11 hours later, I am standing in the dish pit in the kitchen.

Everyone’s gone home, the remaining silence a welcome respite from the night’s events.  It’s my favorite time of the shift. The only sound punctuating the stillness is the spray hose attached to the sink, the one I’m using to blast away a day’s worth of grease, food particles and God only knows what else from the bottom of my slip-resistant shoes.  My knees are blasted from walking a 17,000 square foot building for hours on end…ears ringing from the cacophony of loud chatter from guests in the dining room, the shouting of cooks back and forth, the rock music blaring, dropped dishes or bar glasses hitting the floor. My eyes are bloodshot and tired from too much caffeine, too much kitchen smoke, too much squinting at menu orders on paper chits endlessly chattering from the kitchen printer.

As I spray away, I reflect on the shift.  The kitchen went down hard tonight, worst night in a while for those guys.  I spent a lot of my time kissing the collective asses of our guests, comping checks while swearing under my breath, wondering why I still do this to myself.  It’s not their fault; we were two men down and Saturday night is the great equalizer in all restaurants:  you better have your shit straight or else.  

When I got home at 3am to a quiet house and a much-needed glass of Maker’s, I started to reflect. I began thinking about my career in this industry, which led me back to my first true management gig: The Full Moon Cafe.  

This legendary Tulsa favorite was my home for 2 years in the early ‘90s.  While it’s $1.5M annual sales were much more humble than what I’m running now, it was a very popular place in a town with a lot of competition.

Change is inevitable, however, and the iconic bar and grill on Cherry Street is no more.  Last week, the owner shut the place down after health department concerns, vendor threats and lack of staff.  Allegedly he was not paying his bills, nor his workers, on time.  The Broken Arrow location still exists but the blood is in the water I fear…

My memories of the Full Moon circa 1992-94 bear some resemblance to the one that just shuttered but the patio was added on later and someone thought dueling pianos were a great idea after I left.  During my time, though, it was just an honest bar and grill serving up American classics.

My favorite time of the day was always in the morning, before we opened. The steam from the tilt skillet, the smell of coffee that everyone is pounding at 6am, the cooks fighting over the radio. It’s a rattle and hum that existed only in that place and at that time. 

We had monthly soirees held to celebrate the lunar cycle.  We executed them like New Year’s Eve events, down to the cheap hats and noisemakers.  We always had a live band, and at a few seconds before midnight we would count down from 10 and then pour free champagne.  One month the owners arranged, without warning, for a local high school marching band to come roaring through the middle of the crowd.  It was awesome.

Full Moon was also the place that had a “Women’s” bathroom sign on the inside of the Men’s restroom door.  Upon finishing their “business”, the guys would head towards the door only to see the Women’s sign and panic, thinking they had been in the wrong bathroom.  It was the same for the women’s bathroom as well.  Good times.

I remember the night we re-painted the entire inside of the restaurant. Procuring volunteers and opening the beer taps we cranked up the stereo and went to work.  After 8 hours the fumes from the dark green paint mixed with exhaustion and more than a few pints had us all cranky but we completed the task about an hour before we opened that day.  

There was a cottage in the back parking lot that we used for storage and where bad behavior took place and was most likely encouraged…

We sold these great tee-shirts with the FM logo on the front; on the back was our famous saying “You Can’t Be First But You Could Be Next!”.  I’m sure they were talking about being next on the moon, but in that phrase existed a bit of innuendo when discussing a particularly attractive customer or new employee. The staff wore these shirts as well and we would do special tees for different one-off events: anniversaries, charity events or “Blue Moon Parties” (a blue moon is the 2nd full moon in a one-month period. They don’t happen often hence the saying “once in a blue moon”).  A boyfriend of one of the bartenders also made tie-dye versions of these shirts which were a huge hit.  

While I’m twenty years and many restaurants removed from Tulsa, the Full Moon holds a special spot in my soul.  It was the first time I was trusted with running a business for someone.  It was the first time I lived on my own; 1200 miles away from my family back in Vegas, that post-college feeling of freedom taking hold. I was in charge of booking live music for the place; Tulsa has some amazing musicians who maybe won’t ever get their due outside of Oklahoma, but are gifted nonetheless. Many were the night I would go to a little bar or even someone’s backyard to hear an unknown player in anticipation of booking them for the FM. I didn’t have any experience with these types of responsibilities…but the owners and the staff and even the town had a faith in me that I didn’t yet have in myself.    

