Bearded Gang

I gauge my physical health on a several parameters. Not by how much I can bench press, squat or deadlift. I used to judge my physical strength on those standards in my 20s and early 30s. I’d do the old warm up with 135 and then ascend to 165, 185, 205, 225. On my max days I’d skip the two in the middle and put tiny plates past 225 to see how far up I could go. I’ve hit 275 one time in my life and it was probably closer to 265 with my spotter giving me a finger or two of help.

I’ll never ever bench 275 again in my life and have no urge to. Those years of slinging heavy weights around take their toll on your body. If I were to give you one piece of advice to anyone who wants to lift weights, I’d tell you to focus on mobility and body weight strength. Don’t get me wrong weights are essential. Just not all of them on one bar.

Squatting or deadlifts I never hit any outrageous PRs. Just look at my legs. My genetics made my legs for running and boogying. When you’re 5’11” with a 34 in inseam high powered squats aren’t going to be your theme. I’m all legs and arms. I can climb the fuck out of a tree.

I use mostly kettlebells and TRX ropes now. My joints thank me for it.

My little checklist for “hey you’re doing great Chad” is simple

50 pushups

20 pull ups

1 mile run under 8:30 minutes or to be able to run 3 miles under 30 minutes.

A few other essentials is to be able to always touch my toes

Do a one legged mountain pose (I actually do quite a bit of yoga) so a few yoga poses are essential to me.

To be able to get myself off the floor from a lying position unassisted (no hands) it’s harder than you think as you get older

No I don’t mean to do this as a workout everyday but I’ll incorporate a lot of these in my daily routine to keep myself in check. Except for the running. I’m semi retired. That’s another thing I’d share with the younger audience. Not all bodies are meant for long distance running. Mine sure as hell wasn’t.

I also try to keep my weight in check no more than 175 lbs. I know my body and frame better than anyone. I’ve had 20 extra lbs of muscle and fat on that frame and it doesn’t like to carry that much around. I got up to 195 when I was at my heaviest drinking. I looked jacked. I felt like a tick full of sludge. Your gut health is directly connected to your mental health.

I got down to about 150 lbs when I opened Southern. I was running about 40 miles a week and not eating. I looked sickly.

I’m at 170 now. I’m happy with it. The days of obsessing over 6 packs are long gone. I’ve never been one to walk around shirtless anyway.

I posted yesterday about my little run up Looking Glass mountain. I had no intentions of hiking when i woke up yesterday I was more in a frame of mind to set my day on cruise control and drive on the parkway. As I started my truck up I had a change of heart. 5 hours driving didn’t appeal to me. Also it was Sunday and the parkway would be packed. We all know how I feel about packed things.

My confidence in myself was flailing a little bit over the past few months. Post 50’s reared its ugly head. I pulled a muscle in my shoulder while building Graze, had covid for a solid three weeks and pulled my lower back trying to move a cooler. I felt weak mentally and physically. My physical health is just as important to me as my mental health. They are tied together and are meant to be harmonious. Even during my drinking days I pushed myself physically to stay in shape. In fact the mixture of drinking daily, working 60 plus hours a week and working out up to 8 hours a week was turning me into a maniac. Not a physical fit maniac just a fucking maniac.

As I quit drinking I also cut my physical fitness back several notches. When you stop consuming 1000 sugar filled calories a day there’s no need to try to kill yourself on a treadmill daily.

The last three months I’ve been to the gym probably 6 times. My body was beat up with opening the deli. I tried to do some pushups about a month ago and I got 20 in before my left shoulder said fuck you and shut down again. I don’t drop and give anyone 20. I have to get things oiled up first nowadays. Still didn’t work.

I was feeling mighty frail for a bit and it gets in my head. When you have a mouth like mine it’s smart to keep yourself in shape. Trust me

I did my morning yoga routine and said “fuck it” and dropped and gave myself 50. I struggled but I did it and my mind said “there ya go you pussy are you happy now?”

And I was.

I changed my goal from a drive to a hike and headed up to Pisgah in Brevard. Don’t sleep on Brevard y’all. It’s a beautiful little town and the Square Root is my favorite restaurant in NC. Pisgah opens its forest right in Brevard. Davison River, Looking Glass Rock and falls. It’s an outdoor Mecca and it’s only an hour away. I’ve hiked up Looking Glass probably more than any hike available to me. It’s 6 miles round trip. 1600 foot climb and you when get to the top it’s breathtaking. I used to run up this mountain, rain, sleet or snow it didn’t matter.

My body was beat. I haven’t adjusted to being on my feet like this. It takes a while.

I told the story in my post yesterday.

Blah blah I got in my feels and ran up the mountain like an idiot. I went from sofa to almost a 10k in 30 seconds. When I was about a 1/4 mile from my truck my body was breaking down quick. I got a little lightheaded (I had an English muffin about 4 hours before) and my 16oz water bottle was in my backpack, I was too caught up in the moment to stop and take a swig. Once I got to the bottom I had to stretch. I could feel the cramps in my toes trying to get them to cross over each other. This mountain for whatever reason feels the need to challenge me. It was about 8 years ago that I got a little hypothermia while running down this same exact mountain in the pouring rain and sleet. I had to take my shoes off halfway down to rub my toes to get circulation back to them. I ended up soaking my feet in a Walmart bathroom sink in warm water. My toes tingled for two days.

Back to my run

Today my legs feel like a hundred little elves struck everything attached to me from the waist down with tiny blunt hammers.

But

10/10 recommend

My body feels like a bag of smashed assholes

but

I fucking feel great.

I needed this confidence boost.

Speaking from a man’s point of view as you get older the louder the voice in your head begins to speak “I’m not the man I once was” I’ve been trying to change the trajectory of that statement into something more positive.

We strive to always stay strong. It’s in our genetic fabric that’s been weaved over thousands of years.

For each instance I feel I may have lost a step I try to make up for it in attitude and a new resolution. When I was younger I was strong man. I won’t ever be that strong again but my mind is still lifting its own weights and it’s just a healthy.

I get caught up in a lot of self doubt as I get older because of the lingering thought of “you’re not a strong as you used to be” and we’ll fuck off Chad.

Growth has more meaning than 2 plates on each side of an Olympic bar. I’d fuck up the 25 year old Chad in a match of wisdom and real strength.

Sometimes, at least for me it’s important to say these things to myself. I’m constantly evaluating my progress as a carbon breathing life form and these moments help that progress. It’s just self awareness of me.

Yesterday was a good day. I feel like hell right now but I’m smiling.

That’s what it’s all about right?

“Kill the doubt that strangles myself worth” Saguine ~Avett Bros

Do you ever ponder your strengths and weaknesses? I do it all the time. I have this giant illustration of a scale in my brain that I try to keep balanced at all times. Or a pendulum that I try to maintain the right beat. As I get older I have to adjust things a tad. My vocation has worn a few different masks over the years but I haven’t deterred too much from my original foundation of the service industry. I’m good at logistics. I can go into any poor functioning kitchen and reset it. Just the last month all I’ve been doing is tweaking my kitchen to fit every niche and notch we need to grease the wheels. We’ve moved coolers around, tables, equipment. Every day the first thing that comes out of my mouth is “this is how we are going to do it today to make it more fluid” and it works. I pride myself in this function. Im a problem solver.

Imagine if you will being dealt a card after you graduate high school that gives you a preview of what’s to become of your professional career and you draw the fucking service industry. If I knew at that time what that would pertain I would’ve sighed heavily.

Listen

I love being creative

I enjoy making new things

I’m over the top and it’s reflected on my menu choices and business decision’s.

But

It is takes its toll on you over the years. I compare it to someone who started a band 20 years ago and is still trying to score a number hit song. I’ve hit top forty a few times and my old girl Southern stayed at number 2 for two consecutive charts but when she left the top 40 and she never recovered.

Ya think Jagger would still be doing his dancing and front man energy to this day if the Stones never hit it big? What would he be doing right now? Probably not weight lifting.

Like Billy Joel singing the Entertainer “you get put in the back of a discount rack like another can of beans”

Walk down past your colleagues during graduation, up to the podium grabs card, opens it up … “ FUCK!” *grabs bottle of vodka

Listen

I’m just creatively ranting. It hasn’t been terrible in this madness of work. I’ve created quite a bit of things turning “shit into ice cream” as my old boss used to say. My body has been unkind to me the last few months. I put her into retirement mode and then tried to run a marathon. I’m paying the price for it. It’s difficult to conjur the old Chad who could rage for 60 hours on a kitchen line and still wake up the next morning and run 15 miles around a mountain. My shins hurt just thinking about it.

That was some heavy metal fuel I no longer wish to keep in my gas tank.

The older I get the harder it is to hype myself. Or the more I no longer wish to have to do so. Man I miss the old days where the only hype was expressed on a specialty board. Or maybe a flyer? I don’t know. Most of my focus at the time was keeping the gears greased and wheels turning in a consistent direction and routine. The steakhouse we never did specials or features until business started slowing down and then we got behind the rest of the crowd and well the building is now a representative of Prisma. The last few years I spent driving or walking to all the local offices and apartments with gift card baskets and flyers with bright pictures of margarita pitchers with dark red prickly pear nectar.

Urging and pushing you to support our business. That’s wear I cut my teeth on gorilla marketing. Y’all got it easy now.

Sometimes I post things that I enjoy for work. Certain features and boards. I have a cache of pics in my gallery of giant charcuterie spreads outside on bannisters. I’d push together 8 hours worth of meat and cheese assembly on boards, in boxes, giant fruit trays with pineapples cut into origami, papayas in congruent slices. Cheese slivered into cascading corners of 5 foot boards. I’d line em up on a 4 in handrail and try to get the perfect video or pic. All the while knowing one sudden gust of wind would ruin $1500 worth of work.

Gotta do it for gram! Gotta sell tickets.

Great natural lighting? ✔️

Background music? ✔️

Hashtags? Did we get the all the right fucking hashtags? ✔️

Great! Post that mother fucker!

16 likes

Reel of cat licking the neighbors dog’s balls 499,498,000 likes

I posted that for fun but that’s what it’s like. It takes a lot of effort to run a small business and try to hype it and stay relevant. Sometimes it’s the opposite. I’ll post something like say banana pudding. Listen I know some of yall go coo coo for Cocoa Puffs over that pudding and that’s awesome. I’ve made about 5000 gallons. I said I’d never make it again but my little pride and joy closed so I’m paying a little tribute. Some folk were losing their mind. “OMG WE ARE COMING FOR IT”

They’re stll in my display cooler. I sold 4

Scooby snacks sold well. I also shoved them up your internet butts until they sold out. Its harder than it seems to sell things now. I made some more yesterday but had a customer get downright rude Tuesday because I didn’t have them readily available. I close for two days each week. Logistically it means emptying your inventory all week and starting fresh on Tuesday. That means fresh recipes on Tuesday. I don’t sell old food. If I 86 anything it’s because I won’t serve week old food. Chadcuterie grab and goes? I toss in 48 hours. Harris teeter will keep that shit in a cooler all week and charge you more for it.

Internet has made us love em and then leave them. You want to get your product into someone’s head for 5 or 10 seconds. There are 20,000 others doing the same exact thing. I’ve already got some folk doing something similar to my concept that have come in and quietly visited my space and I’ve only been open three weeks.

I’m on my fourth week and still trying to gauge inventory. One day I sold 17 salads. The last two days I sold 4. Build your own charcuterie I sold 8 in one day last week I didn’t hit 8 all week. I won’t sell portioned cold cuts until my volume gets better.

My two constants are hoagies and boxes. I’m analyzing every single part of my menu to see how it gets tweaked.

But I’m not changing shit for a bit. I can’t do the knee jerk changes like I used to. I’m trying to be patient. Also it’s just me and Barry for now. I welcome anyone to come in and see the amount of prep we do in one week. I’m running four business out here. Chadcuterie, deli, market place and catering kitchen.

Back to the hype. The older I get the less I have. I’d love just to go into work and focus on creating food and not the other hassles. It gets old selling yourself. After all these years I still feel like the band who’s poster can be found hanging over a public urinal.

My lease is 3 years. By the time I get my foothold for what I’m doing it’ll be close to that time of lease eval. A lot of people want to eat there and that’s great but yall I only have like 10 seats. And I had to change some things to make that happen. Built a counter with some money that would go great towards the lease. At least my new cooler works.

If anyone wants a deli cooler I’ll literally give you the one on my stoop out front.

I get tired and frustrated and I write it out. I’m not washed out or giving up. To remind everyone this is my transparent online journal. I write to get it out.

