recite away. Ten minutes in, you were still talking and the weeds were flourishing in your section.

This brings me back to the day I got hired. I’m in the dining room, and am meeting with a manager. It is between lunch and dinner.

We go through the interview, I answer all the questions, discuss my availability, etc.

She then says, so I’d like to offer you the job, but I will tell you before you accept that we have a very diverse staff. We have white, black, Asian, and some of our staff is gay. I want to know that you’ll be comfortable with that.

I laughed quietly to myself. She thought I was straight.

How sweet.

I assured her that I’d be fine with the staff, and was excited to get started.

I worked there two weeks after training, gave my notice and never went back.

Fine dining was just not for me.

Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight was busy at work.  

Very, very busy.  

We were fully staffed, and ready to go, so I actually stayed out of the way and let the team do their thing.  I was able to get payroll started for the week and catch up on a few things that I’d not done since being back from NYC.  

Around 7:30 I went upstairs, to check in with the FOH manager, who likes to call her kids around 7:30.  While we were at the host stand talking a three top walked in.  I explained that we did not have room for them, and wouldn’t have room for them for about an hour.  

The manager, tapped me on the shoulder and told me I should seat them at table 13, because the reservation for the table was already 15 minutes late and she didn’t think they were going to show.  

I looked at the three top, said what the hell, let’s gamble and roll the dice and I gave them the table. 

At this point the manager took a break from the door and I took over.  

30 seconds after she left, the reservation we thought wouldn’t show appeared in front of me.  

Fuckity, FUCK, FUCK.  

I explained that because they were late, we no longer had a table for them.  They were indignant for about 3 seconds, and then pivoted to the nice routine.  They were so suite and nice about it, that I made it work.  By giving them a table we were going to need in 20 minutes.  

I call this kicking it down the road, hoping against hope that someone along the way, will skp dessert and just pay the check and leave.  

When I told them I could get them seated, the woman I’d been speaking with asked me if I wanted a hug and a kiss.  I jokingly said, I’m not easy, you have to at least buy me dinner and a drink first.  They all laughed, and I got them seated.

5 minutes later their server appeared to let me know they had bought me a bourbon drink, as I’d explained that was my drink of my choice.  They were so sweet.  

Meanwhile, the kitchen calls for hands and I go to the window and pick up the appetizer for table 13.  I approach them and drop off the baked brie and jokingly say, you’ll never guess who walked through the door 5 minutes after I sat you.  The reservation we didn’t think would show.  

They immediately became apologetic and I assured them I didn’t tell them this to upset them, I thought it was par for the course, and that sometimes you gamble and you win and sometimes you gamble and you lose.  

The father asked me three or four times, if I was sure I didn’t need the table.  I repeatedly said, absolutely not, I only wanted them to enjoy dinner.  That’s all I needed.  

He introduced himself and then asked me to join them for dinner.  I laughed and said I had to get back to work.  We shook hands and I casually asked if they were local.  

The father and mother lived in Massachusetts and their daughter explained that she lived in Pennsylvania.  In the blue part of the state.  

I took a deep breath.  Do I respond?  Or do I let it pass.  Never, ever talk politics at work.  

However, It suddenly felt like that she’d shared the secret code word.  

I said that it was awesome that she lived in the blue part of the state and that it was a shame it wasn’t bigger this year.  She agreed and said that she had done her part.  

I replied, “So you understood the assignment.”

She said, “Not only did I understand the assignment but my in laws, who are life long Republicans also understood the assignment and voted blue for the first time in their life.  

I felt goosebumps rise on my arm.  

I told them that they were exactly who I needed to meet tonight after the week that we had.  

She also went on to say, that in her neighborhood on Monday, she had no less that 10 door knockers ring her door bell, and ask who she was voting for all canvasing for Harris.  Not one Republican came to her door, and that she’d been shocked by the results.  

I told her that I was going to tell this story on Facebook tonight, as I think it’s important for all of us to know that we are not alone.  

I thanked them again for being so nice, the father asked me again to join them for dinner, I shook his hand one more time.  Told them to keep up the good work and took my leave.  

I really did get goosebumps talking to them and it really made me smile that they thought that they could trust me and shared this with me.  

Spread the word folks. 

One man may seem incompetent, another not make sense, while others look like quite waste of company expense. They need a brother’s leadership, so, please don’t do them in. Remember mediocrity is not a mortal sin.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Management is hard.  

That’s what my friend Laura says to me, over and over and over.  

She was my first AGM when I became a manager!

She tells me often that management is hard.  

