Bearded Gang

I became a different person when I turned 50.

No

I didn’t blow out 50 candles on my birthday on September 5th and go “holyfuckingshitimabutterfly!” Although in the back of my mind it was a dim light that came on. Like a damn candle down a long dark foreboding hallway. It was a little surreal when you add that it started off so distant that I could sense the process of that light coming into existence before it even illuminated. Scientifically speaking that bulb must’ve been millions of miles away to take that long to reach me.

I always tell people I’m in the restaurant business now and not service industry. The distinction between the two for me is restaurant business is just that to me now. It’s work. It’s my occupation.

Period.

Service industry was more than that. It defined a lifestyle. A full time 24 hour 7 days a week vibe. It manufactured me over the years into a different soul. It changed my lifestyle, my thinking, my scruples and shredded my mental health like a cheese grater.

Deadass

The problem is when you’re in the industry the only recognition is it’s par for the course. You’ll be fine when you get off of work and get on that barstool. That barstool is like the therapist’s chaise. It’s where you go to let go,

I ran out of things to let go of years ago and started hoarding everything. My emotions, anxieties, stress, physical pain. Every shitty thing you can put under a Christmas tree I held on to it and it made it more and more painful to carry it everyday. There was no fucking crown that grew heavy it was just hangovers and depression. My head was too big to wear a crown.

In this industry the betas become street side trash overnight.

I developed and created a healthy failure paradox in my head. Even to this day you can see the residue of that stagnant feeling in my deli posts.

Back to 50

The feedback I get from friends and family about my reckoning brings a smile to my soul. I have to say somewhat shamefully that all I did was follow that light. Like illuminated instinct. My brain pointed at that light and I went into that direction. I use symbolism quite a bit in my writing probably because that’s how I grasp things. Metaphors, similes all those figures of speeches they’re like sentence ornaments for me.

I use that light not as a reference because I truly believe I saw it. Believe what you want it’s fine but my transition speaks for itself.

I firmly believe that light would’ve never turned on had I not left the industry. The industry was my self perceived bestie. My drinking buddy, my devil on the shoulder wearing a halo. It was also blocking my path to that light. Like Doc Holiday said to Kate in Tombstone “ We must talk darling. It appears we must redefine the nature of our association.” I didn’t feel that at the time however even after my split I was still fixated on building another empire. Kicking and screaming I was drug out out of my industry shell.

I don’t tell too many people this because to be honest I didnt want any negative focus on my old company but I was forced out of my partnership. It made me angry, jaded, bitter and then extremely depressed. I felt like a failure in my family’s eyes and I took it out on them emotionally. I turned my drinking up to notch 11. I tried my best to destroy everything I love out of spite of being a failure. I got real good at it. I lived in my own little world of self pity for over a year. Disguising my struggles. I wasn’t expressive I only brooded. Darkly

In retrospect getting pushed out of the company that I founded, created, sacrificed everything for was the best thing that could happen to me. Highly doubt we’d be a company of three regardless of my terms there. Lto had one foot out the door before I left but that’s not my point.

It left me no choice but to sit down and redefine myself. How long did it take to process? I’m still sitting down.

I reached out to my old partner’s wife after his passing to respectfully send my condolences. I wanted to tell her that my last convo with her husband may have been harsh but ultimately it might’ve saved me or at least have a lasting impact. If you knew her husband like I did you would’ve known that was exactly his intention. It took his passing for me to sit down and accept that one on the chin too. I didn’t say those words. We hadn’t spoke in three years. Condolences took precedence. After we spoke briefly I took my pettiness off the table. Enough is enough

Back to 50.

It took a solid year out of the industry to realize it was slowly killing me. Charcuterie was here to keep us fed until I found something more substantial. Every day I was looking at properties or concepts for sale. I had zero capital to invest due to COVID shattering my finances but in my head I kept telling myself “you’ll find a fucking way you always do”. The issue was my passion was zero.

Subzero

Service Industry was my life. I allowed it to be my entire life and it got taken away from me. I could’ve accepted a half dozen decent roles in other restaurant groups but my motto has always been never move backwards. Also I have gotten so used to not having a direct supervisor for a decade. Even my old company of 16 years the last 6 years or so I pretty much managed myself. I was an old dog with only a few tricks left. I imagine I’d be a terrible employee to manage now.

Back to 50. The transistion from 49 to 50 was a big one and it took a minute. The summer before my 50th could’ve possibly been one of the worst summers of my life. My depression peaked as did my drinking. I was hell bent on destroying everything close to me. I wanted every branch on my tree cut off so I couldn’t reach out to feel anymore. Let me be a fucking stump and die. I wasn’t suicidal I just didn’t want to be here anymore. Absolutely nothing brought me joy. That’s when the light started to show.

Had I not seen it..

I was hiking. A little waterfall trail in Saluda. I was hiking because I had no clue what else to do that day. The trail was closed near the falls. I had no intention of turning around I just wanted to get lost. If I slid off the falls and cracked my head I could’ve given a shit less. In fact I was ready to embrace it.

My phone pinged with a random text. I looked down at it and I turned around from my hike and headed back to where I parked. The light had made its way to me.

On my way home my mind hatched a little thought. “We need to talk Chad.” indeed we do my friend.

I started writing notes in my phone on the way home. A list no one saw but me. A list of what I had to reckon with. I memorized that list. It was quite the list. The lists of all lists. It fucking hurt to read it because it was written to provide me the means of stripping myself down bare to the bones, exposing myself to all of my terrible habits, faults, accountability, liability and overall behavior not becoming of someone that I was striving to be.

I wanted to reinvent my legacy. Let’s be honest it wasn’t going very well up until then.

I feel like most of us are aware of our shortcomings we just don’t have the structure, time or effort to reckon with it. You can acknowledge it but that’s about as useful as a political post on Facebook. Awareness is beneficial but it lacks foundation without actions. I can name all sorts of shitty habits and patterns I’ve conjured over the years. I only winced and kept going.

It was an hour drive to get home and I was still writing what needed to be done.

50 was just around the corner.

I started writing and signing some peace treaties in my head.

50 was very symbolic for me. In my head for a few years after I turned 40 it was always “you’re gonna be 50 one of these days”

“50 is right around the corner”

“Next year I’ll be a half century years old”

“What the fuck have you accomplished?”

I’m a procrastinator at heart. I don’t task well unless you give me a specific deadline. If you need something done by the end of the year I’ll probably start it around 11pm December 31st. Ok 6pm because I like to go to bed early.

For some reason 50 became the ultimate deadline for me. I fucked around being a juvenile for too long.

I started making changes that summer but it was all relative to my upcoming half century existence. I didn’t cross anything off my list because these are daily tasks that I must repeat to keep my reckoning pumping. It has to be perpetual. It cannot leave my grasp.

Dedi fucking cation

The big one on that list was my favorite one – alcohol. The whole fucking list revolved around the drinking but I kept moving that one down as I challenged the others.

“Let’s deal with this issue first and we’ll tackle alcohol tomorrow”

When I turned 50 I did it the same way I did for the last 30 years. I got drunk.

And I watched that light dim in my head.

I didn’t want to give that last part up. I made excuses and felt like I needed to be rewarded for my attempt at becoming a respectable human being. Hell if anything I started drinking more because of that.

I had turned a big corner, a big solid leaf but I could feel myself slowly sliding and hating myself again.

The thought of eliminating vodka, my most favorite toy in the world, seemed impossible to me.

It’s ludicrous to acknowledge the one thing you should remove from your entire life that could be beneficial in every single phase of your physical and mental health and still be like “nah”.

Addiction is a friendless cunt.

When I got out of bed on January 1, 2022 I did something I hadn’t done in awhile. I got up to get ready for the day, walked in the bathroom, turned on the lights and looked at my face. I always washed my face without looking in the mirror in the morning. I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know what I’d see. Bloodshot eyes, swollen cheeks, exaggerated wrinkles, dark circles under my eyes. I hated the way I looked in the mornings. I was nursing my all too familiar hangover. Probably my 900th in a row.