I also push my writing because it’s always good to have a backup plan just in case. I’m not spending 60 hours a week on my feet in my 60’s I simply refuse. I already feel tethered right now. I’ve posted 96 blog entries in 16 months. I have another 20 floating around in purgatory unfinished and a few that aren’t for anyone’s eyes but mine. You dont get all of me on here.

I follow a path of manifestation. I have a couple of scenarios in my mind.

I love the concept of Graze mostly because it’s not specific. It gives me a lot of freedom and you will see a lot of different things come in and out if it works. I’m not going all out overnight. I can’t exhaust my creativity again like I did 4 years ago. It can happen. I’m still struggling but it’s slowly coming back. I could see Graze on the corner of a small moutain town side street or even a small beach town. Man I love you Greenville but you aren’t what you used to be. That’s not an insult by any means I just think Greenville has outgrown me not the opposite.

The other option I manage to make a living off of some creative writing and I’m living in a tiny house in any of those said scenarios. I’m getting older. My environment invites tranquility. I don’t enjoy busy roads anymore. Traffic, hundreds of people choking sidewalks. I want a back or front porch where I can smell the river or ocean. I camp up in Chimney Rock and I’ll get up in early morning and walk the quiet streets in the village with all the wrap around porches and melt into the fabric. I want to rest my feet up on one of those porches.

I’m pursuing tranquility. After all these years of volatility my body is transitioning into another cocoon. It’s a good thing yall. I’m here for it.

Positive side is I’m opening up more to the public but it’s hard for me to hide my expressions when things aren’t going my way. I’d make a terrible politician.

Is this a deli update? Not really just my brain running with the zoomies. Here’s a pic of my new counter though

I set my schedule to have the freedom to “get away” every weekend. Weekends for me recently have been Saturday – Tuesday. Don’t think I haven’t thought of being closed three days a week but that extra day tends to cause people to forget about you.

I don’t necessarily go on an adventure every week. It can be exhausting and it brings a lot of wear and tear on my truck and myself to be perfectly honest. I have a couple of places just a little over an hour away and then my zen is about 2- 2.5 hours away depending on where I find a spot. I prefer dispersed camping. I’m not a minimalist maniac. I have my luxuries I take with me. My roof top tent has a mattress but I pack an extra 4 in memory foam to lay on. My back thanks me for it. I have every cooking accessory needed to cook roughly just about anything. I don’t carry a fridge with me and my only power source is an old goal zero battery that will keep a 12 volt fan running all night if needed. I rarely camp if it’s over 72° at night.

I give myself two choices on these adventures, gear it out and try for an epic hike, bike or paddle. Cook all of my meals at camp or rest my feet in a creek, walk or drive into town and eat a hot meal with actual clothes on. I’m happy with either one. The first one consumes a lot of my free time but it’s just as rewarding as resting in a creek.

Rarely do I plan it all out. When I hit my favorite area I may end up on the opposite side of the mountain I intended to be. I plan my day out after I make camp. It may be a gravel ride or walk. I may hike a spot I’ve never hiked or hit a perch on top of a short hike. I’m more familiar with this area than my own. I set up my camping mise en place. It takes about 30 minutes if I go all out with my trailer. I am methodical with every step of my process. Some will say there is alot of time invested in set up and break down and sometimes it can seem that way. Part of my decompression is the process. I am methodical with my steps of set up. It’s like building a home in 30 minutes. To be able to find a secluded spot in the woods and in less than an hour you’ve made a cozy little makeshift home to relax and live your life outside your comfort zone is good for your noggin. My noggin is hard to please at times. This always fixes it.

This last adventure was meant to be mild due to my body being a little broken down. It had been a few months since I was last in my zen zone. Round trip is up to 5 hours of driving but it’s the Appalachians, I can drive around in those mountains for days and never get tired of them.

I have 4 hot spots I like to camp up there. I love the ridge side. That’s the sunrise side. Three of those spots reside on that side. They’re extremely popular due to their location and you won’t get these spots on the weekend I don’t even try. The other one is opposite ridge. It comes with a nice sunset and a fairly open spot to stretch your legs. Somedays I won’t get any of these spots. It’s fine I can still camp up there I know of a few hidden spots. They’re cramped in size but it’s still better than sitting at a traffic light on woodruff rd.

I get asked a lot “why do you always go to the same spot?” I don’t actually I go all over the place but chances are the pics I share are usually in that area because I’m sharing my euphoria. No not “look at me I’m camping and you’re not!” I’m only sharing the experience that you can make time to do things regardless of the time you have.

I do travel there more often than my other spots. I went to chimney rock four weeks in a row last month but I was feeling lazy and lethargic. I could sit in a creek and grab a burger 1/4 mile from my site.

My other spot I’m at least 30 minutes from any point of civilization. I’ll go all day without seeing a soul.

Time moves differently here. It’s hard to explain. That little hand on the clock moves slower. I started a book Sunday afternoon when I set up camp. When I got home I noticed I was on page 200 plus. I got there around 1, set up camp, cooked some lunch, chopped wood for a fire that evening and took a solid half hour nap. Like mouth wide open and drooling nap. Saturday was exhausting. I sat by the fire, journaled a bit and set off to find a sunset. Took some pics and came back to cook dinner. Did my “preclosing” which is my nighttime process of putting away anything critters may try to steal or nibble on while I try to sleep. Or if the wind looks like it’s going to visit I’ll take down my awning and secure any fabrics or items that’ll move into another zip code overnight. Camping on a ridge is nice and all but you’re leaving your ass hanging out for the elements to sample it.

I sat in my tent with my headphones on (another part of my decompression) I may be a bit autistic y’all I have to have these headphones on for about 20 minutes every night they are amazing. I’m not concerned about apex predators sneaking up on me here. In fact I don’t believe any harm can come to me in this area. It’s my zen.

I’m not an idiot. I’m very aware of my surroundings when I camp. I take the necessary precautions.

But

Time moves differently here. It slows down. Is it mental? Well yeah I don’t think the earth’s axis revolves around my geographical location

But

It moves differently up here. Many things are different up here. When I come home I’m euphoric. I’m rested and I always sleep like RV Winkle the night I get home. When I sleep up there it’s odd. I don’t feel like I sleep I feel like I’m in some sort of mental chamber. I always sleep better at home. My bed is amazing.

It’s different up here. It doesn’t feel like I’m sleeping it feels like I’m meditating. Almost like my eyes never really close all the way. No im not on some crazy recreational drugs. I’ve only done mushrooms a half dozen times in my life (highly recommend though)

I quit sharing my spot once I couldn’t get a good one on Mondays. Y’all stay off my mountains..

I’ve spent a lot of nights in the Rockies and the Appalachians. Rockies are more majestic and breathtaking. Appalachians are more magical. Nah they are mystical. That fits better. There’s some wild shit up here y’all. I’ve never felt in danger at all. If anything I feel more protected. I don’t believe anything bad can happen to me up here. When you love something hard enough it begins to love you back. Don’t slip up here though I’ve always felt it can go the other way too. I’m not concerned for myself. I can feel it’s embrace when I’m up there.

If anything ever happened to me up there then take my ashes and spread them around. I was meant to rest there.

I keep her clean when I go up there. I clean up my sites, pick up the trash. I talk to the crows when they fly over and wave at the peregrine falcons when they soar above. I talk to the trees while I collect deadfall for a campfire. I want them to know my fire is only for warmth and food. I keep it low and friendly.

The trees give me my oxygen. If you talk to them enough you can almost feel them smile over you. Do I sound crazy? I don’t know. Have you ever tried it? I wrapped my arms around one yesterday evening. The first time I’ve ever done that shit and no I wasn’t 100mg deep in an edible. I just walked up to one at my site and hugged it. I literally hugged it. It’s not what you think. It wasn’t that rigid, rough bark embrace you’d expect. You could almost feel it soften. Like it exhaled.

Some of you reading this are thinking “Mr. Gangwer has left the building” and you would be correct. I’m a long way from the building. It’s intentional. Spend enough time outdoors and you’ll get it. It doesn’t happen overnight. You earn this shit like a transcendental Boy Scout badge.

Pair this feeling with a 2 hour paddle with one of your BFFs this next morning and you have the perfect reset.

It’s different up there yall.

In related developments I started writing a fictional short story while I’m up there. I probably only wrote half a chapter but it was fun. It’s an entirely different thought process. I’ll probably only write while I’m resetting up there. It seems fitting.

My very first concept I can recall creating was called Cafe Bang Bang. It was a bar/pub with a pop art vibe. Mostly a burger bar with other options as well. Very similar to LTO 2.0 with bar games and heavy on the cocktail side. You would see influences of the Vortex in the menu and vibe I used to be a huge fan of the Vortex. I still am but I know Greenville would never accept a theme like that here but I’ll still drive 3 hours down to little 5 points to enjoy a blue shroom with tots. I’ve also settled a bit and don’t have the juice to hang out there for that long anymore. Greenville you are just too conservative. My partner and I came somewhat close to taking over an old iconic bar location downtown but didn’t care for the vibe the fella was trying to sublease us with so we never did it. Another possible location would’ve been right across the street from the Hyatt right above Blu Martini but we never pursued it.

I had another concept that would’ve been a sports bar theme on a roof top area downtown I had named “Lucy in the Sky”. The menu was a little similar to Cafe Bang Bang but with more entrees and small plates involved. Loved the idea of the roof top but in all honesty it was a pipe dream that never even made it on paper. I’d still be paying for the construction on that concept.

I created a revamp of Arizona Steakhouse when it was struggling. I wrote out a menu and called it Taco Social. This was well before you could find a taco joint on every street corner in Greenville. I had suggested the bar be moved towards the parking lot and create an indoor outdoor patio, upscale Mexican inspired dishes fused with the steakhouse hickory grill. Dark interior, dj spinning on the weekend with possible night club vibe after 10. It never took flight in fact in went right in the trash right after I tried to show it to my old boss and he discarded it.

Taco La Barra coincidentally had some of that flair to it when they did the remodel although it was more of a Rio Bravo ish flash that never took off. Tipsy ruled that side of town.

My next concept was actually published in the name of Southern Culture which was inspired by the rockabilly band Southern Culture on the Skids. The vibe was meant to replicate the name but it was tweaked quite a bit to fit the area. I consider Southern my debut album. A lot of love and inspiration went into that menu in fact I’ve yet to come up with anything even close energy to that in other concepts in my menu journaling.

Currently trying to channel that energy to Graze. It needs the same heart.

Dive N Boar was a fun concept but it never really found its identity and we didn’t give it time to. We were cocky and thought we could shit on a menu board and people would come. Was it a cocktail bar or a bbq joint? Then burgers were added and bbq reduced. Then we went full gastropub and watched the toilet flush it all away in 6 months. Dive N Boar = fun concept, shitty delivery. We could’ve done better. Also if the dominos had fallen the way they were intended to Dive would’ve been in the Habitap location. The concept had some mirrored similarities to Southern. It was not meant to be its neighbor. Again hindsight is 20/20.

Another one you never saw that was branded well before we even created it was “Local Toast”. It would’ve been an all day diner with brunch and meat and three as the star. A well established bar and Bloody Mary table set up all day. This concept had a lot of potential. I have no clue what happened to the menu or branding. It also was set up to be on Miller Road to take the place of the Dive since we opened it in Cherrydale.

LTO was originally called “Elbow Grease” due to the garage looking interior I wanted to go full dive burger bar. My partners were not of that style so we met in the middle and started off with LTO 1.0 with the giant fucking milkshakes that I despised, pop art kid props and tacky design. Bar did well. We tried to revamp to go more towards the dive bar but it had already been labeled differently it never took its true form. The third one shit the bed relatively quick too.

Don’t try to copy my vibe if I’m not a part of it..

Habitap and I’ve mentioned this before was probably my least favorite. I was tired and only wanted to create a beer/wine taproom with over the top pub sandwiches. Originally we discussed a higher scale tavern but it was too expensive to move the bar. I wanted an easy going interior, dark hangout with some TVs and nothing chef driven. It was meant to be a low budget easy concept. We went about $200k over budget. We added a pizza oven, high scale pub appearance with a lot of barn wood shit on the walls. With the money spent we could’ve easily done the tavern. I can’t recall the name of the tavern or if I even came up with one. Miller Public House? Fuck I don’t know. I did have a back up concept called EZ-Q. It was a fast casual bbq similar to Lewis BBQ but in all honesty it never even made it to a menu mock up. Also BBQ places are a dime a dozen around here. This isn’t a knock on the well established ones btw. I love the local bbq scene here

Hab was opened as fast casual. We changed it to full service after Covid for safety reasons and also because the concept wasn’t working that well. I take full responsibility for it. I was stuck on fast casual and we went too fancy for it to work. During Covid I had suggested changing it to more of an upscale market but we had the unfortunate geography of being behind Whole Foods. Take home charcuterie boards had been mentioned but no one but myself liked that idea. Good for me I suppose.