She is not wrong.  

I had the same conversation today with my front of house manager.  

I always thought the hard part would be knowing the job.  

How to do financials. 

How to manage labor.  

How to make sure the needs of the restaurant were met, like ordering trash bags, and paying the rent. 

Turns out that’s the easy part. 

The hard part is managing people.

The personalities.  

All different.  

Not unlike teaching.  

Who needs a hug? 

Who needs a scolding? 

Who needs to be sent home to breathe.  

Who needs a cheeseburger. 

Thinking back to ALLLLL of the manager’s I’ve had in my life, and it’s been a lot, there is a lot I’ve learned along the way.  

My first manager was a friend of my parents.

She fired me for being insubordinate.  

To her daughter.  

My next manager, chain smoked like a chimney.  Was about five feet tall.  Weighed about 80 pounds.  And was a firecracker.

She put up with no shit.  I followed her from the Georgetown Wendy’s to the North Park Wendy’s.  I stopped working for her when my car died and I could no longer get to Lexington.  

I always joke that when I got hired to be a restaurant GM, I sat down and said who do I want to be like. 

The name that came to mind was Mike Cook from Daryl’s restaurant in Lexington.  

Cookie.  

He was horrible

First question when you got to work was what kind of mood is Cookie in?  If he was in a bad mood, everyone was in a bad mood.  If he was in a good mood.  Everyone was in a good mood.  

He was one of the worst manager’s I ever had, because you never, ever knew who you were getting.   

And that I’ve spent the last 13 summers asking myself what would Cookie do, and then did the opposite. 

For all of my faults as a manager, the one thing that I don’t do is take out my personal mood out on my staff.  If I’m depressed?  If I’m mad about something?  I don’t yell at them.   I put a smile on my face and keep it to myself. 

Last summer, was the first time, I developed crack in my facade.

I had employees who could see the pain.  They helped as much as they could, but to no avail.  

In the past though I’ve had lots of good, and lots of bad manager.  

I’ve had managers who played with my schedule.  

I asked for 10 days off at the Hard Rock.  

The 10th day fell on the beginning of the next schedule.  

I went away on my trip, and didn’t show up for day 10 because why would I be scheduled.  

I was told I was being fired for a no call – no show.  

It took about 10 minutes in the GM’s office dropping the word harassment, and discrimination 17 times, for that decision to be reversed.  

The manager who played with my schedule was transferred about 6 weeks later because of me.  

While I’m on the subject of the Hard Rock, two of the best GM’s I ever worked with were there.  Great attitude.  Fair treatment.  Listened.  Cared.  Treated the staff like gold.  

Back to the subject.  

Managing is hard.  

Managing restaurants is especially hard.  

And it’s truly not for the feint of heart.  

I’ve learned a lot over the past 14 summers.  

Do I still fuck up?

Of course.

Back in 2014 I made a rule for myself.  

If I snap at an employee… 

I buy them a beer at the end of the shift.  

Not literally.

Because that would be illegal.

What I do, is take 20 dollars out of my pocket and give it the employee, to buy themselves a beer after work.  

And I ALWAYS apologize. 

ALWAYS

I usually only have a couple of occurrences a year.  

I won’t tag her in the post, but one of my favorite employees of my GM days, was a girl who hosted for me.  

We butted heads a lot. 

She gave her notice at the end of the third summer, in a letter to my boss.  

She gave him all the reasons that she hated me and that was the reason she was quitting.  

Fast forward six months, and she is working in a restaurant, in another state, and she texts me to say that she was sorry.  

She was wrong about me. 

After working in a restaurant, with actual bad management, she realized that I was quite fair in my expectations.  Was pretty clear in what I wanted.  

And wasn’t so bad after all. 

Since then, she has finished her degree, has two kids and I love watching her grow from 8 states away.    

She is not the only person to share the same sentiments with me.   

To end the story, she was the last customer I spoke to on October 29, 2017 the night before we all lost our jobs.  She was in town visiting and had come to the restaurant to see me.  She sat at seat 51 at the Front Bar and we chatted.  

She left.

I went home.  

The next day when I got to work, the locks were being changed and yellow envelopes were being handed out.

I was told, it’s just business.  

It’s not personal.  

But that’s another story.    

Give it to me quick. Or drop it in a dish.  Slip it in my pocket, I won’t mind that a bit.  Leave it on the table, I know just where you sit, don’t you bother come back if you haven’t left a tip.  

/ fightmasterwrites / 1 Comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I haven’t posted a real restaurant post in a while.

So here goes.  