I stared into my eyes in the mirror and looked at someone I no longer wanted to be. It wasn’t the light in my head this time it was the shitty bathroom bulb shining on my face.

I looked in the mirror and said the sentence I’ve repeated 903 times now.

“I’m not drinking today”

I’ve shared this story before. 100 times and will tell anyone willing to listen 100 more times.

I’ve spent the last three years rebranding myself subconsciously. I didn’t realize I was evolving. Hence the retrospect. After time as I analyzed my behavior and motions over that period. How I respond differently to situations inwardly and outwardly. The “in” part being the most imperative because we all put on our false bravados at times. Am I in full control? Fuck no but I have full situational awareness which prompts me to steadily progress inwards and outwards.

And upwards

I’m rambling.

Your body/brain have an amazing way of connecting the dots for you. But you have to learn to listen to it. Still working on that but I’ve gotten better.

I won’t say that light magically appeared in my head. I created it with my subconscious thoughts. I knew what I needed to do to improve myself as a person and to establish a legacy that was more than “he had some cool restaurant concepts.”

I fought with myself over this deli. Three years I’ve fought.

Three years I’ve pursued this dream all the while fighting against it.

Why? Because I had to be 10000% sure I was ready. I had to shake off that last bit of that SCHPG guy (I can’t even remember what letters go in there anymore)

Each time I got close my mind and my body told me I wasn’t ready yet. The location I chose when I first looked at it someone had already swiped it from me. My agent called me a month later and told me they backed out. Also kudos to that guy because I was all over the place with my opinions. I backed out of quite a few spots. He was patient

That’s when I knew that spot would suit me. Not some heavenly sign from above. Just my instincts finally saying “hey friend, you done good. I think you’re ready now.”

So I signed that damn lease.

While I write notes for the business I have another list of notes of I reckon with for myself on an individual level.

A checklist of patience, positivity and delegation. I no longer want to or wish to do it all. To have control everything. And that goddamn failure paradox that haunts me.

I’ve submerged myself completely in the creation of Graze. I’ve touched everything that has been brought into that place other than the tile installation. Every fucking shelf hung, every inch of wall painted, every plank, every anchor. Ok Charlie hung a few too.

This was a rite of passage for me. I’ve built many a kitchens and concepts in layouts that had the footprint already there.

This was a blank canvas from head to toe. It’s been exhausting for me but I needed it. This is training to reawaken my passion. It had to be done.

I couldn’t have done this last year or the previous chadcuterie years. I lacked the passion. Right now I’m so locked in but it’s not the same as it used to be. In my past this would feel like I’m waiting for the starting gun to go off to run a marathon as fast as I can. I’d be jacked screaming on social media “GIVE ME YOUR MONEY”

Buried that mother fucker not too long ago.

This one feels like studying for finals. Something I never did. Like I actually studied this time around and I’m not winging life.

The light I reference to sits beside me like a side table lamp. It’s a part of my infrastructural headspace.

I’m grateful for it’s illumination.

You were born on an early Tuesday evening. When you burst into this world it wasn’t with all the screaming and crying you visualize from all the movies and tv shows where you watch babies pop out screaming. You didn’t make a peep and you weren’t doing much else either. They were trying to get you going and you weren’t having it just quite yet. I was in a daze watching the nurses wake you up and didn’t realize the situation until one of them yelled to get a specialist and then I froze. I had only seen you for a brief moment and now I didn’t know if I’d ever get to know you. By the time that thought entered my head you let out a scream loud enough to let me know everything was ok. The nurse’s shoulders dropped and I could feel your soul enter the room. Your mom was so out of it from the epidural. I was thankful that she wasn’t aware of the situation. It might’ve lasted 30 seconds but it felt like a moment frozen in time that’s still there to this day in my memory. I watched it on replay a thousand times. I have a bad habit of doing that with traumatic memories.

You were so tiny but perfect. You had olive skin, clear eyes and a soft disposition. I didn’t want to hold you at the time because I thought you’d break. I had only met you 15 minutes before and already my instincts were fierce. I would’ve died for you right there. Lord whatever ailment that might come for my daughter please make it come through me first. As long as I stand in the way the devil himself will do an abrupt face.

Watching your mother cup you in her hands I could hear a little bell go off. Like a level had been completed. Like the little bell that goes off in your navigation when you cross a state line. *ding “you are now a family”

My hands shook as I tried to put your car seat in my truck. The nurses assisted me because I needed to know that car seat could and would contain and protect our most precious cargo. I was terrified. You didn’t come with instructions and I had never spent more than 3 seconds around a newborn much less take home one to reckon with. It had been 25 years since I had changed a diaper or bottle fed a baby (my nephew) and even then I had backup assistance with my mom who’d changed and fed a bus full of babies in her parental career.

We kept you in a bassinet and took turns feeding you in the middle of the night while the other dragged themselves upstairs to get some sleep. You were feisty when you got hungry. You’d kick and scream and cry. I’d sit there on the sofa with you at 4am while you’d scream. Patting your back until you finally succumbed to exhaustion as did I.

I remember the first night you slept through I jumped out of bed to see if you were breathing. Something I had done about a quarter of a million times over the previous 6 weeks and you were just snoring away. After that day you slept like a baby should sleep for most of your young career. Even at an early age I’d take you running with me and hiking. You’d fall asleep in your jogging stroller while I humped it around Cleveland park. Sometimes you’d just look up at me and smile while I ran. Those big ol brown eyes and your toothless grin. You were always smiling as a baby and I’m thankful for that because if there’s any litmus test that shows you’re raising a baby with love it’s the constant smile on their face. We’d hike around creeks and I’d dip your tiny toes in the cool water and use my bandana to dab your face when you snacked.

I was put on this ball to ensure that. It’s a duty that brings me the most joy.

I’d walk you around downtown to show you off. I’d give you a pinky of warm coffee just to watch your face squish. If I was guaranteed a carbon copy of you I could’ve had 10 more babies. My wife disapproves of this statement..

I think every father wishes for a son to forge into his likeness but I can’t imagine not being a girl father. It’s softened me to the core and buddy did I need that to settle into this life correctly.

You were always stubborn with food. I can’t say where you get your hardheadedness from because you’re family is full of them. I’d break green beans trying to put them in your mouth and you’d spit them out and smile. I could never get mad at you.

You rolled over for the first time on my feet while your mother brushed her hair in your nana’s bathroom in Mobile. It’s funny how easy it is to remember the firsts. You crawled for the first when I placed my shiny silver wedding band on the floor in our bedroom. I’d place it two feet in front of you and you’d slowly reach for it. I’d pull it away and you’d scrunch your butt up in the air and push forward. 2 minutes later you were a baby Roomba crawling everywhere. Then I spent the next few months scouring that floors to make sure you didn’t eat everything. I can recall quite clearly rolling you over to play with you and watching a shiny screw slide down the back of your throat. You started choking and there had to be a guardian angel with me because I calmly reached my fingers down your throat while your face was slowly turning blue and pulled it out without a hiccup. Once I could see you were fine and dandy I proceeded to go outside and bawl like you did for about 20 minutes. I probably swept and vacuumed that house a million times the next two years or until you lost your taste for floor goodies.

Your first word was kitty. As I took you upstairs to nap and little LT (our cat) walked by you pointed and said “kiki”. Now you’re growing up to be a cat person like your father.

The first time I heard you say Dada it was when I came upstairs to pick you up from your nap. You were standing up in your crib with a big smile and screamed “DADA” and well you already had my heart but damn there was more leftover to take I suppose. I remember that moment like it was 12 seconds ago.

I never missed one pediatrician visit with you. Not one. I wanted to cry with you every shot you had to take. One doctor almost took a dive out of the window because I didn’t like the way he grabbed your arm when you tried to jerk it away.

As you got older I started to see more and more parts of our bloodline in you.

You have my eyes and some of my nose. Certain angles I see my father in you. We all have serious brown eyes that sometimes don’t want to smile with the rest of our face.

You have your Gaga’s family ears. Your great grandfather and my brother would tell you the same if they were still around.

