Pride and Parents

My body hurts. Badly. Everywhere, and that includes my head. My eyes don’t want to open, and they don’t really have to yet, atleast I don’t think they do. The humming of lawn mowers innocuously blare in the background, and my thoughts are that it is still early. Yesterday was another 18 hour day, and I keep thinking that pretty soon this is all going to catch up to me. Maybe it will at some point…..
I have since , crawled out of bed and into my car and headed to work for our monthly bar clean. It is over now and I sit at the bar and reflect on the past week with a mimosa, my laptop, and golf whispering in the background behind me.
I have lived here for nearly two years and am well on my way to making some of my dreams a reality. I wanted to be a restaurant owner by the time I was 30 and, with hard work, dedication and a little help along the way that dream has been realized. My parents came into town for the first time this past week, and while anxious and somewhat emotional, I was incredibly proud to show them my first restaurant. I cooked them lunch as they wandered around the restaurant inspecting the art, perusing the menu and talking about what was, partly mine. I constructed a couple sandwiches for them, plated them with chips, walked them over and explained exactly what they were, and grabbed a seat next to Cheryl, my adoring and ever gracious stepmom. They ate, and we caught up on life - how things were going back home, how I was liking life here and the whole time they seemed to be smiling at what I had made for them. It is hard to describe the emotion that shot through me on that first day my parents came into my restaurant. If nothing else, it shows me that I am doing the right thing with my life, and that moving up here, while risky and uncertain, has paid off. I can rest now, knowing that my parents are proud of the steps I am making towards the future, but I won’t rest, because this is only the beginning. It seems ironic to me that, the very same day my dad and Cheryl came in for lunch to see the restaurant, was also my Mother’s Birthday. She would have been sixty, and though she couldn’t be here to see it, I know she is looking down with a smile.
The rest of the day I showed them around town, and drove the streets of the beach community where my Dad and Cheryl both grew up, though none of it had any sense of familiarity to them. All of the nostalgia has been replaced with over-commercialized streets that are lined with tourist ridden sidewalks, shops and restaurants. We had dinner and drinks and enjoyed each other’s company, which came all too brief, when we hugged at the end of the night.
The next morning as I was putting the final touches on my Cream of Mushroom soup for lunch service, Cheryl wandered up to the door. Her and my dad were on their way to the airport, and wanted to say goodbye one last time. I hugged her, as my dad smiled from the rental car in front of me, and we embraced for a couple of moments. I then thought about our wonderful time yesterday, what exactly it meant that they came to see me, and how this emotion could be translated into the future. My dad beckoned her, and I offered my thanks for them stopping in. I told her to wait momentarily and I ran into the kitchen quickly, poured some of the soup into a carryout cup for her, blew them a kiss, and wandered back inside where the hot kitchen was again waiting for me. We got busy over the next couple of hours and it wasn’t until after the lunch rush that I got the message, “Soup was delicious Kiddo.”
All along I knew this was the right move, I just needed this to help realize that. The future is mine, and the possibilities are endless….For now, it is back to the cutting board……
CH.

Sandwich = Happiness

I just got off the phone with my cousin, Courtney, who in a lot of ways is like myself. I think we both felt the pressure, as we worked our way through college and trying to figure ourselves out, to live the lives of our fathers have - the lives of picket fences that are bought with stock dividends, Country Club memberships that are granted through work relationships, and the notion that driving expensive cars seems to convey one's level of education. Hell, we both went to some of the best schools in the country, had great jobs, but weren't happy doing what we were supposed to be doing. So, we talked about 3Way coming a reality, and how she recently finished a week long seminar on opening a Coffee shop. I am excited for her, and regardless hope she follows in the way of her dreams. I can't begin to describe how important it is to spend your life at work being happy, and feeling fulfilled. Literally, today - they highlight of my day was one sandwich.
King Matt, a friend of the downtown Norfolk community and an employee at two of our other restaurants came in to 3Way for lunch, ordered a Corned Beef and Swiss Sandwich, with one request and that was to leave off the Mustard. I, smiled back at him, "Dude, the mustard literally makes the sandwich...." His hungover eyes offered no rebuddle, but I pulled the meat out of the fridge, emptied it from the portion bag and slathered it over the hot griddle, which sizzled and screamed as the two contrasting temperatures played games with each other. I grabbed a handful of previously caramelized onions and tossed them amongst the meat, and laid two pieces of jewish rye bread face down, in order to create a buttery sear on the outside of the bread. I momentarily neglected the sandwich as I was prepping a soup for tomorrow, and when I returned, everything looked perfect. I mounted the sandwich with grace, placed a slice of swiss cheese centrally across the bread and meat, and gave it the chance to melt in our convection oven for a couple of moments. I don't think I have ever seen a more beautiful toasted piece of bread. The shear goodness of a buttery shine bounced off the flesh of the rye and swiss cheese began to drape itself around the meat, infringing on the bottom piece of bread. I delicately relocated the sandwich onto my cutting board as I took it out of the oven, inserted frill picks into either side of the sandwich, and, on the slightest of biases cut through the sandwich. It was one of the most beautiful sandwiches I have ever made, and it was simple - nothing special or unordinary about it. I plated it with a pile of parmesan-cracked peppercorn chips and eyed the sandwich as I walked it over to Matt. I smiled at him again, and wandered over to the soda fountain for some Diet Coke. A moment or two later I walked back passed him, and he said this - "Chris, ya know I left my house a couple of minutes ago, and thought where do I wanna go? How about 3Way I.... then I Got here and was still unsure of what I wanted.... then I ordered this sandwich and you were giving me shit for leaving off the mustard, and thought is that what I realy want? I just took the first bite, and I am pretty sure I knew all along what exactly it is I wanted, I just didn't know it would be this damn good." I smiled at him and walked back to the cook's line where I needed to tend to the soup I was working on.
So, ya that is a story about making a sandwich, but when it comes down to it, it is all about caring - caring for the ingredients you are working with, and caring for your customers. For me, it is all about making people happy.....

The Last Month.....

I haven't had the chance to sit down and write in some time now. The blarring of Chunk from The Goonies voice is on the TV behind me as I flip my perfectly golden egg-white omelette...My toast smells lightly browned, and the heat from the oven slips out and into my face as I open the door to retrieve the buttery potato bread. I just now realize I haven't turned the TV on at home in probably a month. Maybe longer. My legs hurt, and I haven't been to the gym in 5 days. I feel old, and am waiting for gray hairs to pop through my scalp, and for a doctors visit that is laden with blood pressure medicine. The last month has been a whirlwind of excitement. I am more behind on laundry and cleaning than I ever thought imaginable, and I have been a bad friend, brother, son and Uncle. So, sorry guys. Our sandwich shop,the 3Way Cafe transformed from merely an idea into a restaurant, and it happened through dedication, working 18 hour days and ceaseless vision. We opened this past Monday, and I was exhausted after having worked all weekend at Baxter's, then spent 12 hours on Sunday prepping the kitchen - making soups and sauces, and portioning meats for what would be our first lunch the next morning. I made a Southwest Broccoli and Cheese Soup, and Chix Tortilla garnished with fresh Salsa, and a Balsamic Glazed French Onion Soup. After about a week, I realized how old it can become to make three soups everyday in an unorganized and cluttered kitchen. Everyday as we were closing up, my soups simmered away, and as I pulled my phone out to check the time, I had a handful of missed calls, twice as many text messages, and knew I was going to be late for work at Baxter's. I have always said, well, that's the life of a restaurant manager. Now, I can atleast replace manager with "owner". Hard work and dedication pays off. This is only the beginning....