I’ve retired quite a few concepts on my drawing board as of late. I love creating them but you won’t catch me opening one of these anymore. Once I made up my mind that selling alcohol was no longer in my moral wheelhouse that eliminated 80% of my concepts I had created.

I’m at peace with that.

Especially now with liability destroying a lot of small businesses. I wish I had the energy to fight the good fight with them but my fighting spark fizzled with covid.

I’ve often thought of selling them off but again that puts me in the spotlight of making them happen and that usually takes about a year off of my life span. I do enjoy creating them in my head. Some over the top fictional concepts. I like the idea of helping create an idea and then walking away the day it opens.

I had a fun concept, one my wife hates I called The Pickled Cockroach. It would’ve been a seedy dive bar with cheap cocktails and amazing food. I wanted to push the paradox of shitty, tacky looking bar with a terrible name knocking the shit out of all the fancy upstarts that charge $15 for truffle fries. I love a good challenge

Slab Town – a hipster steakhouse but wallet friendly with community tables. All steaks would be ala cart

Tacobubba – a white trash taco joint. This was just for fun. The only place I see this working would’ve been Myrtle Beach.

The Soul Hole that would’ve been a soul food kitchen focusing on fried chicken and off the wall donuts. I could still be talked into this one..

The Concept Artist – where the theme changes daily or weekly. You invite new upstart chefs to come in randomly and write a menu to sell their concept. I’d provide the inventory give them a budget and then sell tickets to their dinner. I’d actually still do this one if I had the opportunity. Concepts get stale with me real fast. This would hold my attention.

There are more. At least a dozen or so mostly fictional that would never work but fun to create. I rarely go into logistics with them because they are purely for fiction.

I just enjoy writing out the vision. It’s like writing short story concepts. It’s the novels I stay away from. That means commitment.

No thank you

Grazeland was actually a concept name I had originally planned for a farm to table diner but it fits with what I’m doing and I don’t have any interest in a diner at the moment although if I ever opened an actual eatery it would be a meat and three.

With a twist obviously and I would name it Peggy Ann’s Diner after my mother. It would be filled with her old school southern Alabama vibe, love and charm.

That would be the only full service I’d do. No alcohol either.

But

I’m honed in on a deli at the moment. This’ll be concept birth number 7 I believe..

Fix Coffee

Southern Culture

Dive n Boar

LTO

Habitap

Chadcuterie

Grazeland.

Notice how I put a period after the last one..

I wanna say it was Hengen Lake, MT where we had pulled over for lunch. It wasn’t lunch we had one our minds it was the dark skyline covering most of the “big sky” horizon Montana is well known for. We had left Yellowstone on our bikes early that morning and I can’t recall what the next town we were headed for maybe Butte? Missoula? This was back in 1999 man my memory storage can only hold so much. All I remember was we had to pedal 77 miles to our next campsite before we were done with this leg. Our commitment to todays ride was about to be put to a test. We had stopped in Yellowstone for the night and did some touristy things looking for large apex animals, sniffing in the sulfur air around the springs while elbowing other tourists.

My best good buddy David and I had gotten a wild hair to do half of the trans American trail from Alexander, KS to Astoria, OR on our bicycles for three or four weeks in August of ‘99. Probably 1800 miles of cycling if you never got off your saddle. We had David’s grandfather “Pappy” sagging our necessities around in his Surburban while towing his Hi-Lo RV. Our daily plan was to spot a campsite on our map, give Pappy our future coordinates and he was to drive ahead and stake our site while we pedaled for 8-12 hours a day. During his downtime he’d set up his little fishing spot, if available and wait for us. It was a good one two combo when things went according to plan.

Well this day Mother Nature would snag the moment and alter our plans a bit.

Montana is beautiful but it’s rather large too. To have ridden through such vast valleys, rolling over high Rocky Mountain peaks the whole experience was breathtaking. The Rockies are something to reckon with. They produce their own weather patterns and usually it’s without warning. If you’re in one of these amazing valleys and you hear thunder then go ahead and find some shelter. You have between 5 minutes to 5 hours of having a healthy, raging downpour.

It was overcast when we began our journey northeast towards Idaho. Most of the weather forecasts during this time were to be found by reading USA Today newspaper or asking a local. A cellphone would’ve been nice to have around those days. David had one at the time but you could barely get a local signal much less one in Montana. Still can’t to this day.

We left the campsite well before Pappy did and gave him our next destination whichever town it was I can’t recall and as this story progresses you will understand as to why. I do remember it being 77 miles away. I remember numbers better than most other things.

It was a chilly morning as are most mornings in Montana regardless of the season. A typical summer day in Montana you can wake up to frost on your tent and then sit under the shade of a tree later that afternoon to keep from getting heat stroke. We had some mild splotchy rain the past two days nothing serious to report just enough to make the arid pavement stink of rain. Our first leg of the morning consisted of riding parallel to a beautiful blue water lake for about 20 miles or so. We had used the day before to rest our legs and be tourists so we had fresh ones for the ride. We were probably 2 hours into our ride when we noticed some not so fun clouds coming over the horizon. With the skies of Montana the storm could’ve been 40 miles away but the stretch of road we were on would provide no shelter for us should the shit hit the fan. Even driving through Montana you can go two hours without passing any signs of civilization. We were pedaling and we were 100% exposed to all things. When the head wind brought our cadence down to 6mph we decided to find shelter. By chance we came upon a little saloon right next to the lake called The Happy Hour Bar. Montana isn’t known for it’s well thought out branding. It was a little bar right by the lake made look cabin ish on the outside. There was a long gravel road that lead you to the bar from the road. If you were driving from out of town there’s a good chance you’d drive right by it without seeing it. The locals knew were it was and that’s all that mattered to them.

It was around 11am and the bar had just opened. The storm looked like it was going to hang out for the day and we had to contemplate our next move.

Do we take shelter and ride out the storm?

Do we wait for Pappy to drive by unannounced and flag him down to give us a ride into the next town?

This storm could take hours. Next stop was a two hour drive or a 6 ish hour ride and we didn’t know how long Pappy would wait before coming to look for us. Our plan was to be safer than sorry so we parked our bikes next to the turn off on the road marker hoping Pappy would see the bikes and pull over. There was no other way to get his attention other than staying with the bikes the whole time. The thunder coming from the dark rolling clouds over the horizon was shaking the entire valley. Our asses we’re going indoors. Locals didn’t seem too pleased that two grown ass men wearing head to toe spandex with giant shells on our heads had come into their little watering hole. I think the clientele there enjoyed the candid location and wanted to keep it intimate amongst the locals. The looks on their faces mirrored that observation. We were somewhat oblivious and as we walked in David of course says “What’s up guys!?” David is 6’1” or 2” and probably 230lbs at that time with mini dreads with giant shaved legs and colorful socks. He’s also about as aggressive as a golden retriever unless extremely provoked but a handy friend to have around especially when you have a mouth like mine. We slid up to the bar, me trying to remain as unremarkable as possible. I just wanted some wings, beer and ride the storm quietly. No one wants to fight in spandex and clip shoes

Without concerning ourselves with the possibility that Pappy may not see our bikes roadside we got comfy and cowboyed up at the bar, ordered some lunch and had a beer. One of the tap handles read “Moose Drool” a local favorite of that town I suppose so I ordered us both a pint.

By this time the storm was raging outside. The little hole in the wall bar was rattling with the thunder. You could barely see the cars passing along where we had our bikes hitched. The air chilled fast and all we had were some lightweight rain jackets in our jersey pouch. We decided to buck riding and enjoy our day. Surely Pappy would see our bikes literally 5 ft off the road. Hell we even had little orange flags flying off the back of our saddle bags. The Moose Drool was delicious and cold. I proceeded to order a pitcher for us.

After all it was 11:45 in the morning.

Once we had solidly dented the first pitcher of Drool we decided to mingle with the locals. Alcohol loosens lips and well our lips were flapping like the little orange flags on the back of our bikes in the storm. Once the locals had decided that we weren’t extras for the Village People they loosened up a bit and we all became temporary friends.

Man that Moose Drool was good.

12:15 we order another pitcher. Good vibes were pouring out of that glass pitcher there was no way Pappy would miss our bikes. We could no longer see the road other then blurred blobs due to the downpour. Why were we even riding bikes anyway? This was where we were meant to be. The bar was cozy, we were dry and cheeks covered in wing sauce. Fuck cycling, fuck rain I was comfortably numb. Could not wait for Pappy to pull over so we could get to our next site, change into regular clothes and relax.

As we downed the second pitcher of Drool I had struck up a conversation with a woman at least 30 years my elder so I could bum a smoke off of her. She had a pack of Marlboro lights and handed off a stick and I obliged. I hadn’t smoked the whole trip and man that cigarette tasted sweet. So sweet that I decided to buy a pack from behind the bar.

1:00pm we were on our third pitcher of Moose when we saw Pappy, oblivious to our folly, drive right past our bikes. We looked at each other and laughed. Everyone in the bar laughed also. After the second pitcher was drained we had already told our life stories, our current situation and had written down everyone’s address to be pen pals forever. My thirst had really kicked in so I bought a round of jager for me and my 60 year old girlfriend that resembled Bea Arthur if she had platinum blonde hair and bangs.

I don’t recall how many cigarettes I had smoked in fact by mid afternoon I don’t remember much more of that day. 1999, there are no Ubers, no cellphone shout outs. Hell there were probably 4 taxis in all of Montana. Our only option was to ride the storm and saddle up once it breaks. When it did the sun came out and it turned out to be a beautiful day. Everything was in fact beautiful because we were in fact heavily intoxicated. We still had 6 to 7 hours of pedaling to do.

We stumbled to our bikes full of wings and Drool. We were fortunate there was a wide easement between the road and ditch. Not that it mattered we were pedaling 3mph. David had decided to relieve himself while riding “that’s how they piss during the Tour De France!” – he exclaimed while he pushed his spandex down to his bike seat. All the while singing “Tour de France Tour de France”! by Kraftwerk at the top of his lungs. When he turned to pee side saddle he and his bike both went tumbling down the short hill filled with tumble weeds and thorns. I pulled up to see if he was ok and his face was locked into a painful grimace. I thought immediately he was badly hurt but it wasn’t a grimace after all he only knocked the wind out of him and he was trying to laugh but lacked the necessary oxygen. Also his spandex had found their way down to his ankles. By the time I had pulled him out of the ditch a local sheriff patrolled had slowed down to inspect our current situation. David, helmet sideways, weeds in his whiskers and a big ass goofy smile. I met eye contact with him and did what any nervous person would do in this situation and I saluted him. Rather crisply too I’d say. I’m sure the aviators hid the eye roll I received and he drove away.

It got toasty once the sun came out and for some reason I become very dehydrated which didn’t make any sense I had plenty to drink that day. $80 worth to be exact. The combination of cigarettes, Drool, wings and jager and 90° sunlight didn’t set well with me and I proceeded to deplete myself of these ingredients orally. David was oblivious to my roadside issues and kept pedaling all the while singing kraftwerk. He came back about 20 minutes later to me with my head in my hands sitting cross legged in a ditch. I didn’t know you could get a hangover so early in the day but here we were. I was trending downward and David was just finding his second wind. I straddled my bike and sort of glided with both feet dragging the concrete to stay level. We were on a very slight downward slope and I was extremely thankful. At my current pace we would’ve made it to our destination 50 miles away by October.

I’m not sure as to why Pappy decided to come back and look for us we weren’t missing for that long. In fact he found me roadside still with my head in my hands around 3 when we were expected to arrive around 5. David had pressed on. I had insisted that he did and that I had wanted to die alone. I had planned, worse case scenario on hitching my way to the next town and if I had came across some axe wielding maniac then so be it. Just make it quick. It couldn’t have been worse than what I was going through at the moment.

Pappy loaded me up in his Suburban all the while giggling his ass off at both of us. I kept my head hanging out of the window the whole time. David had already arrived at our site all the while stating that riding for 5 hours in the sun was the best hangover cure in all of the land. He might’ve had a beer in his hand just to prove his point. I proceeded to crawl into Pappy’s Hi-Lo and went to bed at 6:30pm.

I would say we learned our lesson but I’m pretty sure we closed down all of Missoula two nights later and that’s a whole ‘nother story.

I drove by that lake last year when I was up in Montana and had to call David up to remind him of that adventure filled day. I’d do it all over again if I could.

The ride that is..