You have your mother and grandmother’s face so I see the Jones in you every time I look at you. When you smile big with your teeth I see your mother’s and Nana’s smile. Your mother’s face, I fell in love with. Your grin I will always see my mother’s face when she used to smile down at me to kiss me goodnight.

You have your Gaga’s pride. You have a gentle soul but when pushed I see that fire. I used to think it was all my mother’s but all these years with your mother I’ve come to realize I’m not the one in this household you have to worry about if someone hurts you. You have your mother’s fire. If you can inherit grudges well you don’t stand a chance.

You’re growing like a flower and it would seem you’ve inherited the height of the Regans. Your uncles are all smart on that side of the family and your great grandfather was an amazing man. You got some good stock in you kid.

You got the best parts of me. The love of a sunset. Odd sense of humor, the need for solitude. The color orange when it’s football season.

You have your mother’s heart, her skin and love of the beach. Man how I miss pulling you around on your little inner tube at the gulf, watching you giggle as drifted you towards the lazy river waterfalls. Your little goggles and floaties. Jesus you grow up so fast.

If there’s truly a heaven, mine would be reliving these finest of moments.

I love how you can talk to your mother about anything and how you always feel safe and protected around me. We’ve always done our best to communicate to each other and support each other in your presence even in the worst of days. I want you to be able to tell the generation you become a part of that your parents loved each other greatly. It’s paramount to both of us. Honoring your mother is one of the best ways I can show my love for you.

Every single day I look at you and smile in disbelief. I helped create this. No other project, mission, task or creation that I’ve been involved in has come close. I’ve never perfected anything other than you.

I enjoy our talks while I drive you to school. I enjoy making up lyrics and ruining your favorite songs like I’ve done to your mother so many times. Our weekly stops at Starbucks and convos inside Harris teeter market. You’re my best little friend.

Our cross country trip to see Mount Rushmore. Driving 1700 miles just to see that smile on your face. Worth it. I’d do it again tomorrow and hope one day we will. I missed so much time trying to build a better world for you. I’m still working on it but my priorities have changed.

When you cry I cry. You’ve never seen it although you’ve come close. I’m an old school proud redneck. You aren’t suppose to see your father cry. I remember when you posted how proud you were of me for going one year sober and when I read it I had to excuse myself from the table so I could compose myself. I cried when you bought me that giant pillow for me to sleep with to help my back with your own money.

I don’t lose on purpose when we play games anymore. You beat me more than I beat you now. I’m ok with that although I did beat you last night in Mario kart.

I hope I stay with these little blogs and you read them from time to time. I wish my parents had with me. Sometimes I feel like I only knew them as parents and not regular folk.

Father’s Day has never been about me. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy the REI gift cards and all but it’s more about what I’ve become for me. If there’s any activity I perform and try to grow and get gains daily it’s being your father. My work ethic in that subject will never falter.

Thank you for all daddy experiences. My life only gets better watching you grow into your own.

Where does your creativity come from? Do you have to be inspired? Or can you set your mind and go forward with tasks that require creativity? What nourishes it? Pumps it? Stirs it?

I was sitting in Graze the other day with a notebook in my hand, blank page staring back at me. Waiting on the gas company to hook me up. I thought this would be a good time to relax and jot down some menu notes and wrap my head around a menu. For an hour I sat there cross legged on an uncomfortable sofa staring at the walls. Zero jots were jotted.

I’ve had menu writing cramps before but this has been the biggest one. All the restaurants I’ve opened I’ve hit some lulls were it took a while to get my flow. Not so much with Southern I was bursting at the seems with ideas at that time. It was my first novel. She got all my love. Dive was the same. I had so many ideas that I ended up with a ridiculously large menu. I’d have to shave it down every month to shrink it to it’s greatest hits. It didn’t stick around long enough to matter.

Lto wasn’t hard for me. It was a burger bar you aren’t exactly reinventing the wheel. I always wanted a burger bar so I had a half dozen menus already written out. The vegan part wasn’t so easy. I went vegan for 4 months to absorb the culture and palate. It was challenging but I did learn a few things mostly how to make veggies taste like meat. I ended it with a bacon cheeseburger to celebrate,

Habitap was a real menu block and it never hatched. This is not a knock on hab either even their last menu was stil 70% me and it always made me cringe. I didn’t like that menu nor the concept. Again this isn’t a knock. I created the concept for fuck sake so if I’m knocking it’s all on me.

When we had to close and reopen all the restaurants during Covid it was put on my shoulders to reinvent all three restaurants simultaneously. That pretty much did me in and washed away my creativity. My passion was already struggling and that was the knock out blow. It was tough.

My last week in my company was right after co authoring a 7 course menu for Euphoria at southern for dinner and then another multiple course brunch at Habitap the following day. It just got too much for me. I was close to plagiarism and putting my name on menu ideas. There’s quite a few of those folk around here. I’ve always refuse to be or at least try not to be that individual. After that brunch I left for Maine for a week and I never stepped foot in my kitchens again.

I know I talk shit about it but I have nothing against Euphoria. It’s great for the city and some restaurants really showcase themselves during this time. I just had enough at that time of being my companies wind up lackey.

Chadcuterie menu I wrote in about 15 minutes out of desperation. I had zero focus on the menu itself I was more concerned about the production and presentation of the boxes. I didn’t absorb myself in deep research of artisanal meats and cheeses. I watched TikTok videos until they made sense in my head and then went “blast off” into the local market.

Listen. Take it from me. Don’t ever do that shit. I came out alright but slinging and winging charcuterie is not a good idea.

If you look at my menus you can tell they are still shallow, quick and lack any of my quips. 3.5 years later it’s the same menu. I’ve moved a few things around and shortened it but it hasn’t evolved. I could probably leave three boxes on there and not feel much of a shift.

My brat and dog menu for the trailer took about three weeks until I nailed my ass to my notebook and forced a menu. It turned out ok but I’d still give it a 5 on a 10 scale.

Currently, I wake up sometimes at 3 am with the first thought in my head is “you don’t have a fucking menu”.

Not one. I’ve got a hundred phone notes scribbled in between shopping lists, to do lists, haiku’s and some really bad poetry. No menu direction.

Yeah I know it’s a deli. Sort of. Again I hesitate in focusing on that word because if you walk into my place there will be no Katz vibes or any Groucho, Publix Greenfields. I’m calling it a deli so Greenville at least has a basis. I’m selling deli style market food with a big emphasis on charcuterie and catering. You won’t be standing in front of a sneeze guard asking for extra black olives on your sub. And at the same time hell you just might. See what I mean?

I ordered bread samples just yesterday.

Creativity comes at me when it decides to. I could be hiking up a mountain and it’ll hit me and I’ll type in 20 ideas on my phone while I’m tripping over rocks and roots. Can’t ignore them, I take em when they show up. Morning walks help and I’ll do the same and occasionally walk right into a mailbox. Bruises to get the juices flowing. Sometimes while I’m driving I could write an entire concept.

The buildout sucked out a lot of my creativity for now. If you could measure it like a phone battery I’m in the red right now. I had this gal set to open July 1. We all know that ain’t gonna happen.

Am I worried or anxious? A tad but I’m not standing on a ledge. I think it’ll come to me once I can push aside all the construction and buildout projects. It’s hard to multitask creativity. I realize I’m tired and dragging ass at the moment. This is the slow season for charcuterie or suppose to be. As I gear up to make 48 10×10 boxes today. I’ve been pushing a little too hard the last month and I feel the old body breaking a little. I keep telling myself in my head over and over “please just let me get this place rolling before any body parts decide to breakdown.”

Yes, I’m talking to you left knee and upper back.

Mentally I’m ok. I stopped looking at the approaching deadline and pushed it aside. I’ll open when I’m ready. That’s all there is to it. I’ve had to cut my shop time back because my back shuts me down. I smell like a YMCA locker room with all the Ben Gay aroma slathered on my knee and back. I’m not whining that bad yall just journaling it.

I’ve mentioned before I’m deliberately putting myself through this process because my body and mind needs to wake back up. It’s like training for a marathon. I’m definitely locked in on the deli I’m just dealing with multiple tasks at the moment.