I may have written about this, but it was two years ago, so hopefully if I did you don’t remember it. 

Tonight, on the Facebook, a friend posted that she didn’t like dining out with friends who give the waiter a hard time.  

One of her friends commented that she wouldn’t even send something back if it came out wrong.  And said she’d ordered a burger medium well, it came out mooing so she ate her fries and left the burger.  

First and foremost, you should never be afraid to send something back.  Restaurants get it wrong.  We know this.  We undercook or overcook a steak.  We forget that the dressing is supposed to be on the side.  We miss the note that you wanted no onion and tomato and you get the whole set up. 

These things happen.  

Just politely call your server over, explain the problem and know that it will be a minute before you get what you wanted.  The key is to not be an asshole.  But always, always, get what you ordered.  We want that.  It’s fundamental to who we are.  If the restaurant gives you a hard time, it says more about their hospitality program than you.  

That being said, also remember that sometimes you make the mistake.  You ordered the chicken when you meant the steak.  You forgot the dressing on the side.  You ordered pinot noir when you meant pinot grigio.  

So always own that as well. 

So.  

Two years ago, this fall, I went home to Kentucky for the first time since my mom died.  2018 – 2022.  

I saw the relatives.  I saw friends.  

I visited my Aunt Doo in her nursing home, picked her up and took her to Jim’s Seafood in Frankfort, Kentucky.  It has beautiful views of the water, and serves up the best fried frozen food in the area.  It was her favorite restaurant.   Adam and I love it, as who doesn’t love fried food.  

My aunt order fried banana peppers, and even got an order to go when we left to take back to the nursing home. 

We spent the afternoon laughing, and after lunch we drove around looking at the beautiful Kentucky countryside. 

When we got back to the nursing home, she begged me not to take her back to jail.  She laughed.  I laughed.  We all laughed.  

I got her back to her room.  Said goodbye and that I’d see her tomorrow for lunch again.  

At 7:00 a.m. the next morning, I received a call that my Aunt Doo had died in her sleep, overnight.  

I like to think she was holding on till I got home as it had been four years since I’d seen her.  We were super close, and I was one of a few people who remembered to call her on her birthday, and send her flowers.  

Adam is convinced the fried banana peppers killed her.  He also was the last to hug her when we left.  He was touched that she wanted to hug him.  She’d accepted him into our family from the very beginning. When we chatted on the phone she always asked about him, something my mother never did.  

That morning, after we gathered at the nursing home to say our goodbyes, my Aunt Debbie, Adam, and I went for a late breakfast at the Cracker Barrell.  It was my idea, as I wanted breakfast, it was close by and we just needed some place to unpack the previous 24 hours.  

We get there, are seated, and order breakfast.  

The server is cute as a button, and very sweet.  You can tell she is new, and a little nervous.  We’ve all been there, and didn’t think anything of it.  

Our food took a while, enough that we were starting to comment on it, but once again, we only noticed because we were hungry, not because we were impatient.  

Finally, the food is carried out of the kitchen.  In fact, like 12 people come out of the kitchen at the same time, all carrying food. 

The food is placed on the table. 

It takes about 90 seconds to realize this is not what we ordered.  It’s kind of what we ordered.  But not really what we ordered.  

We look across the dining room and realize that our order, and the table across from us have had parts of our orders mixed up.  

We decide to go with it.  We don’t expect them to recook two orders.  We are hungry.  And so, we eat.  

The manager comes by to apologize and we assure her that all is well.  We are hungry.  The food is good.  And none of that is a lie.  

We finish eating.  Drink our 5th cup of coffee.  And we realize that we need to get on with our days. 

We ask for the check.  

The server brings it over, and we realize that it is not what we ordered.  It’s not what we ate.  It’s an entirely different check.  

And I said fuck it, we are not giving the new girl a hard time.  

And I paid the check.  And I tipped 25%.  

And we all went to the parking lot, where we hugged extra hard, and extra loving.  Said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.  

So, to summarize.  

We ordered food.  We got different food.  And we paid for food that was neither what we ordered or what we ate.  

And fun fact.  I didn’t complain.  I didn’t yell.  I made no one feel stupid.  

And why you ask?  

Because life is fucking short. 

Do you really need to get upset that the dressing is on your salad?  Do you need to get upset that your steak is 1* past the temp that you ordered?  Do you need to get upset that your egg is over medium, instead of over easy? 

That day was not the day.  

We needed to have a place to unwind.  To unpack and be with each other.  