I watched a show last night on Netflix. It was mostly background noise while I shuffled through my three social media apps but sometimes my head will pop up on keywords or focal points when a show is on. Usually it’s a movie or series I’ve watched a time or two. There are days I like silence and other days I relax to familiar themes in my ears. I zoned out for a moment and then heard the familiar clamor of a busy bar with glasses clinking, crowd noise and looked up from my phone just in time as I watched the main actor taking a shot of liquor. The camera panned on that all too familiar 2oz short glass specifically used for shots, bartender pouring the unnamed bottle into the glass with just about a quarter ounce left under the rim.

I watched it.

I smelled it

I could taste it

I could feel my index finger and thumb hoisting that mini glass up to my lips, letting it slide down my throat with a slight burn.

These are triggers for me. My chemical dependence craves that numbness all too well. I loved to lean back on that bar seat, legs kicked back on the bar rail, cocktail with my stir straw usually bent over the rim so I didn’t pop my eye out. Piles of mushed limes to tally my number of refills for the night. Before I quit I’d have my two 6ish count pours of vodka and a shot of fireball before I went home. Once I got home I’d have three more and another shot. Always bought mini bottles for shots so I could gauge my intake. If we had a full bottle I’d probably take a big swig as a nightcap on the way to bed. I was ingesting around 8 drinks nightly without a thought.

I could actually feel my brain slowly deteriorating.

Those were my regular nights. My bingers with the late night blackouts it’s truly a miracle I didn’t hurt anyone driving home. I’d wake up and try to connect the dots and most of the time I was clueless. So much time wasted on blurred activities.

I have a young neighbor who lives to the right of me. I know he and his friends throw some late nighters. I watched one of his buddies walking to his car while I was coming home for a walk which would put the clock around 7:30am. He was slightly stumbling, eyes glazed, hair smacked upside his head as my mom used to call it. We made eye contact and I gave him a wink. I know what a hangover looks like just about as well as anyone else. I saw that same exact face when I looked in the mirror 868 days ago and said no more.

It’s been 868 days since my last hangover, blackout, bar tab or even walked into a liquor store.

I’ve lost 25 lbs and maintain that weight without much effort. Yes I enjoy exercising but I’ve cut out quite a bit of thr high impact effort. It’s no longer necessary for me. I’m not as strong as I was in my younger days but I move just as well and that’s much more important to me.

My mornings used to consist of Pedialite, aspirin and a long shower.

Now it’s yoga, writing and morning walk. Makes me sound old as hell. I’ve never been more at ease.

Sobriety, it doesn’t make you smarter but alcohol definitely makes you dumber.

I wouldn’t have dedicated time to write before my reckoning. It was painful to look at my phone when I drank. Zero focus or concentration.

My craft excelled once I put the bottle down. As did my patience although that took a bit.

Ive been observing my mental health closely while constructing this deli. At high times that worst thing I deal with is no one moves with the same sense of urgency as I do. That’s to be expected. I have been very deliberate with my process this time. Balancing my time with work and outdoors. I haven’t jumped the gun on any projects and some things have not gone as planned with some projects and people at least I haven’t put all my eggs in one basket like I used to.

I was remarking to my wife last night about how busy charcuterie has been this month. I was frustrated because it was taking my time away from the deli but at the same time what better timing could I have to have some extra income coming in while I was spending my savings on it’s big brother? Three years ago I wouldnt have made that connection.

Sobriety encourages positivity.

Gratitude

I try to keep my observations on sobriety level. I want those that do struggle with it to make the effort to stop but unlike my usual personality I refuse to be confrontational or outspoken.

You can’t force anyone to stop. Pushing against the will doesn’t work. I don’t get triggered at my friends posts with late night adventures as I look at your pics, vids and reminisce. The ads with drink discounts that encourage more volume for less pocket.

We gotta make a living. Its a choice for the most part anyway just not for me.

But sometimes I want to grab some of you by the fucking shoulders. I watch your life because well it’s there for the world to see now. Your struggles with work, mental health and overall lifestyle.

Give it a break and just watch what happens.

One week you’ll feel the difference.

One month you’re already healing.

A year? You’ll look different and act different.

Two years. I’m a different person.

I think differently

I react to emotions differently

My joints feel better

I’m writing and doing crossword puzzles at 5:30am for fuck sake.

I used to have a violent streak. Yesterday I carried a giant hairy ass spider out of my deli. Three years ago I’d be scraping it off my shoe. I didn’t make a pact with myself to protect insects for some reason harming anything just doesn’t resonate with me.

I’ve mentioned before I cry quite a lot now.

Tears of gratitude.

It’s a travesty that some can’t see how this shit can turn you into a liquid filled Frankenstein over time. Even those of you that think a 6 pack of miller lite can’t hurt it still does. Zero fucking health benefits.

If you could install an emotional barometer controlled by a camera into my home and watch it on time lapse for the last three years and watch the social interaction of my family, how it’s evolved, how it’s changed. You’d see all the hugs, smiles and laughter.

No this isn’t a hobby lobby wall art ad this is my fucking life.

If you could watch a live physical documentary of my personality change over this time..

It’s hard to flip the way you think. It’s taken me over two years of daily tasks to do it.

If there’s a downside I could say I’ve got a little social anxiety now. When I open that deli just keep that in mind. I haven’t really been in the public eye in three years. I rarely interact with the public except out of necessity. Is that bad? I don’t know but I haven’t even had a head cold in three years.

I’m not withering I just enjoy being a homebody now.

My barstool is gone and I don’t care anymore.

Occasionally I go on some unhealthy rants. Some things stick in my craw longer than others. I carry grudges and love to have the last word. I walk around with this vengeful attitude that if you disrespect me I have to come back at you to make sure you didn’t get the best of me.

Frankly it’s exhausting

Got me in a lot of fights growing up. I quit the fighting years ago once I became I father. Don’t want to give off that vibe to my daughter and her birth also softnened my ass by about 900%. I got chip on my shoulder honest. A part of it was my generation I suppose, when you got disrespected you had a conversation after school in the parking lot. There was no mouth running without consequences in my youth. One of the two of you were about to have a reckoning. I was always fine with running my mouth. My anger issues kept me warm and ready even if my 120lb soak and wet ass had to fight harder for it.

Over time and age I’ve slowly turned the other cheek my legacy means something to me now so it’s not an automatic reflex to smack someone upside the head when they get out of hand. A lot of you need it but I’m no longer accepting applications.

I’m old. I’m tired.

Imagine having this type of person as a front of the house representative in a restaurant handing table calls and responding to angry emails. My facial expression enters the chat as confrontation without even trying. I’m not frowning. My smiles are mostly upside down.

When customers would complain at the steakhouse and good god almighty there were quite a few. Those type of concepts herd in all sorts of clientele, some there just to eat a decent meal with family and leave. Others were complaining lifers that would leave angrily every week and come back over and over to find something to bitch about. I always had to deal with these people if they got out of hand. I was the pit boss. If the assistants or keys were getting their faces ripped off my unruly customers I was the final boss between a free handout or a cautious but sturdy conversation. To most of everyone’s surprise I handled most of these curtly and professionally. I won most of the confrontations most of the time it’s just a misunderstanding. People get hangry. I get it. I’m there to feed you and give you a reason to see me again and again. If the complaint was genuine I made it my point to fix it with sincerity and transparency. I’d tell you exactly what had happening.

“Kitchen is overwhelmed”

“Fryer went out”

“Server is frazzled I’ll send out a let and SA to attend your table for the rest of the night”

Usually a quick update on bread service or soup calmed them down. Sometimes there was no making them happy and we’d agree to disagree knowing I may never see them again but at least I know when they left we both did the best we could. If I saw these people out somewhere I’d buy a round of drinks for them and shake their hands when I left. They always came back and they’d bring friends with them. Those were my favorite. I turned them and brought them back. That’s a huge win. Some have come to the deli because of it.

Some however you wash your hands of their patronage because they don’t behave themselves in public.

The steakhouse had some fine regulars during my 16 years of employment there. Jesus it still amazes me I worked there that long. I worked there long enough to watch people who went there on dates to starting a families together and then their party of two became party of three, four and then some. I remember one family fondly that came in all the time. I watched their son go from toddler to kicking field goals for the Arizona Cardinals. He went to Clemson it’s not that hard to figure out his name if you google it but I served these folk from AZ to SC and they became regulars there too. I love an easy going loyal customer. You will get the best of me and my effort every time.

On the other side of the spectrum we had Big Bird, an unpleasant woman who resembled the Sesame Street character, always ordered a medium well marinated sirloin with black beans and rice no onions. She would raise hell if we put chopped onion garnish on her beans. “I’m allergic to onion!” She would scream. The black beans recipe, a rich molé with dark chocolate (I loved those beans) also had about a half gallon of sauted onions in the sauce.

Allergic indeed.

She would send her steak back every time for being undercooked or under marinated. She was a vile unhappy specimen of a human being. Every week she said she’d never come back and every Saturday night she would come back and sit her Sesame Street ass on the same side of the booth with her man (yes they were same seater booty people *cringe). My last month working there I sat a barstool next to thier booth and said “fuck it” and shot the shit with them. Every time I saw them after that they were pleasant and smiling.

She still sent her shit back though.

Two specs the steakhouse always honored that would cause me to do table calls every weekend were 1. If you ordered a well done filet and man we had our share of them, we automatically butterflied them. So instead of getting these fat plump filets they would get a shoe sole with grill marks on it. Hard to remove that little red line of goodness in the middle of a steak that’s 2 inches thick without flattening it. So that’s what we did. Some customers would get mad because “Quincy’s never did that” and I’d have to go out and have a chat with them. One customer argued it was not a filet but a sirloin. We went back and forth and he said he was going to call the owner. I pulled my Nokia cellphone out of my pocket. Hit “Big Daddy” on speed dial and handed the customer my cellphone. Neither the customer nor my boss were happy with me.

The second steakhouse spec was well done prime rib orders were scored on the grill to expedite the cooking process. All you weekend grill warriors refer to this as reverse searing. We just did it to brown the shit out of the pink. If we had an end cut we’d soak it in the jus for a few minutes to kill the last bit of flavor out of it for you but if it were center we’d score it. To the basic customer and that was 99% of our clientele it looked like a ribeye because well it sort of is. Its the same part of the pastured bovine but a different cooking process. This was extremely difficult to explain to people. We lost quite a few customers due to the miss communication and overall ignorance of specs. I had one guy walk into the kitchen and slam his scorched ribeye down on expo. My abrasive KM and I walked him to his car.

I know customer service and the importance of hospitality. Anyone that works for me knows my philosophy is feed them with love and good food and they’ll come back.

But

When they start screaming, cursing or show their ass my hospitality goes out the door. My employees also know this. If you are rude to my staff I’ll politely show you the door. There’s absolutely nothing on that plate in front of you for you to act rude and disrespectful. My evaluation centered around the customer’s disposition and the server’s attitude. I know my staff. If I saw that a personality conflict ensued I reprimanded my server. I was a server for a decade. I could get snappy it happens. With the customers I could tell you before I made it to the table that I was going to win or lose the battle. All these years I’ve gotten pretty good at reading body language. I’d usually sigh to myself and think “let’s get this over with.” We’d chat, they’d start cussing at me, I’d get a sneer, a plate pushed towards me and they’ll start yelling. I’ll quietly grab their plates of food and walk away. After about 5 or 6 minutes of sitting their with nothing in front of them they’d get up and leave.

Most of the time

When you start yelling and cursing the conversation ends. No reason to make a scene for all to see. By the time they realize what you did they’ve embarrassed themselves and usually leave. If it went up another notch I dialed the police. I had no interest fighting anyone but I’ve had to escort a few out the door. It’s funny how the mentality changes after your both standing outside and you notice the manager has taken off his apron.

In 30 years of service I’ve never laid a hand on someone from a miscommunication or an argument stemming from a table call. Ok one time I elbowed an asshat downtown the night after he disrespected me at work but he had it coming for sometime. It was personal. The other parking lot confrontations ended quickly. Usually the customer gets sober real fast when they see the situation. I’m not a big person. If it’s more than one person I have my kitchen give me a hand. Do you really want to confront 4 ex cons with sharp knives in their hands? I don’t think so. If I can intimidate line cooks I’m not worried about a schmuck who claims to know karate or “sees red” when they get angry. *yawn everyone says that.

I’m barely 5’11” and my weight class hovers around 175. I’ve had plenty of experience of getting physically harassed in my younger days. It turns you into a different person. Your knee jerk response is to reply physically. Even now when another local business went sideways and got a little disrespectful next to my deli. My actions were “I’m better than this I’m going to ignore it. I’m the better man.” The back of my mind was already preparing my muscle memory of where I’ll hit him first, second, third and it necessary if he continues his aggression.

You can take the boy out of Piedmont but..

Listen it would take a lot for me to hit someone now. It would take an act of aggression that left me no choice. I’m tired man.