Plumbing stopped for two days not sure what’s going on with that but it’s on par with all the other projects I had forecasted to be done this week. Wasted a trip to Spartanburg to grab a cooler and left empty handed. Father’s Day weekend and I’m leaning towards not working that day. I’m still headstrong on having these days to be spent with my family.

Next week I’ll have to put it in overdrive. I’m fine with that as long as the others I’ve tasked with projects step it up and do their thing. I’m weary of sweeping up their dust everyday. Physically and metaphorically.

I guess this could be considered a deli update so cheers to episode 21 ish.

I get frequent questions asking about my kitchen pedigree. My daughter used to ask me all the time where I learned to do certain things when she’d watch me cook.

Where it all started, who I worked under, training, inspiration.

“When did you become a chef?” Which I used to respond with “I’m not a chef”

Sure by definition I am a chef. To me it’s like calling someone a pilot because they had to land a plane to keep it from crashing into the side of a mountain.

I actually became adept in the kitchen in spite of myself. I had no urge or calling to work on the line in fact I’d wager to say it was the exact opposite. I hated working in the kitchen. When the km job at the Blockhouse was dumped in my lap I was as green as summer grass. I watched the line cooks and mimicked their motions, habits and procedures with no understanding of logic or purpose. So did most of the cooks working there for that matter. Sure I could grill a decent burger over charcoal, fry a fucking chicken tender and set a timer for a tray of bakers but that was all from previous observations of what the watching the line toil and observing some very bad habits at first. I could cook a meal for you but I never paid attention to as to why things were done a certain way.

I didn’t have any training under a chef or mentor I had literal fucking crackheads and line cooks who were as clueless as me. I learned by observation and curiosity. When I couldn’t locate a line cook at the Blockhouse I’d walk on the line and start my ticket. Grilling was easy as was the fry station. Servers made their own salads and desserts during lunch so I had been slowly acclimated into the system. Steak temps? I’d just eyeball the grill marks. As a km there I never created features or specials. Did even do a burger special there? Doubtful, I was too busy keeping the cooks from stealing cases of beer.

Other than some scratch made soups I watched Moe make I didn’t absorb much.

Didn’t care at the time. I was only doing my job. Rather poorly I might add.

But I became a solid line cook.

Steakhouse threw my ass on the line too. Didn’t like cooking there either. Small kitchen line, discombobulating actions, swinging dicks bumping into each other or going sideways in those narrow ass walk-ins. Expos barking ticket times along with microwaved black beans spilling out onto your face. I used to think microwaves were an integral part of the kitchen. We had three of them hoisted over the line going full blast all day long. It was a 90s thing I suppose y’all.

The damn heat from that grill. 5 ft of hickory wood blazing your face like you stared at the sun all morning. One day the hvac broke over the grill and never got repaired. Summertime your apron would smoke from the heat from the grill as all the grill bricks would slowly crumble over time. I held a thermometer in my hand one afternoon and it read 122°. I’d keep bar towels in the freezer to lay over my neck.

No passion in that kitchen for the first 10 years. I was a damn GM. Ain’t nobody got time for cooking. I walked around in pressed JC Penny slacks, starched button ups and dress shoes that I’d wipe clean with bev naps before talking to tables.

I did had procedures, food costs, recipes and specs hammered into my head like military training and during those 16 years I absorbed every inch of it. I ate that system up like it was bred into me. Once you get over the population of microwaves the AZ did fill me up with some solid administrative skills and a deep understanding of financials that grease the kitchen wheels. When the steakhouse was firing on all cylinders that kitchen produced some amazing food. I still remember all the specs

Shrimp tails down so not to burn

Crisp that chicken skin with diamonds before the flip and don’t fucking press it

Caramelize the ribs

I can still make that ridiculous sirloin marinade. The spinach and artichoke sauce is still my bechamel basis for cheese sauce.

The timing as to when I threw myself into the kitchen can be up for debate.

I hit my head fairly hard riding my bike and I went through a slurry of kms for about 2 years.

During that time my passion flipped. Maybe I was burned on getting my face melted by angry customers as opposed the hickory grill. I had to take the kitchen and run with it while being the operator. Kms were hard to find and I think I’d fired about half a dozen in a year so I started coming in early to do prep and set up the line. I took over the truck orders, reorganized all the prep sheets, par levels and procedures that had become outdated. I’d cook by myself on the line on slow days while prep got caught up or vice versa.

After about a year I absorbed myself into recipe books and write down daily feature ideas. I’d do weekly lunch specials that would eventually make up a quarter of the steakhouse menus. Happy hour specials, weekend features. The kitchen became my second home. If we were short handed I grabbed an apron and worked the line all night. If I were closing I’d jump on dish to help our dishwasher wrap up early so I could get my cocktail hour in before all the bars closed.

I was still very raw. The steakhouses were staunch on specs and procedures but it wasn’t chef driven. I could write a menu but I couldn’t orchestrate it the way it needed to be.

I could build a home but I wasn’t an architect.

When I became the regional guy I submerged myself into food. Food cost was outrageous so I broke down every menu item, every ingredient, every procedure, evaluated, reevaluated. I became a student to my passion. When I traveled I’d sit in Barnes on my downtime and grab a dozen recipe books, restaurant architecture, food and wine mags and I’d fill up notebooks with ideas, recipes and fusions of food. The more I studied and read the more all the moving kitchen parts started to make sense. Spices began to jump out and blend in my mind, kitchen layouts shifted. The last three years of my tenure at AZ I was full of useful data. I absorbed a full ass degree in food. This was my kitchen self earned MBA.

The steakhouses taught me logistics, procedures, finances and administration.

It also turned me into a solid butcher. I’ve carved more cows than 99.99% of the world’s population.

16 years worth

Went I broke up from the band and went solo I still had a lot to learn. Everything I knew I learned from the steakhouses and found it not to be applicable on all levels. When I opened Southern I still had three microwaves. All the steakhouses had three. I was just replicating what I had already learned. It took about a month before I removed two of them. We served our pudding warm so one was needed.

I could barely dice an onion. At the steakhouses we used dicers, slicers, buffalo choppers, robot coupes. They didn’t like free hand shit it was too inconsistent. I won’t even tell you how I cut my very first yellow onion by hand and by this time I was training Southern to open.

I had a good palate. I had some creative ideas and I could write a fun menu because I had been writing ideas down for years. I still lacked a lot of basic kitchen fundamentals but I hid my ignorance. I was blessed with some young souses that populated my kitchen line and I watched and learned. While I worked I had one eye on the talented guys. I absorbed their training. I didn’t ask questions because I was faking it until I made it. I’d go home and look up certain procedures to understand the process of what I observed. And like the steakhouses things clicked. I absorbed it all.

Once I adjusted to the volume and started studying my passion again and research. I’d spend hours on my laptop looking up restaurant concepts, menus and themes from Atlanta, Austin, Chicago, Seattle and smaller cities. I wanted to know what everyone was eating, what was trending, plating, architecture, branding. I’d sit next to a pile of recipe books filling up more notebooks. I stayed a student I wanted Southern to be the best. This was my dissertation. Southern became my platform for creative expression. I took everything I learned and formed a team and forged a solid concept. None of the others came close in my opinion.

My knife skills, which have never been spectacular improved. I had good line skills but I couldn’t tell you the reason for using clarified butter until after my first year. I was a solid km. Not a chef.

Dive and Boar allowed me to submerge myself into another concept. I turned my studies into smoking proteins. Some new creativity outlets and a few more chefs to watch.

I spent 9 years honing my kitchen skills and research. Focusing on seasonal menus, local ingredients and side eyeing all that new trends that came and went. All the while seeking out new concepts to create. I got fairly decent at it all. I haven’t mastered anything. I’d say I’m very well rounded.

My old company I taught myself seasonal trends, better kitchen efficiency and understanding. Creativity and I pretty much peaked as a linecook. If I had any improvement on the line I’d say my egg skills definitely won’t from gray cloak to white cloak. I peaked here as far as physical exertion goes too.