The crew was amazing:  Russell, Karen, Brian Holland, MaryJo, Amy K, Amy E, Amy M, Sheila, Wendy, Brian Hughes, Sara, Jason, Debra, January, Cinnamon, Zak, Natalie, Shelly,Jock, Shad, Mike, Anna, Teena, Sheryl, Hal, Greg and Kelli. Great memories of after parties and late night beer runs.  There was a cadre of regulars that will most likely move on to one of Tulsa’s other many watering holes, but will hopefully always remember good times on Cherry Street.

Farewell to a classic.

(NOTE: read: “Howling at the Full Moon Cafe” September 2014).

PS: Here’s a link to the Tulsa World story about the closing

http://www.tulsaworld.com/scene/food/full-moon-cafe-closes-its-doors-on-cherry-street/article_d5f4117e-fc49-5bad-aa16-3f8e13a52c9d.html

The other day I read that Naugles, the once-legendary West Coast mexican fast-food chain, had reopened to the public. Shuttering its last location in 1995, the expired trademark (once owned by Del Taco) was purchased by a local Orange County entrepreneur/Macho Burrito fan who jumpstarted Naugles’ rise from the ashes last week with a reboot in Fountain Valley, about 20 minutes from my house.  Demand for their tacos, burritos and other favorites was so high on (re)opening day that they had to close down until they figured out some supply/procurement issues.  Imagine if you will In-N-Out (for you CA readers) or Whataburger (hi Texas) closing down for two decades and re-opening.

This is almost like that.

I will be venturing over very soon for an Ortega burger, cheese burrito with green sauce or a bun taco.

I was a big fan of the Naugles in North Vegas not far from my house and right across the street from VideoTyme, a small VHS rental store that presaged the rise of Blockbuster.  I worked at VideoTyme just over a year, and would visit Naugles on a regular lunch-break basis.  A few highlights:

Being in Vegas, we of course had a small and tucked away Adult Film section in the store.  Situated between Dramas and Family Comedy, this area always seemed to have one person perusing the titles and ogling the full-color box covers.  One day, news broke that Traci Lords, popular adult film actress, was found to have been 15 years old when she made some of her first films. This, of course, was (and is) against the law so that night the owners had to come in and take all of her movies off of the shelves, including the ones that she made after she became a legal adult.  Not long after they got rid of that area all together, not waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Then there was the day we got Top Gun.  Released in 1986, the movie was a smash hit and anticipation for VHS rentals were high. So high, in fact, that the owners of VideoTyme purchased something like 200 copies to rent out. Then they panicked, thinking they overspent and came up with a plan:  we would play Top Gun in the store on continuous loop, all day every day, in order to drive interest to our customers about this movie.  God help you if as a clerk you didn’t have a rewinded copy ready to jack into the machine the instant the movie ended.

Thats “Highway To The Danger Zone”…that’s Goose and Maverick singing “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling”…that’s a fitter Val Kilmer…over and over and over and over and over.  Lucky!

Back at Naugles one lunch break, I met a girl who worked there and we ended up dating for a couple months.  All I really remember is that she had dark hair and always smelled like fried tortilla chips.  She would hook me up from time to time with a free Coke or Macho Taco.  I last saw her after her mom kicked her out of the house and she was going to go live with her dad, but stopped by my house to borrow money.  Always wonder what happened to her.

My main memory of Naugles was the day I almost got shanked. At VideoTyme, there was an woman in her 40’s named Mary that was a clerk like I was.  We got along pretty well and me being 20 at the time, I think she looked at me like a son; we would talk about world events and I thought she was matronly but hipper than most.  She was married to man who would come in to the store once in a while.  Not as friendly as his wife but I felt like we got on pretty well.

One day, I was getting ready to go on break and head across the street for a macho burrito (green sauce, no rice) and told Mary that I would be back in 30 minutes.  I then put my hand on her shoulder in a friendly “see-you-later” way.  Bad idea..

So I’m sitting at one of their brown and orange tables when Mary’s husband sits down across from me.  Strange, I thought, but in the naivete’ that was a big part of my makeup in those early days, I didn’t think anything of his presence.  Maybe he was hungry for a Naugleburger or one of their wet-style burritos.