I was going somewhere with this.

Yes

I had to look at the title.

Reviewists

I’m all over the place when it comes to restaurant bloggers and reviewers. I have respect for some and others I sort of want to stick your face in a plate of hot fresh mashed potatoes. It’s not hard to figure out which are honest and are insightful. Others are doing it for notoriety. Again nothing wrong with that if it’s an honest reflection. It wont hold as much salt with me if you’ve never worked in a restaurant.

Same goes for any occupation or talent. I love football and baseball. It’s the only two sports I’ll sit and watch if I have time. I always call out the fat couch surfers who bust the chops of professional or college athletes. Or the sports commentators that haven’t played a sport since before their first pube dropped on the bathroom floor.

Suit up or shut up has always been my philosophy.

It’s the same for the service industry. “Have you ever operated a restaurant?” “Do you have any goddamn idea how hard it is to keep one afloat?”

I’m an insider I have advantages others don’t have. I’ve seen and experienced it all. So like some of those ex athletes that sit along with the commentators wearing their expensive suits across from each other I get the urge to shake people and scream “YOU ARE AN ENTITLED TWIT”

But

I can’t because I’m back in this shit once again. I have to behave myself again.

I get reviews. I’m not against reviews at all. If you want to express yourself to the world about your tuna fish sandwich then by all means. Just make sure you know what the fuck you’re talking about. And don’t do it as an emotional response.

When I read customer reviews I usually let out a large sigh and think “Jesus fucking Christ on a crutch you aren’t even close” I hate Google, yelp and all of those other plateaus (I don’t keep up with them for that reason) that are in place for you share your experience so quickly. There should be a better peer review.

“Is this person an asshole? Most of Kyle’s reviews are below 3 stars.”

“Is this person educated?” Kyle can’t spell “grevy”

“Sorry Kyle you’ve entered 100 reviews we are closing your account. Go find a fucking hobby you noob”

My last review “disappointed to find another deli in Greenville that’s not a NY deli.”

Read what you just wrote.

Ok

Read it again.

This is why I had to put the bottle down.

“Pricey” I’ll fight this to the grave yall. If I’ve ever been accused of anything it’s that I don’t charge enough. I want everyone to be able to afford my food. My charcuterie boxes have not gone up in price in 3 years plus. Have you watched grocery prices climb? I haven’t budged. That means I’m losing potential profit. Sorry my prices don’t reflect 50s Mayberry you old coot.

Reviews trigger me. Opening up a business will take years off of your short and precious life. Most of us put a lot of passion into our business. I give it my all. My food I want to be adored. Fresh, curated and thoughtful. My atmosphere cozy and warm, service friendly and memorable. If I come up short I will bend over backwards to fix it. I will reshape my menus, floor plans and philosophies if it’s not working.

It’s personal. It’s fucking suppose to be.

I’ve gotten some shitty reviews that I’ve deserved. I dropped the ball and fell on my face. I’ll reach out to any review to explain with transparency and will go out of my way to fix it if you allow me to. I’m not perfect I fuck up a lot of shit.

I forgot to put sauerkraut on a Reuben last week and all I could think about was if he comes back I’m making this man another Reuben and taking care of it. He chose to eat at my establishment and I didn’t meet his expectations.

He came back. I took care of him. I was genuine and his response was too. He’ll be back again.

It’s the ignorant ones that grind my gears man.

Some of you need that keyboard shoved up your ass.

Reviews are around for a reason. They do keep us honest. As long as you are honest too. Don’t ever use one to tear a business down. Unless you’ve exhausted every single other options of communication.

Some businesses don’t give a shit. So be it. It’s on them but speaking for others it’s always for me

“did you reach out to the company first to discuss your issue?

“Did you speak with a manager before you left?”

“Nah, my French fries were underwhelming I’ll post a review about it as soon as I get in my car. People need to read this to heed my warning. Although taste buds are suggestive and unique mine are paramount and my opinion should be posted publicly. I haven’t had a blow job since Bush was in the Oval Office and I’m miserable.”

I’ve had confrontations with unruly customers and thought “that actually went well’ and then 20 minutes later they’re leaving a scathing review on yelp because I didn’t pay for their entire meal. Sorry yall I’m not that manager.

Also fuck yelp

I’ve never berated a reviewer except for one. I’ve had some ex chef cunt come at me on trip advisor and insult my tattoos, food, and RBF. I’m sure he was just upset that his tweezer food concept in Asheville shit the bed. I replied professionally and then crop dusted him and his boyfriend at the Pumphouse. It was the most my wife would allow me to do.

The one I confronted was an ex employee asshat who reviewed Habitap one week after he didn’t show up for his shift. He made up some shit so I acted accordingly. I responded to his review. He referred to himself as a chef which is like calling me a doctor of medicine. After I responded I made sure his current employer was aware if what a dick bag he was and he was later severed from his employment. He also lived in cherrydale while I resided there so I made it a point to look for him in every public place I frequented. Have I mentioned how petty I am?

Also don’t piss off someone who has your address, Social Security number and bank draft info. I would never but there’s always a first time..

I’ve been fortunate with Chadcuterie. Not so mainstream and man it’s hard to get mad at a box of charcuterie. Also up until last month I’ve worked solo so anytime I even got the vibe that I was half assing a product I started over. Not much drama in the charcuterie world. All my reviews were positive. Haven’t lost a single customer that I know of although I think one of my longest termed clients might’ve found another coochie hookup. A little disappointing. Loyalty isn’t what it used to be.

Rant over

Grazeland opened itself up to being back on Google and yelp. It’s necessary I get it but I stil hate it, Some of you don’t get what a bad day to you can do to a small business. Especially, sorry if this offends you but some of you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. It’s impossible for me to bite my tongue if you misrepresent my company. It’s my child I’m always going to take up for it. At the same time I will be the first to spread my cheeks if I dropped the ball. I fuck up shit all the time. I left sauerkraut off of a guy’s Reuben two weeks ago and could not relax until he came back in again and I made it right. My brand is my legacy and my legacy is my brand. I know I’m a very outspoken person but I give my food my all. That’s why I make as much from scratch as I can and you never see freezers in my deli. It’s all scratch and fresh

As it should be.

Cheers!

I am the epitome of representation when it comes to generation x. Now before we get started here I’m not labeling my generation by beating my chest whilst screaming “we are the best!” Everyone has their opinions on the greatest of all time. I imagine the traditionalists did some amazing things, boomers have an unfortunate labeling, I grew up with a lot of millennials and I can’t relate to the Zs because I’m old as shit.

I was born in late summer 1971. I am almost 53 years of age and I will only say this about my generation.

Fucking

Music

Rocked

Music has been my therapy since the moment I learned how to put a needle on a record. There were zero musicians in my family, no musical backgrounds or ridiculously talented siblings or parents. No instruments lying about for me to pick, blow or drum. I can’t recall the first song my ears collaborated with but I imagine it put a damn smile on my face because music always has done that for me. I was singing and dancing along to a song in my truck the other day and it got me thinking about all the lyrics I’ve memorized over the years. The thousands of hours of melodies I’ve absorbed. Can you imagine a life without music? I’d rather not be around most things if it weren’t for music.

I can’t play a lick. I can sing above average but it used to take a bottle to get me to sing. My voice got ravaged from years of drinking, smoking and acid reflux. 20 years of being the inside/outside expo in a loud kitchen will give you the throat of a used up 80s big hair band singer. Yeah I’m looking at you Vince Neil. My voice and throat have been healing from my reckoning. I could out croon a few of you again. When I travel I get so euphoric that I will sing in my car by myself until I’m hoarse. Coffee has a little to do with that.

I’ve enjoyed my life as a Gen Xer and music was and is one of the biggest reasons. I’ve been writing about work and mental health so much recently I thought I’d step out and reminisce and share what it’s like to grow up as an old fart X er. We got to experience all the media from vinyl, 8 tracks, cassettes, CDs, sharing pirated files to iPods and their little shuffle friends.

I wanted to share my love and experience with my tunes on a little timeline that I’m sure all my fellow Gen X ers can read and relate to. I’ve had almost 53 years of beautiful melodies making my life smile.

Can you think of your first favorite song? The one you find your head bopping to? Or drumming your fingers on a table or maybe you’re just humming along to chorus?

My summers as a child were spent pool side at a country club pool or at the community pool at Club Key East. I have fond memories of baby club sandwiches in styrofoam boxes with potato chips littered on the hot pool sidewalk that I would splash water over the sides of the pool so my feet wouldn’t burn on the hot days. I lay a cold soda can on my neck to cool off. It could’ve been a coke, Pepsi, RC it didn’t matter as long as it had sugar. When you’re 5 years old you think these cans save you from the heat and dehydration. Man I used to love an ice cold Pepsi in the summertime. I drink them so fast you could hear the burp from my little lungs across the pool. Sometimes I think that’s how my family kept tabs on me. The energy you have as a small child jacked the fuck up on sugar is amazing. I’d walk as fast I could (don’t run the lifeguard would kick you out) to the diving board and jump as high and far as I could into the sorta scary deep end of the pool and doggy paddle as fast as I could to the ladder on the side, pull my ass out of the pool and then drip all the way back to the diving board and repeat.

For hours

I used to watch my daughter do the same exact thing with the biggest smile you could imagine. Parenthood is amazing y’all.

The clubhouse had outdoor speakers and whenever I hear Sir Duke by Stevie Wonder my mind flies me to that pool near Belle Meade. That’s another amazing ability music has for me. It allows me to time travel. I can go back to numerous eras in my life just from one song. Sometimes I can smell my old surroundings when I hear the right song. Fresh cut grass when I’d sit on my parents little riding mower with my Walkman headphones on listening to Wham or the stench of stale beer coolers when I hear shag music back in the days when I barbacked at the Sand Flea. I was around 5 years of age when the music became more than a chime over my bed. I’m sure I sang some god awful cartoons or crooned along side some muppet on Captain Kangaroo but the real stuff started sticking to my ears that summer.

I liked fun music. The song had to have some relevance I could gravitate towards as a child. You aren’t trying to find deep meaning in lyrics when you’re 5 years old. Keywords or the chorus would get me singing even if I didn’t understand the meaning of the song. I mimicked because I like the beat. I loved Stevie Wonder because I thought it was magic that a blind man could play an instrument and sing like that man could. I loved the movie Car Wash so that theme song would make me smile and I’d ask my dad to turn it up on his Buick stereo. Or maybe it was the Lincoln continental? Jamming in your car was a little different then. You’d have your 5 static filled radio stations preset on the little plastic rectangular buttons on your car stereo. If it was a newer model you might have an 8 track on the dash. You could crank that dial all the way up but you weren’t hearing shit if you were sitting on the backseat fold down hump. Summers in the south are hot. Car AC wasn’t really a thing yet or at least we didn’t have it so I’d try to enjoy some tunes while experiencing the vortex of four giant Lincoln Continental windows rolled down, all the air and my dad’s Winston Reds billowing in my eyes, ears and nose. The 70s were wild man. If my parents slammed on the brakes while I sat perched on that uncomfortable vinyl hump I’d still be in orbit. My old man was considerably older than me. I can’t tell you what his musical tastes were but I don’t think local radio was playing much Lena Horne or Glenn Miller so I’m sure he played whatever my ears wanted to hear.

I’d sing and giggle along to Play that Funky Music White Boy by Wild Cherry and You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate. Lyrics didn’t have meaning at the time unless they rhymed. Rhyming was fun I was 5 for fucks sake. 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover by Paul Simon, my family would all sing “get off the bus Gus!” as we’d go on long drives heading nowhere. I loved those drives. Singing Barry Manilow “I Write The Songs” is a fun song to croon to as a child. Copacabana too.

I saw Grease at the local drive in off of Augusta Road and thought John Travolta was the coolest mother fucker on earth. I also thought his girlfriend Olivia was a princess. If you could have a crush on someone at 6 years of age you could do a lot worse than the iconic Olivia Newton John. When she pops out at the end of Grease with her hair spray on wild and leather I bet I did the cartoonish googly eyes popping out of my head. “What a beautiful princess” I bet I was thinking. I didn’t pay much attention to the movie. I’d follow my siblings around while they smoked behind my parents back and drink out of their friends trunks parked at the drive in. When Travolta and John would sing I’d stop, watch and listen. I’d get mesmerized watching Travolta singing Greased Lighting while dancing on top of the cars. Singing “you are supreme the chicks will cream!” I had no idea wtf that meant at the time in fact I probably screamed those lyrics for 20 years before realizing the innuendo. Summer Loving, Sandra Dee even the theme song I loved. The movie is introduced as a cartoon at the beginning. I thought that’s what it was at first. I love this movie with all of my heart just from the memories it conjures up. I can still listen to to this soundtrack from front and back with a smile on my face.