Charcuterie has changed my approach a bit. Most of my research and studying didn’t put a focal point aesthetics. I’ve always been a big protein guy. Meat is the star under some starch and or veggies. Charcuterie made me slow down and focus on the plate itself. At first I felt like a chump because I was buying pre sliced shit and sticking it in a box. Don’t get me wrong I still do it to an extent but once I got comfortable and started making my own spreads, pickles and even crackers for a while it became more enjoyable. Charcuterie slowed my brain down to focus on plating. It made me see food differently not just as something to eat but as art. I bet I’d make a hell of a tweezer chef now.

My mind shifted from quantity to quality. It forced me to step out of my comfort zone.

A completely different approach to how I do food. And I’m solo now, no delegation I have to do it all. It can wear you down but at the same time it’s made me mentally tougher. I was losing it back there for awhile y’all. Losing it all. Last time I had a job that wasn’t F&B related was 1998 and I wanted to quit that job the minute I started it.

Do I consider myself a chef now? I’ve never wanted that title. I never allowed my staff to call me that. I used to pull for myself for the best in the upstate awards for best chef. I never won shit as a kid. They were fun to win and go to that little party they’d throw during my drinking days. The main reason is because my daughter will still bring it up and tell her friends. She’s proud of her father’s accomplishments. So yeah those two little awards that some think are paid for were a fun and big deal for me. I keep one somewhere in my laundry room. The other plaque never made it home due to my split with my company the last time I won one. Kinda won and lost at the same time that year. I was taking a nap when that one was announced.

About to add another chapter to my cooking book. Craft deli, cold cuts, better understanding of cheeses, new layouts for charcuterie, larger caterings, new concept, new approach to food.

It’s constant continual education. In this field you can become irrelevant real quick. I’ve been on the side of irrelevance. I tell the new kids all time to be humble because it can happen overnight. Even though I tire of that side I stil have to play that game. It’s a part of the system.

Selling tickets

If I had to sell myself on a resume to a complete stranger I think I could make a decent presentation. Culinary schools I don’t necessarily support for myself but had I’d gone it would’ve saved me a lot of bumps and bruises I got along the way. I learned through all my mistakes. It works just as well it just takes longer. Regardless of your training if you don’t have a good palette and instincts you won’t do as well as others. All I can think of was an old KM of mine that had a hell of a shiny resume and a terrible pork chop with cranberry glaze and smoked Cole slaw. That was his premier dish.

Shudders

I seek out several different camping options when I travel. If I’m driving long distance I usually pull over to one of the larger truck stops and jump in the back of my truck with a mattress pad and a light blanket and take about a 5 hour snooze in the parking lot. It doesn’t make for sound sleeping. Parking lots are usually lit, large semi diesel engines idling and hydraulics farting all night. Doors slamming shut every 3 seconds. I trade in comfort for a little safety. I’ve never been messed with in one of these stops. I did have some teenager or younger kid snoop around my truck outside of a late night Taco Bell in Texas. I stuck my head out of the back glass camper door with a hatchet in my hand and asked if he was lost. He walked away quickly. I’m not that worried about someone trying to break in my truck but if that worse case scenario should happen I can assure you I’m prepared. I have at least a half dozen accessories handy to dissuade anyone from opening my truck. I have also played out about 100 different scenarios in my head and the correct way to respond should it happen. Sometimes I sort of wish it would. Be interesting to see how I’d react.

My destinations are usually plotted with either public campgrounds, Dyrt, Hipcamp and my favorite dispersed camping. Public campgrounds (I’m in one currently in Glenville) have their advantages. Most have showers, restrooms, dump stations should you need one, and an office that may have access to firewood, ice and sundries. A solid campfire ring, picnic table and a level lot for your tent, camper or RV. They also have observed quiet times usually from 10pm-6am which I can appreciate. I get mildly violent if you fuck with my sleep. The cons are obvious. If it’s a holiday the campgrounds are packed, they’re loud, you have neighbors 20 feet away from you. Also for some reason campgrounds host a lot of barking dogs. Add on the fee of camping that has gone up quite a bit over the last 3 years. A site on Huntington Beach for a tent can cost you $50 a night. Others like up here in Glenville I get the same amenities for $22. I can part with a $20 and a deuce. Most expensive would be the one in that valley of Sedona. $89 a night in March. Favorite would be the jeckyll island campground. All canopied with willow trees. Actually there’s a well shaded site in Ouray, CO full of aspens that I could’ve spent a week in with a smile on my face.

Hipcamp and Dyrt serve the same purpose. Enterprising folk out there set their property up for overnight camping. Some have amenities and others you get a small corner of a field to park your truck and some sawdust and a bucket to shit in.

Literally.

Prices often times reflect the amenities. If you’re paying $15 for a plot of grass that’s what you should expect. If you’re paying $50 to stay on someone’s property then you might expect at least a porta potty, fire ring and possibly WiFi. And a good view.

I have mixed reviews and feelings about these apps only because of the consistency. I’ve stayed in some amazing little spots all around the country and I’ve stayed in some blechhh ones too.

First the shitty ones

In no particular order I pulled up to a Hipcamp listing that was at a winery outside of Helen, GA and in their listing it looked great! Great vista in the background of north Georgia mountains. “Located right outside of the winery”. Hey I can camp here and use their bathroom, I may even eat here.

I pull up and my site was literally in the parking lot grass. There were customers parked 8 feet from my site. The spot was about 6 feet away from a drop off. It was $20. $20 too much. I left immediately and stopped at the main campground right outside of Helen. $17 10/10 recommend.

Some jackass had a listing in lake Willoughby, Vermont. It was a 50 yard pull off that ran parallel to a freshly tarred hwy. His RV took up most of the plot. I couldn’t even open my awning. I had that reserved for 2 nights. I left and found one right outside the next town. A little farm owned by a little lady. I played with some goats, chickens and a pig. I showered with a cold spigot and slept blissfully in 20° weather. It was so wet and cold I had to dig my trailer wheel out of the ice the next morning. I slept like a damn baby though. Told all the farm animals bye before I left.

The next day I stayed in the parking lot of a YMCA in Cape Cod. It was aight. You could use the gym shower. The host was a bit of a cunt.

Some good ones. I stayed two nights at an Indian ranch right outside of Glacier. I got high and danced naked with some prairie dogs after dinner. Talked philosophy with the camp host (not the same night) and watched the sunrise while scanning for grizzlies and mountain lions.

Had a not so bad one outside of Fort Collins. I forget the town name it looked shiny and new. I had a good steak and potato dish in a local bar with a salad bar for $16. I gotta say it made my day. The site was a level farm with small inlets for camping. A little bench and fire ring. Small wood pallet for privacy for a hose shower. It was fine. Horseflies were hungry but that sunrise fixed it all.

Really enjoyed a small commune in Cortez, CO. You parked in a large fenced in ranch with a community kitchen, game room and showers. We (my wife and I) stayed under the tent canopy on my truck and watched the sunset over the snowy Rockies while the prairie dogs yelped. I’ll have that memory in the good vibe banks forever.

We had stayed in a Hipcamp in Sedona the night before and the camp host had tried to kick us out for my aggressive driving in the campground (I didn’t see a newly made gravel speed bump). After cursing at me and my wife I followed him back to his site and encouraged him to change his mind for his hasty behavior. We didn’t leave that night.

I don’t know man I’d have to say my favorite was in Lewisburg, WV. I had an acre all to myself overlooking the sunrise over town. I walked around that big ass bridge at New River Gorge, had a good ham salad sandwich in Lewisburg and snuck around Carnegie Hall like I was trespassing. I built a campfire watch the sun go down while I swung in an old rope swing that I bet went at least 20 feet in the air. I had a grilled steak and finger gunned a new camp arrival in a mini van. A retired teacher named Lisa. I think. Old school hippie.

Dispersed camping is my favorite. No rules, no reservations and no regulations. Well just don’t stay in one spot. BLM – bureau of land management throw all of this beautiful land out there that you can essentially go off grid as long as you hop around a bit. I love finding new spots that I can sneak in a little ravine, knob overlooking a sunset, putting my tailgate down and melting into the night. There’s usually well kept pullovers from other occupants with fire pits, trails to do your things, and level spots to flop. You can run into some hardcore weirdos in these areas but I’ve never had one act aggressively. Paranoia keeps them at bay. At the same time if the shit hits the fan I sleep better knowing these folk are reliable.