“Hey man”, I said. “What’s up?” I had paid for my order and was just sitting there waiting for my food.

“Hey David.  Why are you touching my wife?”

“What?!?!  What are you talking about dude?” I exclaimed.

Just as I said that I felt a scrape of metal against my bare leg.  It was summer in Vegas and I was wearing shorts.  I pushed back in fear and confusion and saw that he was holding a small folding knife in his hand, and he had lightly touched me with the tip of the knife to get my attention.  I was like WTF?! and jumped out of my seat and through the door to their patio.  He came after me and was screaming “don’t touch my wife again or I’ll kill you”.  Now I was pretty sturdy in 1986 but I was no match for some freaked-out, pissed-off man with a knife wanting to rearrange my breathing status thinking, in error, that I was making a play for his spouse.  I ran down the street and towards home.  He tried to come after me but realized he was not going to catch a terrified kid  who saw his short life flash before his eyes.

I made it to my house in about 10 minutes where my father was working in the front yard. Breathlessly I blurted out what had just happened and my dad just nodded.  He dropped the wrench he was holding.

“Get in the car” is all he said.

We drove back to VideoTyme, parked and my dad went into the store.  He asked me to point out Mary, who was working behind the counter.  My dad walked up to her.

“I’m David’s dad..where is your husband?”  A look of confusion and alarm came over her face.

“Why do you ask??”

“Where is your husband?”, is all he repeated.

“Well I’m not sure”, she said and then looked at me.  “What’s going on, David”

“Mary, haven’t we always got along?  Haven’t I always been respectful to you? Well your husband pulled a knife on me across the street at Naugles saying ‘don’t touch you ever again’. What the hell?!?,” I blurted out in record time.

She then looked like she wanted to cry as she shook her head..  I took from this that something similar had happened before, that he was a loose cannon, overly jealous of any man who came in contact with his wife.  It explained his sullen demeanor whenever he came to see Mary at the store.  It explained his glare at any male customer that Mary came in contact with.  It explained a lot.

“I really don’t know where he is…”, Mary finally, quietly said.

“Tell him I am looking for him,” my father said.  The look in his eyes carried the unspoken promise:  I will find him, make no mistake.

We left the store and I came back the next day for my shift, more than a little apprehensive.  Mary was not there so I went about my day, wondering when her husband would come back to finish the job.  I never saw him or Mary ever again, finding out later than Mary had gone to the owners and tendered her resignation. Whether she feared for her own safety at his hands, or her husband’s safety at my father’s, it was clear that she couldn’t stand the embarrassment of working there anymore, especially once word got around.

The next day I went over to Naugles to see if I could get the order that I paid for but never got to eat.  The person behind the counter laughed nervously and asked what happened.  I told them the story and his eyes got wide.  I felt like I was floating above listening to me tell him the story, such was the surrealness of what had happened.  After, he gave me my order and I sat down next to the window, looking across the street at VideoTyme and wondering about it all.

I look forward to going to the new Naugles in Fountain Valley.  I’ll thank them for making good on my order 29 years ago.  I’ll keep my eyes peeled for danger.

Enjoy.

KG reminded me that I hadn’t written a thing for my blog since St. Patrick’s Day. Damn it….

A few months ago I wrote about some of the unique folks I’ve encountered in my travels through This Restaurant Life.  I’m sure that every industry has its share of kooks, crazies and criminals.  I guess ours just has more.  A lot more.

Even I can’t make this stuff up…

There was the Asian vendor for eatZi’s who provided us with an amazing bottled salad dressing and who had a thing for Tiffany, our female receiving manager. This guy was awesome, and would come in on a regular basis to sample his wares for our customers with a great big smile and infectious attitude.  Every once in a while, however, after “being in his cups” (drunk) he would text that manager with an amorous message that read

“Tiffany, I’m a lil bit hoo nee”.  

Say it a few times…it will come to you. Tiffany never took him up on that offer, but it was always fun to repeat when she was around.