Elvis was still the fabric of the rock n roll music culture. I was fascinated by Elvis. I loved his rockabilly vibe with his boyish grin. I only knew him as the Vegas Elvis at my age. He was still a cultural icon and man the ladies loved him. Even though he was past his prime Elvis persona was everywhere. His music were jingles were everywhere to be found on tv and the radio. I saw quite a few men trying to emulate that look and style with the do and the chops in the 70s but there could be only one. Hunka Hunka burning love was a fun song and I’m sure I sang it at the top of my lungs at times. I can recall my friend Joey in Belle Meade being whisked inside of his house by his mother who was sobbing on a hot summer afternoon. Mr. Presley had died. Her house was filled with Elvis memorabilia.

My siblings I could only guess their tastes in music by the posters on their bedroom walls. I seem to remember Dan Fogelberg being quite the fawning over from a couple of my older sisters. James Taylor and Peter Frampton also. My brother David had black light posters of Zeppelin and Floyd in his bedroom that always smelled skunky to me.

Disco music was on the back nine when I caught on to it. It was loose and fun in the late 70s. My age wouldn’t reflect a strong bonding to that genre but I do listen to it today just for nostalgia. Village People were visually entertaining and their music was always fun to sing along to as a kid. Bee Gees were on every radio and movie soundtrack. I loved Saturday Night Fever. Watching John Travolta dancing with his iconic finger jab and hip grind let me tell you every SOB from 6 to 60 probably tried to pull that same move on my old man’s checkered dance floor at the old Cock and Bull. I watched it with my own two eyes. Travolta may be a Twinkie in real life I don’t know but some of his movies helped shape my childhood. Culture wasn’t that cultural in the 70s. It was all commercially shoved down your throat, at least to me. I gravitated towards music that was fun to my ears. Lyrics I could sing out loud. I’ve always loved to sing to myself. My Sharona, Bohemian Rhapsody, I want you to want me, The Devil Went Down To Georgia was the southern national anthem for years. My eyes used to get big in anticipation when Charlie would sing “I done told you once you sonofabitch, I’m the best that’s ever been”. Turn that fucking volume up my 8 year old ass would RAGE. Certain artists I started gravitating towards were Billy Joel. I loved his piano playing and Allentown always reminded me of my father. My dad wasn’t a car stereo guy. He liked the sound of the wind with the window down. Not sure what music he enjoyed. I recall watching several black and white shows with Bing Crosby crooning, Engleberg Humperdinck (what a fucking name) Dean Martin. These were my dad’s memories so I’m not sure but I can recall him singing Upside Down by Diana Ross while my sisters laughed at him. It’s amazing the little memories that will adhere to your mind forever. I look back at that memory fondly. My family didn’t stick together long enough to produce any long term bonds in the same shared memory banks. I take in all I can.

MTV my music revolution

I was upended into Piedmont, SC while my puberty was still incubating. I have no doubt that little jaunt that came out of nowhere influenced my musical tastes. Geography, small town culture, friends and environment have lasting impact on your musical direction. I had a decent head start on music having a plethora of siblings in their late teens. I was a fly on the wall while my brother and sisters listened to their influences. Some of it seemed boppy or with my brother mostly jammy and dark. That was my brother’s persona. I guess what I’m trying to say is I listened to what was around me. I didnt have my own vessel of music to listen to. I sang along to what was playing in my immediate environment. I was 8-10 years old. My brother had a record player and one of those ridiculous stereo cabinets with the glass door that would pop open with his two giant speakers the same size of the cabinet with the receiver and all built in. I shared a 10×10 bedroom with him and I’d fall asleep at night watching all the little red dots on his equalizer dancing around. I wouldn’t touch that record player because he would kick my ass. Someone would later steal his record player and records at that apartment complex. I knew who it was but I never told anyone. That’s another story for another time.

The move to Piedmont introduced me to another genre of music. Country and Western. Do they still refer to it as that? I haven’t heard it called that in decades. The house I was relocated to overnight was filled with old and albums. My soon to be stepfather was a fan of vinyl and he had a Victrola that I would wind up. My mother was a fan of country music. I guess I never noticed how country my mother could be until we actually moved to the country. She was a bartender at the original Chiefs off Hwy 20 in Piedmont. Chiefs was a honky tonk bar and there was a band that used to play there all the time. Mom used to talk about guys named Randy and Jeff she was friends with that would sell out every time they played there. She loved them of course because they were named after the state she hailed from. You might’ve heard of them they called themselves Alabama. I think they hit the top 40 a time or twelve.

My mother enjoyed listening to music in the early afternoons. After we moved most of my brothers and sisters sort of tumbled out of the nest. With college, careers and marriages our Brady bunch theme became mostly my mother and me almost overnight. Peggy was in her early 40s and I think she was just beginning to find herself in life. A mother of four twice divorced , I imagine a lot of adventure and zest drove right past her driveway without her getting a chance to catch a ride. I think she could be herself more in Piedmont. I’ve only driven through Clayton, AL (her hometown) once and I could see the similarities to Piedmont. Maybe she felt more at home. I’d never watched her play music before until we moved there. This might’ve been her first quiet moment in 20 years.

She would play Alabama of course, Tammy Wynette, Roy Clark, Dolly. This was my first introduction into country. I was ok with it but it didn’t stick to me like rock and pop. The twang and lyrics didn’t resonate with me. We’d watch Hee Haw at night and I found it odd and dorky. Then one day I watched a tall dark cowboy with a deep voice holding a guitar outstretched in front of him staring straight at me through the camera. He was dressed completely in black and his voice was deeper than the bass playing behind him. I loved to hear him play that guitar. He was singing but telling a story at the same time. He was singing about an unfortunate kid with a girl’s name. A boy named Sue. I had just been introduced to Johnny Cash. Country music was about to cut into me sideways. This tall almost imposing looking man that resembled half the population of Piedmont at the time (why did everyone wear cowboy hats at that time?) pierced my ears. I loved his song writing and voice. It was simple and living in Piedmont it was becoming relatable. Johnny wouldn’t have sounded the same if I had watched Hee Haw in our old apartment off of Faris. Piedmont was a country oasis between Anderson and Greenville. It was a culture shock for me. Johnny, Willie, Waylon, George Jones those guys all seemed to make that transition a little easier. I soaked it all in but I discarded it just as quickly for about the next two decades I was distracted by the most influential and iconic tv station that would pop up in the early 80s. M fucking TV.

MTV changed my everything.

Everything

If you weren’t born around the same timeline as I was then I’m not sure I can accurately describe to you how influential MTV was to my generation. Before MTV the only time I saw music in tv was Soul Train on Saturdays after cartoons (really odd time slot tbh) Hee Haw of course and Solid Gold. Tv was fun back then y’all. I sat in front of the TV during the summer of ‘81 or ‘82 when we caught up with the rest of the world and got cable and turned it on MTV. I doubt that I turned that dial to another channel for 5 years.

MTV came at me hard. It was like a suit that was tailored perfectly for me. It became my friend. At this time I didn’t really have any friends. I had my bff right up the road and that was it. I wasn’t ready to accept Piedmont as my home, my mother didn’t drive so we spent our summers on Route 8 hwy 86 in our living room while I watched MTV for hours a day. In between I’d go explore the woods and pastures behind my house. I’d chase cows and keep my eyes out for wild dogs. Piedmont had quite a few then. I spent a lot of time by myself or hanging with my mom. My escape was the music television. Puberty was on the horizon. It was the perfect storm for me.

I don’t remember the first video I watched. It wasn’t that Buggles, the trivial “what video was the first that MTV played. In all honesty the song is mildly shitty. It might’ve been Blondie’s Rapture or Rod Stewart “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy”. Neither I watched with much attention. I enjoy both artists but they didn’t keep me glued. The videos were fun but not memorable. At least for the first month or so.

When puberty started knocking on my door my music tastes began to evolve. MTV put faces to the music. It also brought sex appeal. Lort I didn’t know wtf to do with that part. Rock n roll fueled my puberty. If I had to put on album on the wall that represented my puberty it would have to be one of the greatest of all time, 1984 by Van Halen. Also the greatest band of all time.

Now listen, I know we all have our own opinions on the best and greatest. Sometimes I’ll flip and give you another band or album. In all honesty Van Halen’s debut album is better than 1984 but the timing was off. I didn’t listen to Van Halen until MTV. 1984 album is iconic to MTV. Jump, Panama and Hot for Teacher were MTV songs. Van Halen could throw down on music videos my dudes. David Lee Roth is one of the greatest front men of all time. Dave and MTV were like peas and carrots. I can’t tell you how many times I tried to replicate that high leg kick of DLR’s on the jump video. My hamstring will never forgive me.

MTV impacted me musically and culturally more than any other media up until the invention of the iPod.

MTV gave me Van Halen, Michael Jackson, The Cars, Lionel Richie, Duran Duran, Eurythmics, Journey, Bowie, Queen, Hall and Oats, Culture Club, Styx Men at Work, The Fixx, The Pretenders (Chrissie Hynde is amazing), Stevie Nicks, Cyndi Lauper, Wham, Springsteen, Madonna, Frankie goes to Hollywood, Kenny Loggins, Tina Turner, Phil Collins, Wang Chung, bananarama, Benatar, Huey Lewis, Billy Ocean, Corey Hart, New Edition, The Time, Whitney Houston, Bon Jovi, Poison, Motley Crue, Whodini, The Deele, Rick Springfield, Romantics, Night Ranger, Chicago, Petty Bryan Adams, Dire Straits, Tears for Fears, Elton John, Howard Jones, Talking Heads and last but not least because he deserves his own recognition the one and mother fucking only Prince. I used to stick 1999 in my 8- track player by my bed and listen until it until it flipped for side two. I could listen another half hundred or so but you get where I’m going.

Breakdancing to Whodini, Newcleus, Midnight Star and Herbie fucking Hancock. I did the centipede, windmill and I could moonwalk with the best of them in my pointy shoes I wore to my 8th grade dance.

The one hit wonders were timeless. A-ha, Katrina and the Waves, Til Tuesday, Falco, The Outfield, Rockwell and Nena just to name a few.

My favorite videos were Money for Nothing, Thriller of course, The Reflex from Duran Duran and California Girls by DLR. Did I mention influence puberty had on me? Woof I wouldn’t even watch that video with my mother in the room.

My friends and I each had our own personal boom boxes and briefcases full of cassette tapes. we’d have slumber parties and set our jam boxes around the room and rotate our playlists with the likes of Lionel, Michael Jackson, Prince and the Revolution and Midnight Star. Sometimes I’d borrow my brother’s boom box when he was out of town. His had a removable tape player that doubled as a Walkman WHUT?? It made me the jewel of boom box affiliates and I rode that as long as I could.

Mix tapes became my jam I would sit in my bed with my fingers hovering over the record button on my jam box while Rick Dees and Casey Kasem chimed on Sunday morning radio for four hours counting down the top 40. I wouid get chills when my songs came on. I hated when the DJ talked all the way up to the start of the song lyrics. He was fucking up my mixed tape vibes. How many of you hear a song that’s a blast from the past and automatically assume a certain song will immediately play afterwards because of an old mixed tape you wore out listening too over the years. I can’t listen to Don’t Stop Believing (one of the greatest songs of all times) without expecting the next song to be Footloose. While we are discussing Footloose can we talk about how the movie soundtracks in the 80s were fire?? Footloose, Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Beverly Hills Cop, Breakin, Fame, Purple Rain, Back to the Future, Rocky IV for Christ sake was a banger, Dirty Dancing. Hell even TV soundtracks hit! Miami Vice anyone?

Mid to late 80s love songs and lyrics started making sense. I had a few crushes in my high school days but I was way too awkward to ever even talk to them. Love songs started landing on my loins and I didn’t know what the fuck to do with them but they certainly stirred my unchecked heart. This was the decade for monster ballads and I was here for all of it.

The first band that will always come to mind when monster ballads are brought up in conversation would be Bon Jovi. I’ll Be There For You started to hit different. Girls where on my mind starting around 1984. I was kept fairly close to home in my teens. My parents must’ve been petrified with the thought of me talking to girls because any opportunity or function that showed itself where I might be able to achieve that my parents poo poo’d on it. My first time away from my parents for more than a day was my junior year beach trip. I was too scared to do anything rambunctious. I had one wine cooler all week and spent my time babysitting my drunk friends. I made up for lost time on that one.. As the girls boobies got bigger so did my appetite for love songs. Imagine that. The Ballad of Jane, When I’m with you by Sheriff? Alone by Heart, Right there waiting for you, Richard Marx (shut up Kelley) Love Song by Telsa was the ballad of Wren High for a bit. I still love that song even though it’ll never attach itself to a face. I had some healthy crushes in high school. I’m even fb friends with a few of you. You will never know who you are. Winky face and shit.