Fav? Linville hands down. There’s no maybe for me. Yes there’s some spots that would blow it away out west but the accessibility does it for me. 107 miles, 1 hour 56 minutes away. I have a few spots that the sunrises up right in my tent window. I perch and take it in with some propaned coffee. Ever since I’ve put this trip on my agenda at least twice a month for the last 4 years I haven’t had a single ailment. Not even a head cold. I can’t tell you the last time a tissue touched my nose.

We (my buddy and I) settled down at lake Powell, lone rock area. Ate some damn good burgers with arugula. I took a double dose of mushrooms and watched the moon rise. Made friends with two crows and saw heaven for the first time. It changed my everything. We also got stuck in the sand for about two hours. Which is why I now drive a 4WD.

Wife reserved me a school bus in Durango that was parked outside on a hill overlooking a small town on the southside of Durango. To give credit where it’s due my wife is my camping navigator. If I need a spot that’s not BLM land she finds one while I’m on the road, schedules it and sends me the link. She makes my life easy for me. The bus came with a curious cat I adopted for the evening. Went into town and ate a steak with gravy fries and washed it down with a local brewed beer. I feel like I could eat that meal everyday. Especially on a chilly night like that one.

Stayed in another Hipcamp outside of Durango. Long dirt road to a pull out on a farm, adequate shower facilities and an outdoor kitchen that had seen better days. The view of the Rockies was magnificent. The whole night my buddy and I felt like we were being watched by a rather large cat

I dispersed in a little retirement home in Bar Harbor. Grilled off my tailgate and drank fireball shots until I passed out. Lost my trekking poles ascending Katahdin. Had a fabulous lobster roll.

I camped under a bridge in an inlet in key west. Never got good vibes. Went the square place and took some amazing sunset photos, got a lotta tipsy and walked back to my truck. Right at the same time two locals pulling my bike off my rack (or trying to) they walked away as I walked closer. Could’ve been a bad time. I pulled out and drove into a Ace Hardware and tried to sleep while being surrounded by wild chickens. What is it with me and farm animals? Insert blog of South Dakota cow stampede of ‘23. That was the night I dispersed camped in the badlands and got caught in a hailstorm with a herd of chatty bovines. Would 10/10 camp there again but it’s a 28 hour drive.

Washington Gulch in Crested Butte is the Colorado equivalent of Linville for me. Dispersed camping right outside of Butte that slowly carves up the mountains for miles. Great camping. Great big mosquitoes though. I’ve stayed there twice. Gonna go at least a dozen more times before I’m done..

Dispersed camping can keep you on your toes. There’s usually no service, no running water or a power source. If you break down (and I have) you don’t have AAA coming to your rescue. Animals have never bothered me too much. I’ve only had one bear grace my site and I think we both scared the shit out of each other. Plenty of deer have come by to say hi and it’s almost impossible to camp in the CO wilderness without elk checking you out. I haven’t camped high enough to run into any bighorn sheep. Random, there’s a farm outside of Sedona that allows you to pet their alpacas. That’s one my list. They’ve all been on my mind because I have the bug right now. I was spoiling myself with three big trips a year and kind of burned myself out for a bit. They fun! But they also exhausting.

I still have my mind set to squeeze one in this year but if it doesn’t happen I’ll be fine.

Probably the biggest meal I’ve eaten in the past few years.

Humility

I used to pride myself on being a big deal. When you’ve been small change most of your life you can get quite a chip on your shoulder. In the service industry when I thought I was starting to peak man what a big head I had. Service industry is tough business and I was feeling strong knee deep in it. When I opened up any restaurant after Southern I had deep resources, architects, interior designers,contractors bidding on our build outs. Staff hired out to settle projects for you. Smallwares order taking too long? I had someone to call that would find out the delay. IT guy? I could text him and he’d be there in 10 minutes. Man it felt good. I felt like I had an army within arms reach at all times.

It’s changed a little. I’m not sitting at the big round tables delegating projects or approving where 220v hookups should hang from the kitchen ceiling from my office. I spend my free time painting my kitchen walls, driving to Columbia to pick up three boxes of rare tile, running back and forth from Home Depot because I keep burning through drill bits trying to hang wood panels on cement walls. The people who used to call me back don’t do it as quickly anymore. Some just don’t even try. They just disappear. Posted I was needing help soon and I’ve received 2 resumes. Yeah resumes are maybe a little over the top for what I need but if you don’t have one handy it gives me the wrong vibes. They aren’t really necessary just looking for a little effort.

I’m enjoying the energy I hear from my neighbors building out next door with their coworkers and friends.

I’m a little jealous.

At the same time, I’ve put myself under a tremendous amount of pressure on purpose.

I need to know how much I have left in the tank. When I parted ways with my old company it took something out of me. My competitive edge, my work ethic and my confidence.

I found myself getting anxious and scared on busy days by myself. I used to embrace them. It’s not physical, ok maybe it is a little. I’m nursing a pinched nerve in my back at the moment that’s really knocked me out this week. The pain is like discovering a fresh bruise between your lower shoulder blades and then having someone shove a dull pencil in it 24 hours a day for the last three days. I achieved this from anchoring panels to the wall. Can’t stop construction for a damn sore back.

I posted that my construction grace ends at the end of this month (I think) and I’m on week 5 with my landlord drilling a drain for me. Until I get running water I cant bring product in. Its fine really. Just frustrated. Reached out to two different purveyors last week to call me back and set an appointment for accounts. Not a word and no Joey if you’re reading this I’m not talking about you 😆.

You know, it takes a while to get back up when you get knocked down. You may never be at that one level you were before it happened and really I don’t wish to be. I needed to take my time getting off my big egotistical ass.

It fucking feels good.

I almost folded a little last week while working on the deli and charcuterie nagging at me simultaneously. My plans just weren’t going the way I intended them to and I spiked and went manic for a bit. I stood in the deli with tools in my hand debating which wall to launch them into, literally. I’m two months in this project completely flying solo with my plan, zero menu and zero hopefuls on the peeps I’ve reached out to.

I’ve prepared myself accordingly the whole time but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. I’m just not surprised anymore is all.

I’ll get this fucking deli opened. I haven’t even hit 5th gear yet. It’s gotta be done just the right fucking way.

I still walk away from the spot everyday with a smile on my face. It’s me all me. For the first time. Every fucking screw, board, tile and equipment was bought and paid for by those ridiculously long holiday charcuterie weeks. Three years of that is creating this. To invest in yourself with no strings attached.

I have to take the humility in stride.

The beach house was around 7000 sq ft. It had 10 bedrooms and baths with another loft that slept 4 more people. We had been scanning for months online to find the perfect wedding venue at the Gulf. We didn’t care where in the gulf but Orange Beach was our thang. It was our hangout, our beach and where our love grew.

We looked at outdoor venues, parks, vacant beach lots. Only thing that mattered was that we said our vows with our toes in the sand at the Gulf. I bet we looked all over the damn place to find the perfect spot. We literally drove to the end of the road at Orange Beach.. and there she was. The Halekai beach house right at the end of the cul de sac. Instead of stressing over where to stay and where to get married we decided to combine them both. I jumped out of my jeep and walked up to the property. Like all the other beach houses on the strand it sat atop of huge pillars with around a ten foot clearance under the house. I walked up to a housekeeper and asked her if she minded that I measured off the square feet of the home with my feet and she raised an eyebrow and then her shoulders and said “Si” and I did my thing. I wrote down the square footage and mapped out the floor plan in my head. By the time we got back to our actual condo I had a floor plan mocked up with 8 foot table rounds, chairs and where the DJ would go. We would do a Low Country Boil buffet for dinner and an open bar. We’d have our ceremony on the beach in front of the house. To save some money on chair rentals we wrote little notes on the folding chairs on the beach to bring them with you to the tables under the house if you want to eat. It worked brilliantly.