In Tulsa, there was a southwestern cafe named “Arizona’s” where a young server decided to go shopping with a credit card that was left behind by a guest. Now, this is every consumer’s nightmare, right?  Of course, this was in the days prior to the Internet so, unlike today, you couldn’t sign up for an automatic fraud alert from your bank to your smartphone. Nope, back then what you got was a phone call asking why you had so many charges that day.  This young lady took the card to Woodland Hills Mall and leisurely pranced up and down the aisles, taking her sweet time purchasing this blouse or that lipstick.  Turns out she stayed there so long, that police were notified, once the card’s owner realized that 1. he left his card at the restaurant and 2. the bank was wondering why he was buying so many Madonna records.

They first called the restaurant and asked for a description of the server.  Then, because they knew from the bank that the card was being used in stores at that mall, merely went in, looked around and apprehended her.  She was a struggling single mother and I’m sure at the time it seemed like a desperate but necessary thing for her to do. She ended up paying a fine and getting some jail time.  Ouch.

There was the GM of a local SoCal eatery who would take pictures of his privates and in an attempt at humor, text them to one of his subordinates after consuming a few bevs.  Trouble was, his assistant kept those pics and eventually when HIS ass was on the line, he produced those shiny photos for the Home Office to see and let’s just say it wasn’t the assistant who got fired..

In every kitchen I’ve been in, when someone sneezes, you will hear the respectful “salud!” shouted out in Spanish, which translates to “health” and is a shortened version of “buena salud” or “good health”.  Almost immediately AFTER that you will hear one or more of the guys pipe in with “Sancho!”.  This of course means that if you sneeze, Sancho is at your house.  Who is Sancho?  Well, he is the guy who is at home with your wife or girlfriend, of course.  It never gets old, and you will see a cellphone flashed in front of the cook who sneezed as if to say “Bro, call your house”.

It’s like being at recess for 10 hours a day..

There was the server at Full Moon Cafe who would never use a swear word.  Ken was a passionate Christian and didn’t want to offend anyone.  That being said, his human side would get the best of him at times, usually after a few beers or when he saw a pretty girl.  Or just generally when he was pissed off.

“F that S!” is what you would hear from the side station, in reference to a poor tip or something else Ken was unhappy with.

“I can’t believe that S…” in response to something he didn’t believe.  Ken was a naive guy and you could usually get him going on false story pretty easily.

“You see her?  I want to F that B.”…in reference to…well…you get the picture..

Back in the kitchen, cooks will drop pans behind each other (and the servers) in order to scare the “S” out of them.  I could be anywhere in the restaurant and hear the jarring crash of a 16” x 6” stainless steel “hotel” pan slamming to the bare tile, the intended target jumping out of their skin in response.  I guess I became a restaurant lifer when someone dropped an empty pan behind me and…I didn’t budge.  I was so used to the cacophony of noise in our thing that it didn’t faze me.

There was a busboy who, in order to satisfy his alcoholism, would take bottles of booze from the restaurant and stash them in a an electrical box outside, retrieving them to take home after his shift. One day, my manager, Dennis, handed me his car keys and said, “Go out and sit in my car and wait for me.  We have an assignment”.  Now, my young brain at the time couldn’t process whether this was James Bond type stuff or if Dennis was trying to get into my pants. Regardless I did as ordered and about 20 minutes later he came out and got in the driver’s seat.  We pulled around the corner to get a view of the building’s electrical box.  Lo and behold here comes the busser, apron off and shirt untucked, headed for the box.  He opened it and at that moment, Dennis floored the gas pedal to roar up next to him.  The busser’s face when he realized he was busted was pure fear, shock and confusion.  The manager got out of the car and stormed up next to the poor kid.  I got out and stood by the car, realizing that a witness was need and that was my role. Dennis dressed the kid up and down, ripping the bag of booze from his hands.  The kid stood there, shoulders slumped, and finally loped away once Dennis told him he was fired.  I always wondered what happened to him..

I wonder what will happen to all of us.

Enjoy.

The restaurant industry has a long history of attracting, shall we say, very “colorful” characters.  Part of me feels that one has to be a little off-center to want to do what we do:  the long hours, the late nights, the stress of preparing a crazy amount of orders in a hot, crowded kitchen or taking care of multiple tables filled with needy guests.  It takes a toll.

I have a friend who is an attorney and once we were talking about our individual careers.  I had an epiphany during our conversation. I realized that I could probably do his job, but I was pretty sure he couldn’t handle mine.  I’m not saying I’m smarter than he is…in fact I know I’m not.  I’m speaking more of the full throttle lifestyle of restaurant people in general, and the ability to manage this circus of personalities on a daily basis.

