I got my first real job in 1990, working at a book depository in Redfield, South Dakota. I was 14 years old, just the legal age to be slave labor in SD at that time. I made $2.81 cents and hour, ripping shingles, tarring roofs (getting the worst sunburn of my life), moving books and magazines, and hauling railroad tiles. I don't know if you've ever picked up a rail road tile before, but each one weighs between 120 and 160 pounds. They're beasts! By the end of the summer I was in fantastic shape, and how could you not be, you're frickin' 14 for peet's sake. This was the hardest work, I've ever done in my entire life, and at the end a work week, I earned a whopping $112.40.
That's obviously not enough money to pay for private schooling (a whole other chapter) so I had to pick up a job at the local Pizza Hut. Which was some of the finest dining in Redfield at the time. It was my first waiting job, and most nights were filled with serving cowboys wearing ropers, trucker hats, and smelling like a combination of motor oil, old spice, and horse hide. It was primal, but all I knew at the time, and I was greatfull for my extra $18 a night. I remember making $26 one night, $9 of which were in quarters, and wondering what could I do with so much cash. I think I spent that on "Days of Thunder", the epic summer Tom Cruise Vehicle.
One of my most jarring memories of that summer, was that the Jukebox of the Local Pizza hut used to play "Achy Breaky Heart" in upwards of 10 times a night. I'm pretty sure my sister (who was also employed there) had a secret thing for Billy Ray's mullet, and tortured us with this swingin' ditty of the day. To this day, if I hear that song, it sends me into an epileptic convulsion, that in order for me to break out of, requires a stranger throwing a half eaten pizza crust at me.
A couple of weeks ago my Sister-In-Law informed me that the Pizza Hut has finally closed, and some new Pizza restaurant has gone in. I was sad for a moment thinking about the two summers I spent there, and the amount of mischief that I was a part of. RIP Redfield Pizza Hut. Gone, but not forgotten.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Sunday Funday @ Clyde
All my years working in the service industry, every time I had to work Sundays, I used to roll my eyes, roll up my sleeves, and bite the bullet. In most restaurants, Sundays are sluggish and not terribly exciting. But Clyde Common has been the exception. The clientele, is mostly restaurant employees, bartenders and a odd combination of cocktail savvy tourists.
For example, last night later in the evening, around ninish, I had a group trickle into the bar, and they ordered a couple drinks, and one guy (who I didn't recognize) leans into the bar and asks, "What kind of Rye do you have in your well". Immediately, my ears perked up.
I thought to myself, "ok, this guys a bartender, but I don't recognize him from around town". Portland's a very small town and everyone knows eachother. I rattle off the rye that's in the well (old overholt) and grab a couple more options. Finally he say's "ok, make me some kind of Rye Sour variation."
Cool, I knock out a sour for him, he drinks it, likes it, leans in again about 15 minutes later and orders another one. "Different this time".
I love people like this, it keeps me creative, and I always learn something. While crafting his second cocktail,
2 oz Rye
1 oz Lemon
3/4 Lillet
3/4 Simple
1 dash Fees Lemon Bitter.
Simple, but really tasty. The natural flavor of rye Blends with Lemon nicely.
I made it for him, and he reaches out and shakes my hand, he says "My name is Sean". I greet him, and ask him where he works. He says "PDT (Please Don't Tell). One of the hottest bars in New York City. WTF? Why is a bartender from PDT rolling into Clyde on a Sunday night? It turns out he's from Portland, but living in NYC, and came up at PDT as a barback, and is now tending bar 3 nights a week there.
After geeking out together for about 45 minutes, he buys me a shot of Van Winkle "Lot b", and we geek out talking cocktails, and spirits for another hour before his posse' pulls him away and they roll off to another bar.
In talking to Sean, I was amazed at the amount of respect that Portland has in the National Cocktail scene. At Clyde Common, you never know who you're going to meet on a moment to moment basis. And these interaction tend to happen more often than any other restaurant I've ever worked in. And oddly enough, it mostly happens on Sundays.
For example, last night later in the evening, around ninish, I had a group trickle into the bar, and they ordered a couple drinks, and one guy (who I didn't recognize) leans into the bar and asks, "What kind of Rye do you have in your well". Immediately, my ears perked up.
I thought to myself, "ok, this guys a bartender, but I don't recognize him from around town". Portland's a very small town and everyone knows eachother. I rattle off the rye that's in the well (old overholt) and grab a couple more options. Finally he say's "ok, make me some kind of Rye Sour variation."
Cool, I knock out a sour for him, he drinks it, likes it, leans in again about 15 minutes later and orders another one. "Different this time".
I love people like this, it keeps me creative, and I always learn something. While crafting his second cocktail,
2 oz Rye
1 oz Lemon
3/4 Lillet
3/4 Simple
1 dash Fees Lemon Bitter.
Simple, but really tasty. The natural flavor of rye Blends with Lemon nicely.
I made it for him, and he reaches out and shakes my hand, he says "My name is Sean". I greet him, and ask him where he works. He says "PDT (Please Don't Tell). One of the hottest bars in New York City. WTF? Why is a bartender from PDT rolling into Clyde on a Sunday night? It turns out he's from Portland, but living in NYC, and came up at PDT as a barback, and is now tending bar 3 nights a week there.
After geeking out together for about 45 minutes, he buys me a shot of Van Winkle "Lot b", and we geek out talking cocktails, and spirits for another hour before his posse' pulls him away and they roll off to another bar.
In talking to Sean, I was amazed at the amount of respect that Portland has in the National Cocktail scene. At Clyde Common, you never know who you're going to meet on a moment to moment basis. And these interaction tend to happen more often than any other restaurant I've ever worked in. And oddly enough, it mostly happens on Sundays.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