All of our closest friends came down to the gulf for the week to celebrate. The wedding party all stayed under the same roof in one of the 10 bedrooms. Two full sized kitchens, jacuzzi, several outdoor grills. It was the perfect venue.

Families met families for the first time.

Friends became friends. The best of friends.

We played games in the sand, laughed until we cried. We had a house filled with our restaurant family too so you know there was a good time to be had.

I’ve been so busy over the years that this could possibly be my first reflection on this event since the day we celebrated. We laughed and cried during toasts, I got to dance with my mother probably the only time I had.

I left two chairs vacant in the front row for my father and brother David. You walked down the beach house steps in your beautiful white gown and your insane (perpetual) tan while Israel Kamakawiwoʻole sang Over The Rainbow. The only complaint I have from that ceremony was that you walked too fast down the aisle. I just wanted to watch you for a bit longer.

That song still makes me cry to this day.

My stepfather Tom was my best man. The man who had the impossible task of replacing my father. I don’t think he stopped smiling the whole week. I miss that man greatly.

That whole week was a blur. We karaoke’d at The Pink Pony, showed some of y’all the iconic Flora Bama all the while getting our hues darkened.

Our little monkey Lily was passed around and hugged by probably 100 different folk and can you blame them? She’s always been a flower.

It would take a funeral to get everyone together like that again and man we’ve had a few since that day. I look back on the old photos fondly. I see some faces I’ll never see again and some that I don’t see enough. It’s a shame you can’t throw a party like that every year but lort that might get expensive.

It’s surreal to watch the wedding photos shrink over the years. The first year our house was littered with dozens on them. Over the mantle, up the hallway stairs, in our bedroom and all the guest ones. After a bit one may fall or you paint a wall and don’t want to mess with holes over the fresh paint. Sometimes you move and they get wrapped up in bubble wrap never to see a shelf again. We keep a couple handy on display and one that my friend made with a poem and driftwood for our wedding present hangs in our living room no matter where we move. This little journal may require me to break them out again. I miss some those faces especially now.

14 years man. That’s a solid score. The things we’ve experienced over those years have been nothing short of extraordinary. With tears and laughter although our wrinkled smile lines have overtaken the frowns over the last few years.

This has me jonesing for sandy feet and some Bang Bang shrimp from Cobalt.

If I didn’t say it enough I’ll say it again, I’m extremely grateful for all of my friends and family. Not just because of the shared ceremony or gifts but also the quality of life I’ve had because of all of you.

Cheers to 14 years.

The first year I went without the bottle was a solid year for me. I had just begun to find myself in a new era of life. I felt good hell I felt great. Sober life turned a good corner for me but for a bit I still felt like good ol Chad was lingering in the crowd. Cheering me along like everyone else but he wasn’t wearing my team colors. Juuust in case I wanted to go back to his team. For me and my short attention span it was “ok you did it.. now what? You don’t socialize anymore. You don’t talk to half of your friends anymore in fact you’ve managed to isolate yourself from almost everyone. Maybe making a cameo at a local watering spot to eat.

I stuck with it though. I didn’t have a detailed plan of action.

Just don’t get drunk asshole. You’ve gone this long. “One day at a time just like you tell everyone else.”

Fine

I made it to year two.

Year one and year two were completely different

If you’ve ever injured yourself especially in your 40s and 50s you know some injuries takes months even years to heal.

I’ll give you an example. Several years ago I had an operation on my left Achilles. I had a real bad case of Achilles tendon calcification. Calcium build up behind my Achilles was stretching the tendon bad enough to push it to the point of rupturing. I had been running my ass off training for a big time marathon and my Achilles wasn’t having it. I had to have it basically shaved down in outpatient surgery and my recovery time was about 2-3 months. I healed as expected from the surgery but my Achilles became very vulnerable to pain. You could poke me with your finger on that spot and I’d scream in pain. I was literally Achilles heel in physical form. I couldn’t prop my feet up on a ottoman even if it was padded. Just the left one. I had an employee at the steakhouse trying to have some fun give me a “flat tire” on the back of my shoe and I fell screaming in pain.

The operation fixed the issue but left a very painful scar. I had mobility. I could even run again. The nagging pain stayed for years. I wrote it off as just one of those things I’d have to deal with.

12 years later my right foot started doing the same damn thing. Surgery wasn’t an option for me. For one I didn’t have health insurance and I didn’t want to have both Achilles to have the same traumatic pain for the rest of my life. I researched every home remedies because I didn’t want my Achilles to burst obviously and decided to do my own thing about it until I was left with no other choice.

I stopped wearing my favorite shoes, Hokas. I bought a pair of crocs for work. Yes they are ugly but they didn’t touch my heels. I used to wear compression socks when I ran and the day after for recovery. I put them away. I also traded in my running for walking for a full calendar year.

In that one year my right ankle began to heal on its own. No meds I’m not a pill guy for personal reasons. I didn’t even take pain meds for my first Achilles operation. They aren’t my thing. With my addictive personality I was terrified.

After a year or so the bone spurs went away. The pain went away. And miraculously the pain and scar tissue damage in my left foot also went away. After 12 years of constant pain.

12 years I limped on that foot. Surgery fixed the issue at hand but left a ton of scar tissue in had to live with.

Let’s now make a another connection.

First year of sobriety for me was very similar. It was my own personal operation on my brain. To fix the swelling “Achilles” in my head. Because just like my Achilles it felt like was brain was going to explode. Sobriety took that swelling away but just like my left Achilles I had a lot of painful scar tissue to deal with.

I was fixed

But I had to give it the right remedy to let it heal and just like my ankle it would take more than just time.

That’s what I refer to as my reckoning. Getting sober is hard fucking work. It’s a daily workout in a rehab head space. You don’t always heal with rest. You also need proper rehabilitation for your mental health. Sobriety is just the awakening.

You’ve had your operation. Now it’s time to reckon with it.

My first year without my favorite toy was life changing. Physically I turned a new page. I looked good, I felt good. A lot of my familiar aches and pains were dissolving along with some age old inflammation.

My mental habits were better due to no brain fog, hangovers and chemical imbalances trying to chop away at my mental health but I was left dealing with a lot of emotional scars.

Alcohol controlled my emotions, filters, personality for a really long fucking time. Without it I started having to deal with all of these organically. Not one by one y’all my brain left the front door open for all to hang out at the same time and I have a really small house to host these activities. It gets crowded up there.

It was/is hard. Its the dark part of sobriety that no one likes to talk about. I no longer have that vodka insulation that helped me absorb years of repressed emotions.

They’re all there now. Can’t deal with them one by one emotions come in packs like hotdog buns. There always seem to be more buns that the dogs can fill up.

Year two was spent rehabbing my mental health. I acknowledged sobriety needed some assistance. I used the same determination I used to throw the vodka away to address my mental health.

I’m was sober but my brain was still a trainwreck.

My emotions were spiking in a manic matter. I was like a hot and cold faucet one extreme or the other.

I was/am a sober person but still needed to work on being a better person and also assess multiple mental health issues. Sobriety is a nice stitch up to that open wound but I don’t want to deal with scar tissue for another decade.

Retraining your brain on how to think and deal with things is harder than training for a marathon.

I use early morning meditation and yoga for my mental flexibility. Stretching before my long mental run.

I journal my reps, mental workouts, my gains and my losses. Some days I’ll do things way out of my comfort zone to push myself. It may be just eating something different from one of my go to eateries, changing my walking routes, driving 5mph slower than normal all day, hiking or camping in a new spot or even building a charcuterie box completely backwards. I do this deliberately to let my brain know we are going outside of our box all day. Brace yourself.

I’m a creature of habit. I assign myself a strict schedule. I eat at certain times, I go to bed same time every night, I drink probably the same amount of ounces of coffee every morning and won’t touch caffeine after noon. These are good habits but at the same time they keep me in my safety zone. Remove even one and it fucks up my whole day. I also employ these methods when I camp. My site is set up by a specific time and if my campfire isn’t going by 6:30 I start to sweat. I probably had it set up and ready to go hours before. Setting up my campfire is the very first thing I do when I arrive.