Adam and I have sent things back.  In Boston, we got something we didn’t order.  We asked for it to be corrected, and it was.  Once, we got a bad bottle of wine.  We mentioned it, they corrected it.  

There is absolutely, no reason to give the waiter at your table a hard time.  

Not even in jest.  

Waiting tables is not for the faint of heart.  

It’s not for the meek.  

You get beat up every day.  Every day.  

Not to mention the number of people who ask what your real job is?

Love that one.  

I had a server come to me crying because a “bro” asked her if her parents were proud that she was using her college degree waiting tables.   

Those of you feeling obligated to challenge me on the tipping structure in America. Don’t.  It’s the way we do things.  Change it.  

Those who don’t think it’s a hard job.  

You are the same folks who complain about your five-year old driving you crazy.  

I challenge you to just watch what the servers and bartenders are doing.  

They are managing four to five, to ten tables.  They are keeping all their balls in the air.  They a remembering your extra ranch, your blue cheese olives, and the change you need for the valet.  

They have gotten all the drinks to the table, without spilling them.  They remembered the 6 different kinds of martinis your guests ordered.  And they even remembered the birthday candle for your husband who’s birthday is three months away, because you just wanted to embarrass him.  

I watch my team every day, and am amazed at how talented they are.  

Of course, sometimes, I have to remind them that grandpa Jeff, back in the 00’s, was just as talented.  They don’t believe me, but my HRC folks can assure them that I indeed handled station 12 with no station 11 which was a counter with 10 chairs and 5 four tops.  And I kicked ass, ran no food, pushed people out of my way, and made a living for 5 years.  Selling 3,500 dollars a night in 15-dollar cheeseburgers.  

At the end of the day.  

Just be kind.  

That is all.  

When in doubt.  

Just be kind.  

When I think of home, I think of a place where there’s love overflowing

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

May 27th is an important day in the life of Jeff and Adam.

12 years ago today, with our truck packed, we drove north to Maine.

On the 26th, several of our friends from Maine came down to help us finish packing and oversee the movers loading our truck.

Around 10:00, on May 27th, we left NYC.

Adam was mad at me because I wouldn’t let him drive the truck. He hadn’t driven much in the previous 15 years and I was worried he’d wreck it.

It took about 6 hours to get to Maine.

When we got here, we parked our truck at our new apartment, and went to our friend’s home where we were served up steak and lobster. It was an awesome welcome to Portland. (We had steak because at the time, I didn’t eat lobster).

That night, was the last night we slept at our friend’s Michelle and Lisa’s home. We’d spent countless nights there prior to moving. We’d show up every 3 months or so, and would spend a long weekend. We’d hang out with their friends, who are now our dearest and closest friends.

The next day, the movers came and unloaded the truck. Everything survived the move in one piece.

We were exhausted at the end of the first day, and went out for dinner. I know this because somewhere I have a photo of that dinner.

The following days were spent unpacking and arranging our new life.

I have so many photos I want to include with this post, but alas, the files are not labeled, and they no longer have their original date as I just downloaded them from a computer from 2008.

A couple of days ago, I saw a meme about moving without a plan.

That is exactly what Adam and I did. We’d planned to move in September, after banking money for the summer. But we found a place, the moons aligned, and we moved at the end of May.

It was a tough first year.

I was hired for a lighting gig, that fell through. Adam was working a job, that proved to be lucrative, but took a while to get there.

I was unemployed for 6 months.

Then, we turned a corner.

I got a job.

Adam got promoted.

We bought a house.

We got cats.

We planted roots.

And 12 years later here we are.

I can’t imagine moving again at this point. We love our home. We love our jobs. We love each other.

So, take my advice, if you long to see the world, put your shit in a truck and go.

It’s gotta happen, happen sometime. Maybe this time, I’ll win

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Was I wrong?  

Tonight, I actually asked to speak to the manager.  

Adam and I sometimes have chicken Caesar salads.  

And we discovered a while back, that it’s easier to pick up Popeye’s chicken than it is to cook our own.  

Adam suggested salads tonight, and so drove to the Popeye’s out by the mall to pick up chicken.  

I ordered the chicken.  Get to the window and pay for the chicken.

I’m handed my chicken. 

At this point, I remember that I forgot to order a biscuit for Adam.  

I ask the guy at the window to buy a window.  

He tells me that I need to drive around, get in line, and order again.

I say seriously?

He says yes.

I say, seriously?

He says yes?

I ask to the speak to the manager.

He comes to the window, says, 1 buscuit?  

I say yes, he says that will be $1.50.

I give him the money. 