If you have been reading my blog, you already know about the after-hours cleaning crew girl who offered sexual favors to her teammates to make extra money, or about Evan at the Full Moon Cafe who would light the back of kitchen aprons on fire while the victim was wearing them.  Here are a few more of the fun players I’ve met in my travels.

One of my first restaurant jobs was at Church’s Chicken (the poor man’s KFC as we called it) in Vegas.  The GM there was a rascal named Jose who would refer to every woman as “Donna”.  It didn’t matter if they worked for him or came in as a guest.  He called them Donna, as in “Hey Donna, you want ketchup with that?” or “Donna, check the bathrooms, will ya?”.  I never got the story from him as to why he did that. Suffice it say that it never failed to crack me up, and I’m chuckling even now remembering that guy.

At Full Moon, we had a dishwasher named Mario, an older man with biceps of steel.  Every day, before the rush hit, Mario would be in the corner doing calisthenics and getting ready for the mountain of plates, pots and pans coming his way.  I would be checking the hollandaise and out of the corner of my eye there was Mario doing deep knee bends and stretching exercises to get ready for his shift like some maniacal Jane Fonda…

There was the Muslim kid at eatZi’s who looked like he just stepped off the beach in SoCal. When I interviewed him he mentioned that he was a practicing Muslim and that he would need to pray from time to time.  Given his experience and our need for a solid line cook I was like, no worries, we’ll make that work. Unfortunately, this dude would disappear to pray at the most inopportune times…like during the lunch rush.  I would be walking past the receiving door and there he was on a small rug in the parking lot, facing Mecca while my sandwich line was going down in flames.  He didn’t make it very long…

There was a manager I worked with once who would wear a tuxedo to every performance review he received.  I guess he felt it would boost his scores…

Another sartorial story involves a young man who came in for a dishwasher position, the worst job in the kitchen by far.  This kid came in wearing a suit and tie and carrying his Eagle Scout certificate…to apply for a minimum wage, entry-level crappy job. Needless to say I hired him on the spot..

At eatZis, there was a prep cook that was so brutally hungover, he secreted a 6-pack of Coronas under his station to make it through his shift.  He looked like hell and smelled like death, but showed up on time and was determined to make it through.  The executive chef came to me and said what should we do about the beer.  I just shrugged and told him you gotta admire the kid’s dedication…

Remember the scene from the movie “Waiting”, where the two miscreant kitchen guys were found in the dry storage room with whipped cream around their mouths, giggling while high as a kite from doing Whip Its?  Whats a Whip It, you ask?  This is where someone sucks the small amount of nitrous oxide (present as a propellant in cans of whipped cream) to get you high.  If you’ve ever purchased a can of whipped cream at a store and it doesn’t work, chances are someone had a party in the walk in cooler at the store.  WELL, we had our own kid at Full Moon Cafe named Trey who I would find sitting on a crate of oranges in the pass, laughing to himself with everyone else staring at him strangely.  I finally told him to stop wasting both his brain and my inventory. Buy a can on the way home, Trey…

One of my favorites involves a young lady named Maria who worked as a prep cook for me at eatZi’s.  She was from Guatemala, was learning English and overall a very sweet girl. However she would call out from work with the craziest stories. The best was when she called me to say that her “chango es malo”.

“Your what??”

“Mi chango is malo, Dah-veed!”

“I don’t know what you’re saying! Let me get someone to translate”.

I retrieved one of the guys in the kitchen to assist me.  After handing him the phone, he listened for a moment and then looked at me and laughed.

“Her monkey is sick and she has to take care of it…”

Turns out this young lady had a small monkey she kept as a pet and it would get sick from time to time.  I stared at him as if I were going insane.  I took the phone back.

“Maria, you need to get in here and get to work.  No more sick monkeys…”.

She showed up a couple hours late, looking at me sheepishly as I clocked her in. Eventually the poor monkey “was malo” just too many times and it caused her to lose her job.   Crazy.

Lastly, I remember an after-work event at a local Vegas sports pub where one young man was carried down the stairs and folded into an Albertson’s shopping cart, then wheeled home by drunken Chili’s co-workers.

Oh wait…that young man was me.

Enjoy.