I had my first drink and make out session to the Whitesnake self titled Album at 16. I thought to myself “fuck yeah my life is about to change forever” but that was it for another year or so.

Back to Van Halen for a moment 5150 will always represent my puberty. I’ve listened to that album front and back more than any other. When that album begins I can smell the clear plastic cassette it was recorded on, sitting on a blanket at Anderson Beach noticing bikinis for the first time. Probably a cheap cooler of Pepsi by my side. I’d only lie on my stomach in public I went through a chubby phase for awhile. Or I’d just wear a shirt in the lake. Puberty was unkind to me. I’m sure that cooler of ice cold Pepsis didn’t help.

Big hair bands came about the same time my teenage rambunctiousness hit me. The more sheltered lifestyle I had faced the more rowdy I’d become. The years of school bus harassment put a little fire in my heart that still resounds this day. Guns N Roses Appetite For Destruction came out my junior year and it just fit me like a warm sock. Be bop and pop rock was slowly leaving my top 40 soul. My newfound desires were timed perfectly with the debut of this album. You could hear the mullet coming out of the back of my head. GnR, Poison, Motley Crue, Suicidal Tendencies, Warrant, Cinderella, Tesla, Ratt, Wasp, Whitesnake made me rowdy. It could just be the chicken and the egg but it grew on me as I grew. Alcohol and lovely young ladies were on my mind. I had my first taste of partying and cigarettes. It seemed anytime I was within reach of these partying products one of these bands were playing in the background. I was here for it.

Quiet Riot brought out some fun teenage rage. Banging my head and driving like an idiot. I didn’t care man, adult freedom was just around the corner and I was priming myself for it. Parents I’ll just say this, don’t try to keep your kids away from some of the things they need to experience on their own. All you’re doing is just pulling that slingshot band back a little more and more until they are ready to shoot the fuck out of your house like a slung rock. That’s a little bit of what happened with me.

I can recall skipping school my junior year. All we did was drive to the GA border and turn around. The trip lasted as long as it takes Beastie Boys License to Ill to play front and back 4 times. We were sipping schnapps from an old English cologne bottles. Certain there was still cologne residue in the bottles but that cassette turned hip hop into art for me. The Beastie Boys I’d put in my top 5 of favorite bands of all time. I was fortunate enough to see them at lollapalooza in ‘93. Might’ve been ‘94 can’t be too sure.

My first full time job I was cutting fairways at Donaldson Center Golf Club after I graduated high school. From 8-4 all I did was sit on an old diesel tractor and mow fairways and tear up some golf balls. I played on occasion but I never got golf. I did enjoy running over balls after they’d bounce off my tractor. That caused quite the stir with my employers.

I had my Walkman in my ears while getting the best tan of my career. My leg hairs turned bleach blonde for gosh sake. I kept a backup of batteries in my jeep and if my Walkman died I’d drive the tractor over 4 fairways and replenish my song supply. I’d have a little satchel of tapes and listen to Milli Vanilli, Neneh Cherry, Bobby Brown, Love and Rockets. For some reason music took a dip in ‘89. In my eyes at least. I struggled with quite a few things my senior year. I had enrolled in Greenville tech but it wasn’t my go to it was more out of obligation. My mentality when I left high school was bland. The thought of college didn’t do it for me. Furthering my education wasn’t my ideal agenda but it’s forced down your throat your whole childhood. My grades were shit as was my attitude.

Your musical vibes can also reflect this. It mirrors your mental health. It’s no big surprise. When you’re sad you listen to songs about heartbreak and loss. When you’re happy usually vibes with upbeat tempo songs coming out of your speakers. Dancing music to feel alive or a good songwriter to lighten the mood. When you’re angry you want a fast tempo, you want it loud. Gripping that steering wheel while pantera fuses your foot to the gas pedal.

Music speaks to us. It also allows us to express ourselves through our souls. Music is my love language for sure. If I’m sharing a song with you it’s completely out of love or friendship . You don’t have to like the song but I want you to know why I love it. I’m sharing a part of my soul with you. I’m pretty much doing it now on a broad scale.

I feel like I slept on music for a bit. What I mean by that is from probably 89-92 ish music wasn’t on my mind. I was transitioning from kid to adult, living away from home, madly in love with a young lady and a life full of new found freedom. Music was still there but my musical tastes shifted to 70s rock. Zepellin, Doors, Steve Miller Band, Dead, Aerosmith. My new lifestyle reflected this style. Recreational drugs had been introduced to me. My music tastes went a little sideways and retracted. Its interesting to watch your musical environment evolve through environment and persuasion. I couldn’t walk into a house party without The Joker playing on the home stereo in the early 90s. Doors had made a small comeback because of the movie about them with Val Kilmer. I was here for it. The Doors were dark. I had a small man crush on Jim Morrison. I even owned a few pieces of his literature. For a brief time I fantasized about living in a little boho flat in little five points Atlanta, turning myself over to recreational drugs and vagabonding until my heart stops. I went through quite a transition when I left the system. The vagabond lives inside of me and never went away. Cutting the drinking out made him a little more reliable.

Grunge

Man if you want to talk about the right music at the right time. Grunge was dropped on my doorstep right when I needed a musical shot in the arm. I was a partier. I loved big throw downs with all my friends. I was a fresh 21 years of age, I was a social fucking butterfly going out as often as 7 nights a week. I was no longer sneaking around hitting strangers up for alcohol at gas stations because I was underage. I was living with four Furman football players two of them being my BFFs and they all had giant stereo cabinets in their rooms. Guys never stop playing with their toys growing up. They just evolve along with us and grow power cords.

1991 was like a pez dispenser of GOAT music.

Nevermind, Nirvana

Ten, Pearl Jam

Blood Sugar Sex Majik, Red Hot Chili Peppers

Badmotorfinger, Sound Garden

Out of Time, REM

Use Your Illusion, GnR

The Low End Theory, Tribe Called Quest

Pairing this with my 21 year old legalized freedom and lifestyle and it was a match made in heaven. CDs were becoming mainstream which meant everyone started carrying around 40lb CD trapper keepers in their vehicles which meant leaving a 6ft CD tower at home soulless and empty because all the CD casss were empty. My first 10 CDs were from those Columbia Record deals where you could get 10 for $1 before they tried to fuck you. Pretty sure I still owe them for those CDs. I still have a few of them to this day. I kept a 5 disc CD changer in my trunk with a little digital remote control velcro’d to my console. I paid $500 for that damn thing in 1991.

The early 90s were a blur would be an understatement. Most of what I can recall was a lot of late night music blaring through shitty speakers in dark bars with cheap liquor. I seemed to get into bar fights whenever Metallica was playing or the Meat Puppets.

Late nights with the Breeders, Counting Crows, Mazzy Star, Morphine and Radiohead at Crocs. Getting high and smiling at Beck lyrics and singing Fumes at the top of our lungs. Prince changed his name for a bit but 7 will go down as one of my favorite albums of his.

If my partying wasn’t going hard enough as it was I joined the ranks of the Blockhouse and well you can kiss my memory goodbye until about ‘96.

I feel like music left my lifestyle for a while. I spent a lot of years slinging drinks and steaks at my old steakhouse. Musak ruined a hundred plus songs playing the background over and over again. Without having to conjur up some old stainy tunes “Give Me One Reason To Stay here” by Tracy Chapman may get me swingin’. Torn by Natalia Imbruglia, any Celine Dion, Shania Twain, Smashmouth, Third Eye Blind, Sheryl Crow all remind me of wearing ridiculously heavy starched denim shirts while reeking of hickory smoke and cigars. Where Have All The Cowboys gone may get your foot stepped on. Matchbox Twenty was about the only good thing that came out of that era. At least for me. I wasn’t exactly exploring my best cultured experiences outside of that restaurant for around 15 years.

Early 2000s

Listen before I blatantly attack and poo poo on music for a few years let me start off by saying that I was transitioning into another person from around 31-35 years old. Life was coming at me pretty hard and I was feeling the squeeze of adulting. I went through a period of some fun depression, heartbreak and a different kind of reckoning.

Bad breakups followed by a toxic relationship rebounds, my bread and butter slowly fading at the steakhouses (I saw a bleak future had I stayed). Add my brother passing away from opioids and it wasn’t a good state of minding for me.

My not so fun early 30’s were paired with the likes of Stained, Train, Destiny’s Child, Moby, Dido, Nelly Furtado, Kelly Clarkson, Daughtry (actually any song by an old American Idol contestant just pisses me off) Crazy Town, Jlo or whatever the fuck she calls herself, Evanescence, Sean Paul, Three Doors Down, Black Eyed Peas I hated them all. Music just didn’t resonate during that time.

Thank god I still had OutKast

If you like any of these artists no offense. Every single person on that list has more talent in their fingertip than I. I just don’t like their musical style.

Also

Nickelback isn’t as bad as everyone wants them to be.

I had a Johnny cash obsession for at least 2 decades. When I used to paint he was my go to. I loved painting him his portraits. You’ll find quite a few Gangwer originals of him in some local households.

2009- 2012

I had bluegrass and freedom on my mind. I was opening Southern and wanted to take in as much Appalachian and bluegrass vibes as I could absorb. I was watching the Grammys one night and watched a group of young fellas mixing piano with some banjos and an upright bass. They called themselves the Avett Brothers and they were singing Head full of Doubt. I felt like I hadn’t fallen in love with a song in years and these guys got me back into it. Right behind them another young Irish band came out and played The Cave. Mumford and sons paired perfectly with Avett Brothers and right behind them out came Bob Dylan. They all crooned to Maggie’s Farm and I immediately downloaded every song Avett and Mumford created. I may have sent a little overboard because I burned myself out on them at SC. Musak filled my ears with them over the years. I can’t listen to either group without associating with Southern. It’s not necessarily a bad thing I had some good times there. Avett Brother’s music has aged ok but each new album sounds like they wrote it right after their family dog died. Would love to hear them jam like 2009 again. Also in case you didn’t know Southern was named after Southern Culture on the Skids. It was fashioned to be a rockabilly bar but it was a tad too fancy

Currently searching

The last 10 years my music taste has evolved a little but not much. Nostalgia rears its head at a certain age so I find myself backtracking to that oldies. By oldies I mean mostly 80s and Grunge. I burned myself out on some excellent classic rock. I still love it it’s a part of me but yeah I could go the rest of my life without hearing an Aerosmith or ZZ Top song. My ears have soften a bit I rarely bang my head although on occasion I’ll catch myself speeding down 25 with Pantera or NWO blasting out of my sunroof. Some newish country has made its way in my life. I like that Zach Bryan kid, love Childers and hope to see him live again. Jason Isbell is a fantastic song writer although he seems like he might be a prick in real life. Speaking of Isbell I came across him while listening to Drive By Truckers. A fav of mine with my old friend Brad Morgan from high school playing the drums.

Southeastern by Isbell to me is one of the greatest albums of all time. Hands down.

I found Sturgill Simpson on YouTube singing on NPR little desk concert and became obsessed. Love his old school country sound and songwriting. If you asked me who my go to was at this time I’d say Sturgill. He’s produced country, bluegrass and Sound and Fury is amaze balls. Plus I like his style.

Nowadays my vibe is more relaxed as am I. John Prine resonated with me when I’m camping and man I really dig Christopher Cross on my headphones of that makes me sound old I don’t care. Music is a reflection of your mood and soul. I love how mine has progressed into a relaxed setting.

I’m currently sitting here about to wrap this up at Glenville lake while Prine sings Donald and Lydia. Listen, take some time off and listen to this man’s song writing. It’s art.

I enjoyed writing this. The whole time I was shuffling songs while I sought inspiration for this blog and I feel like I took an upper. This is why I love music. ❤️

I may bitch and complain about a million things a week. I know I can go overboard with my rants and tantrums (most are just for fun unless I’m driving) and I enjoy rubbing folks the wrong way although most of the time once again it’s just for fun and if it gets out of hand I’m usually the first person to slide into your DMs with a sincere apology. Unless I don’t like you.

One thing you’ll never hear me complain about are my friends. I have been truly blessed with my posse of guys, gals, weirdos, whackos, a-holes and b-holes. I have had in my corner the best of the best. The ones that pull you away from chaos and ones that ride shotgun with you all the way down into that bulging pile of burning shit I sometimes find myself in.

They are unquestionably the best assets of my character.

I put my friends in three categories and I think you’ll find similar categories with your friends if you’re hovering around the same half century age as me.