He gives me the biscuit.

The whole exchange took 90 seconds.  

So here is the question…

Was I wrong for not driving around.

Or was it silly for them to ask me to drive around for a 90 second transaction.  

Meanwhile, I have an appointment to get my hair frosted and cut into a Karen cut tomorrow.  

Food Glorious Food!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Our trip to NYC this trip was unlike many of the others.  

We saw more shows.  

We had lunch out most days instead of dinner.  

And this brings me to lunch on Thursday.  

It was an experience to last a lifetime.  

We dined at Le Bernardin. 

Le Bernardin is a 3-star Michelin restaurant.  Voted number 1 restaurant in NYC over and over.  And is 26th on restaurants world-wide.  

Adam made the reservations a while ago, as soon as they became available on the day we wanted to go. Lunch on a Thursday, so that we’d have nowhere to be.  

We arrived last Thursday, right at 12:15, the time of our reservation.  It feels silly, now that the experience is behind us, but we both felt a little nervous.  

We are both in the business.  We dine out a lot.  

But there’s a nice lunch, and then there’s A NICE lunch.  

I was afraid I was underdressed, as I was not wearing a jacket.  But alas, I was not the only jacket free person in the dining room.  

We arrived, and from the moment we sat down, we knew the experience was going to be special.  

Unlike anything we’d ever done before.  

We were led to our table, where the chairs were pulled out for us.  The settings were exquisite.  And everyone exuded hospitality, from the host who sat us, to the sommelier, to the person, who kept clearing our plates, and bringing us new ones.  

I joked after the fact that we were given plates twice that we never used.  The initial place setting was taken away, as soon as we ordered bubbles to start.  The plate that replaced it was taken away, just before the bread was delivered to the table.  

The bubbles were delivered promptly, we were asked if we were doing the tasting menu, or ala carte.  We chose the tasting menu, and looking around the dining room we were the only guests doing so.  We also chose the wine pairings as well. 

We sipped bubbles and snacked on salmon rillettes.    

And soon we were off. 

Tuna-Urchin

Tuna-Tartare-Sea Urchin Toast; Jus de Viande

Albariño, Leirana, Rodrigo Mendez, Rías Baixas, Spain 2022

Langoustine

Seared Langoustine; Foie Gras-Cabbage Confit, Truffled Consommé

Riesling, Van Volxem, Wiltinger Ortswein, Saar, Germany 2021

Japanese Madai

Baked Madai; Fennel-Olive and Citrus Medley

Sauce Barigoule

Palomino Fino, Bodegas Luis Pérez, La Escribana, Andalucia, Spain 2022

Salmon-Caviar

Slowy Baked Salmon; Royal Osetra Caviar, Horseradish Emulsion

Bollinger, La Grande Année, Aÿ, Brut, Champagne, France 2014

Dover Sole

Pan Roasted Dover Sole; Green Olives, Toasted Almonds

Aged Sherry Wine Emulsion

Chardonnay, Evening Land Vineyards, Seven Springs, Willamette Valley, Oregon 2022

Halibut

Steamed Halibut; Baby Spring Vegetables

Red Wine Nage

Clos du Roi, Beaune Premier Cru, Domaine Chanson, Burgundy, France 2020

Rhubarb

Poached Rhubarb, Vanilla-Scented Chantilly

Bugey-Cerdon, La Cueille, Patrick Bottex, Savoie, France NV

Peruvian Dark Chocolate

Warm Peruvian Chocolate Tart, Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream

Taylor Fladgate, 20 Year Tawny, Portugal

Each dish was better than the next.

The pacing was perfect.   Plates dropped.  Plates cleared.  

New glasses dropped at the table.  They left the old ones for a while, so for about 30 minutes it looked as though we’d had four glasses of wine each.  

The sommelier would stop by, describe the wine, pour two glasses and move on.   

We didn’t take a lot of photos because we didn’t want to appear to be THOSE people.  

But Adam did snap a few photos, and we had one of the server assistants take a quick photo of us.  

In all we were there for three hours, although it felt like about 90 minutes. 

The other thing that was interesting, was that the food was all approachable.  There was nothing weird, or outrageous that made you go yuck.   It was all delicious and prepared wonderfully.  

It’s not a meal we’ll repeat again, anytime soon.  

But I will look forward to the day that we do. 

PS.  It was interesting, looking around the dining room.  We got the feeling that most everyone there was just out for lunch on a Thursday.  There were business meetings going on.  20 somethings just going about their business.  For most of our fellow diners I really don’t think it was a special occasion.