Generation I

Generation II

And of course currently Generation III

Generation I are my childhood friends. The folk I grew up with that we might’ve met playing street ball in the neighborhood or our parents were friends and hung out together or we were fortunate enough to have a desk within note passing distance in elementary and middle school. This group we share a strong bond of experiencing adolescence, growing pains, beating the shit out of each other over broken toys. We’d build foxholes, damn up creeks, chase salamanders and shoot BB guns at cow patties to watch them explode. I grew up in Piedmont y’all I get all of this honest. We’d get detentions together, ride bikes to the gas station to play Pac-Man or sit in our family’s den listening to their old country albums. We discovered Atari rivalries and watch Steamboat kick Flair’s ass after watching Saturday morning cartoons. Some, their parents were my second parents.

We talked about our first crushes, had our first wine coolers we stole from Friendly’s, double dated at the prom with our big hair dates. Throw up at our first kegger and put our foes in headlocks for talking shit about our boys. We threw our caps in the air side by side and the next day we’d be strolling down the grandstrand late evening at dirty Myrtle looking for some cute girls from Ohio.

These are from my 0-18 years of childhood. The ones I still talk to on a daily basis now I consider the be my brothers and sisters. I can’t give you an accurate number but it’s probably a dozen and a few more. If any of these folk called me and said “I’m in trouble can you pick me up in Copenhagen?” I’ll be on a plane with my shoes untied. These friends are invaluable to me. You will never hear me speak a negative word about them unless we are standing side by side ribbing each other. These are the friends that built my character.

Generation II you could consider your new college friends or work friends you meet when you finally leave the nest. For me these were people I began to gravitate towards at my early adult phase. Bartending , partying late nights, playing pool and such. Your world expands when you leave the nest but your friends tend to shrink a little. At least in my day before social media when you graduated high school the only time you’d run into old high school friends were holidays when we’d all go out to the same three bars in downtown Greenville. Addy’s, Corner Pocket and then close down Casa B’s. We’d exchange numbers but never call each other but it was always swell to see those old faces. Gen II got to watch us learn some trades all the while we’d apartment hop around sometimes picking up co workers along the way to live with us to share bills and stories. We’d find our first real significant others and move in with them until we outgrew each other. Some of us shared the same orientation class at work and bonded over being the newbies. We’d party all night together and bring each other bojangle biscuits to calm the shakes down for lunch service. We’d all go to the beach overnight, crash Freedom Weekend Aloft while dancing our asses off to the Village People, smoking cheap cigarettes and buying cases of Busch lite. Late night pool parties, card drinking games, couch surfing at each other’s place and consoling heartbreaks from falling in love a little too fast. We’d slowly progress and grow professionally. The close ones always stuck around if and when you left to follow your dreams once you got your feet secured to the ground and could find your path. Others stayed right where they are and have open arms for you should you come back home with zero judgement. These were my saddle buddies who spent a lot of time next to me at bars and rolling silverware. We didn’t grow up as childhood friends but we bonded over personal growth, heartbreaks, hangovers and late 20s philosophies. My time at Arizona produced an amazing amount of love and friendship. We were just now finding ourselves and held each other’s hands along the way. Some of my favorite people in the world I met organically at this time. They are the best of the best. I’ve become a better human because of you.

Generation III are the friends I’ve made over the recent years as far back as my mid to late thirties to now. I probably converse with you all more than some of my older friends because our universes are parallel from coincidence, geography and lifestyles. Some I made from opening up southern while most were just random conversations on social media and we’d connect and over time find out we get along swell together. The bonds I made through my old restaurant put me together with a number of unique and good hearted folk. Met new families, vacationed with them, hiking friends, service industry friends. These friends wouldn’t recognize me without my shaved head and beard but we talk like we’ve known each other for half a lifetime. We have our own circles but they circle each other like wagons on a prairie. We share stories over coffee now instead of cocktails, we send ridiculous memes and sometimes will have a whole ass conversation on IG for years even though we have each other’s digits. Like the other two generations we are all growing older together. We don’t worry about the same things we used to and often times we’ll spend hours reflecting on nostalgia. I don’t put any of these friends below the other generations their friendship is paramount. I enjoy supporting their businesses and dreams as do they for me.

I’ll never complain about having too many friends. My bank account can go fuck off my riches are spent on these people because they are my currency. My friends account. They’ve help me overcome my bouts of depression, sometimes driving two hours down the road just to sit next to me on my sofa. Hug me for no reason and will have my back even when I’m trying to fight half a dozen goons in a bar (sorry about that phase but at least you have some fun stories to tell your kids)

Whenever I get a big smack of unfortunate events I pull out some friend memories and all is well once again.

I’m thinking about some different boards to add on here while keeping my top 4 still intact. In case you’re wondering who’s the top 4 in my box sales it’s easy 1. Big daddy 2. Happy box 3. Grazer 4. Ladies night. I’ll be changing the name of the Big Daddy it’s not the right fit anymore. It didn’t take long for me to figure out my consumer base is 75% women 30-55 years old. Act accordingly. My chadcuterie menu could be those four items plus my customs and my sales wouldn’t be affected. This either means my other boxes aren’t as attractive to the consumer or maybe some of my ingredients replicate too much. I’ve been sitting on this menu since 2021. I haven’t change the prices of my boxes to adjust to inflation I’ve just gotten more creative with the ingredients. If anything you’re actually getting more food and options than when I first started.

I’ve got an updated mezza box on my mind. I’ve always thought the mezza was sort of a half assed box which is why I never liked making them. It’s a forced menu item that sells just enough for me to keep it but it’s boring to me.

I’m really stuck on a Caesar board for some reason. I love the idea of baby gems used as utensils with a real old school Caesar dressing, with crostinis, crumbled reggiano, olives, smoked anchovies and some other veggies. Caesar salad is my jam. I’ll have one on the menu if I go this route. The board would be a special order board. Not sure I’d “stock” it

I loved the pretzel board when I had it. It was a giant pretzel with peppered salami, pastrami, homemade pickles and beer cheese. It didn’t travel well and some people would pick it up 2 hours late and that would piss me off because the pretzel would become shit. If I make it to order I’ll bring it back. It’s an easy pickup. Also my daughter loves giants pretzels and I love my daughter.

Sweet box – I go all over the place with this one. I’ve never been a pastry guy and never intend on being one but now that I have a little more accessible kitchen I can expand with this. Getting me to make a sweet box is like pulling teeth. Also my previous kitchens are nice and toasty and I never enjoyed watching my chocolate items melt.

Spreads – I’ll offer more options for dipping, will sell crudités boxes and have them readily available. The options will all depend on how the consumer reacts. Everyone told me they loved a good green goddess dip and then I sold 6 in four months..

Kidcuterie- I see these as an option for pre ordering individually. I’m not sure they’ll work premade as a grab and go. Literally an updated lunchable.

Cold cut platters- I’ll have them. Wouldn’t make sense to not have this available. I visually see a platter with some protein choices, some pairable cheeses, some sliced sandwich veggies with some aiolis for spreads. Yes I’ll be using actual aiolis.

Brunch boards for pre ordering and I may add a Bloody Mary board for special occasions. I’d enjoy playing around with some spicy pickles, some skewered sausages, pickled shrimp homemade rim seasonings. Great for bridal showers.

I also have my mind on something like a midnight snack box for grab and goes

Carpaccio boards for take out. I’d take one home with me every day

Also playing with the notion of smoked fish tins for small board ideas

Baked brie boxes are a possibility.

Gotta wrap my head around that one

Dogcuterie is also on my mind

I’ll also add a picnic charcuterie basket for special occasions. Guys you wanna woo your woman this would be a fine way.

Build your own- let’s not go overboard. Modifiers are show stoppers in the kitchen. What I intend to offer is you get basic mise en place in a 8×6 box with pickles, crackers, fruit, nuts and olives. Then I’ll give you a choice of 2-3 meats and 2-3 cheeses to add on inside your box. This keeps the aesthetics smooth and consistent. Hard part for me to swallow is the boxes I’ll use are $.87 each. That’s going to add up.

Market

Ok so I know I’ll be adding some pimento cheese flavors. That’s a no brainer. As to how much I’m not sure yet it depends on how much cheese I want to shred daily.

I’ll be selling pickles I have them anyway I just makes sense.

Cold cuts retail- this is sort of secondary, most of my market part will be honestly. Like the pickles I’ll have them already. Sliced fresh to order and probably much more affordable price than your big box grocers. Your favorite stores are charging you upwards of a 300% markup for deli meat. This is a secondary level product for me. I also do my best to make anything I create or sell approachable for the average consumer.

I’m pretty much a boars head retailer so I intend on carrying some of their product as retail. Why not?

I’ll offer handmade boards not from me obviously but any woodwork guys out there that want to sell your boards on cosignment hit me up.

Also have my mind on Tartar but I like to see dhec only once a year.

While we are on outside market options I’m looking for hot sauce dealers, local merchants of food and maybe merch. You have to be dhec permitted or legal. I’m open minded to just about anything I like to support others but it can’t be in direct competition with what I have to offer.

I’ll have some baked goods. Not sure how much I’ll do myself but there will be options.

Market will also have some basic grab and goes sides and charcuterie pre made boxes

Deli

I’ve caught myself overthinking on this one. When I eat a sandwich I’m as basic as you get. Gimme a club and leave me alone. I also don’t eat that much bread anymore because after all these years that gluten has finally got me.

I’ll have your basics ham, turkey, roast beef, pastrami, bologna, chicken salad, tuna salad and maybe even egg salad. Some will have tweaks and some will be traditional. I don’t know about you but I get pissed off when someone goes overboard on chicken salad. Don’t Waldorf my shit. Celery, onion, dukes, some celery seed and salt, pepper. How you cook your chicken is how you make a good chicken salad.

Breads I’m still shopping for.

I have my mind on a muffuletta but if I can’t get the right bread at the right price I won’t do it.

Reuben’s are a obvious choice. I’ll have one sandwich press for now. Melts are standard in delis I just want to make sure I don’t over use my press. Everyone loves a good chicken salad melt too.

I love a solid French dip but I’m not sure if it’s worth the set up to create it. Hot sandwiches will be tricky here. It can be done.

I’m thinking on a corn beef bahn mi, a pimento cheese sandwich with marscapone and roasted tomatoes. Not sure about that one I’m hungry right now y’all. I always write my menus when I’m hungry.

A solid ham sandwich I’ve got this weird idea of pickled mustard seed infused with a hot spicy honey. I also enjoy a traditional ham on baguette with herb butter. An easy grab and go pickup

I played with a creamy chimmichuri spread. Hated it

Of course I’ll have an Italian sub. I actually intend on making the best one around here.

I’ve got a cold cut bbq chicken sandwich in my head too. Hoagie ish, pickled onions, maybe a poblano cheese spread?

Salt and vinegar aioli anyone? Sounds interesting

I had thought about some toasts but they won’t travel well.

Salads/ I’m really trying to get a tad different here and it’s another one that’s got me over thinking. Mostly on appearance. Greenville’s salad scene is predictable. I don’t want to be. Is also don’t want to go overboard with creativity because well Greenville for the most part is basic too.

I’ll have a Caesar. Maybe baby gems if they aren’t ridiculous. I love the idea of a giant pumpernickel crouton resting in the center. No clue as to why I’m stuck on that.

I’d like to try out some sort of ahi tuna and cantaloupe with a citrus dressing. Maybe a spicy peanut drizzle or pistachios. This is one of those items that sit inside my head for months and when I actually try to apply it turns to shit. We shall see.

I like the idea of a chicken salad Cobb salad but I hate wrestling with fickle avocados. I don’t miss the produce deliveries that would bring me 2 dozen avocado rocks.

All my dressings will be 💯 olive oils. No seed oils. Some may just be some citrus juices and vinegar. Shake it up y’all

I will not be selling bulk dressing at this time. Yes I will have some sort of ranch because Greenville.

Hotdogs and Brats. My menu will be very similar to that menu I did at Birds. 6 choices. Also this dynamic is barely on the cusp of making it. The room to work around it will make that decision. I won’t bring in an employee just to sling glizzies. I griddled them in the trailer. Won’t have that option here.

Soups will come when the leaves change. I’m currently sweating at 7:00 am. Don’t talk to me about soups right now.

This is a close as I’ve come to working on my menu. My brain kicks in when I open this app so I thought if I started here it would open me up and it did. If this goes the same way as any of my menu creations you’ll see about 75% of these items. The other 25% may not work as well on the palate as it does on paper. It may also not plate well consistently and that’s just as important.

So this is the closest to a sneak peak that I can give you at the moment. As I’m wrapping this up I’ve had a half dozen other ideas I forgot to include but I suppose a little surprise is needed

Cheers!