Again these habits are healthy but they are concealing the fact that I have to be in absolute control of my environment or it goes to my head. Over the last two plus years of my reckoning I’ve applied these habits into my folder of “needs work”

I have several of these folders they aren’t imperative but when you file them altogether they become a great deal.

Control freak -file one

Withholding my emotions -file two

Anger management -file three

Procrastination for fear of anxieties – four

Mountains of bitterness over the years -five

and about a hundred more. Many I don’t share they’re my own to reckon with but I’m sure you get the illustration.

I don’t reckon with all at the same time it’s insurmountable. I pick and choose a couple of files and work on them individually. With this I apply manifestation.

Sometimes I feel manifestation gets a bad rap because it’s misunderstood. You aren’t rubbing a genie bottle and poof a wish comes true.

Nor are you wishing with your hand stretched out and eyes squinted with superpower concentration waiting for a winning lottery ticket to magically appear.

That isn’t manifestation. You’re trying to conjure up a pipe dream.

Manifesting is creating a vision. A physically or for me a spiritually one that I put on my horizon to chase and achieve. Just like training for that marathon 12 years ago I envisioned a goal in mind and then created a plan, training regiment, focus and end game to reach that result. There will be always be some hiccups and fuck ups along the way. Keep that goal on your horizon the whole time. Somedays it may seem distant than others but if you stay on course and apply yourself it can be attained.

I wanted to have my own restaurant when I was 35 years old. I didn’t open up Southern until I was 42.

For seven years I trained myself for restaurant propriety. I started photocopying P&Ls and breaking them down. I threw myself back in the kitchen and absorbed every single aspect of BOH operations from recipes, procedures, equipment and then started manifesting my own ideas. I created multiple concepts in my head, wrote several down. If I went out to eat I absorbed every little detail I could find that I found paramount to having a successful operation. I would eat in larger foodie cities and with a notebook and journal.

We walked through two dozen spaces over 4 years. I kept that brick and mortar on my horizon for a long ducking time. I never strayed from it. I was hell bent and obsessed because that’s what my manifestation needed. I worked my ass off to get to that level and it paid off.

I built the vision in my head

I put in on my horizon and never detoured.

I manifested Southern Culture.

I use this as an example of my reckoning. I’m doing the same exact thing.

I put a shit load of mental health goals on my horizon. Goals to fix this noggin and most of its toxicity. I set these goals not only to fix myself but to bring me back home to my family.

Let’s be honest the two are the same. I can’t have mental happiness without the love of my family.

I can’t have the full support and love of my family without my mental happiness. Or at least putting in some goddamn effort.

I created a new manifestation with a new horizon. For me it’s the ultimate horizon. Every thing else is just life fodder.

Ok I’m gonna try to tie all of this together.

I used my Achilles injury as an example of a procedure I had done to fix an issue with my ankle. I used sobriety to do the same with my brain. The operation fixed the immediate issue but I was left with years of scar tissue and constant pain as a result. I just figured it was the norm until I took it upon myself to reckon with the pain and through patience and perseverance I healed it. It took a long fucking time but as a write this I’m sitting here with my right foot propped over left foot on a wooden coffee table. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve been able to do without pain. I can literally bang my heal on the table without wincing in pain.

Sobriety was my operation. I still have a lot of scar tissue/trauma to reckon with.

It’s gonna take a shit load of time. I have been mentally preparing myself for every step.

Year one was just focusing on my vodka bottle. It was tough and after the first year was under my belt I felt like I won a trophy but not the game. Winning season but didn’t make the playoffs.

The second year I dealt with emotional spikes, still had big bouts of depression and anxiety was going through the roof. I was sober but just like my operation I thought it would be the end all to my suffering. It fixed a big, fat troubling issue that had been addressed but I had scar tissue to deal with and that’s when I put my reckoning into overdrive.

Fix your shortcomings Gangwer was what I wrote down. I’m not talking about habits like picking your nose in public, driving too slow in the left hand lane or forgetting to wash your hands after you piss.

These were much deeper, imbedded into my brain. Bad mental habits, outbursts, disorders etc that I had hoped sobriety would’ve fixed. It didn’t but what it did was open my vision to a new horizon. A new manifestation/ path to focus on.

Just being a better fucking person.

It takes more than sobriety and I feel like some of you need to hear that as much as I did.

I’m present but my inner dialogue needed to change too. My internal thoughts still bordered on bitterness, jealousy, bullish thoughts. Not publicly I was hyper aware when I went sober how I personally came across to people on social situations. I took myself away from these events for quite some time. I felt awkward and still do. After two plus years I’m just now going back out in public places that I have more than 10 people on a city block.

Sober you can still be two different people in your head. After my first year of sobriety I’ve been working on combining the two. It’s not as easy at it sounds. There are a lot of clergy out there that preach and then go home to being someone else. I refuse to preach until I become the person that exemplifies the truthfulness that come from my mouth.

It’s harder than it sounds.

I take these files in my head and I choose one randomly and reckon with it. Manifest a solution and set it on my horizon.

It’s hard with some. I try to focus and it’s like trying to read a online article with a thousand different pop ups ads trying to take you away to another article at hand. Tiny little x’s to poke at until the article has been completed. But I don’t stray until I do and then it’s on to the next.

I’ve taken to opening up my mental health to my wife. All of it. If I have an emotional outburst I’ll come back into the room after my mind has acclimated and explain my thought process step by step to my wife.

What was on my mind

The build up beforehand

And all the little snakes that tripped me up in between.

If my brain was a hose it would be one of the old ones that lie in the side of the yard in crimpled angles. You turn the hose on and you get all these tight little blockages that don’t allow the water to pass through. My wife is the one that straightens that hose so I can water my garden.

A year ago I didn’t do this. I’d turn off the faucet because there wasn’t enough water coming out of the hose to makes a difference. My garden would dry up

Growth

Manifestation

New horizons

That’s just an example and if I applied all the other files into examples well we’d be here a long goddamn time.

It works. The manifestation.

After the second year of sobriety and reckoning my mind changed. My thinking has evolved. Just the last three months I’ve dissolved a bucket of scar tissue. Writing it out has been a key. Journaled manifestation.

I get bouts of anxiety at night. I turn them into those pop up ads but the X’s are larger and easier to see. I’m like Tom Cruise in Minority Report with that giant virtual reality screen, wearing my virtual gloves and goggles, swiping bad anxiety tabs with better ones. I’m literally doing this in my mind. Bad thought pops up at 3am and I’m like “nope, get the fuck out of here” and I swipe for a new tab or I close the laptop down.

It works for me. To each their own

Your thinking can change overtime. You can reprogram your motion of thoughts through patience, mindfulness and consistency. I’m not 100% and never will be but I’m better. My inner dialogue has been much more positive and is still progressing.

Actions express your priorities much louder than words and inspirational fb quotes.

If my mind is not sharing what my outside words are saying then I’m a failure as far as influencing positivity and intentions. It took awhile to manage those thoughts.

Sincerity is not a job or obligation it’s an existence.

It’s my manifesto of manifestation.

This is my path to my growth. My mental gym workouts. They are paramount to my mental health and they work as long as I keep them on my horizon.

I’m not good at showing others how to follow this honestly I feel like it’s all unique in each individual’s mind how to manifest.

For me it works and I’m cozy with the progress.

Food cost is a double four letter word for me.

It’s triggering.

The minute service industry management was thrown at me it was the first thing that was thrown at me to reckon with. I had no equations to go by. No one to take me under their wing and show me how to evaluate it, conjur it or solve it.

It’s an intricate part of the industry especially if your a food heavy establishment. Most of my restaurants were 75% food 25% alcohol. Habitap was around 60/40 I honestly would’ve liked them all 60/40 alcohol is more profitable.

In the twilight of my long career at the steakhouses I feel like the last two years of my job was driving to each steak establishment and having long discussions about underachieving food costs.

Steakhouse’s ideal number was 35-37%. Most sat at 40%. Some hovered on 42%. You won’t stay open too long with 42%.. and they didn’t

What exactly is food cost? I’ll make it simple for you or at least try.

Food cost is the amount of money you put on a plate to be served to a customer. If you came into a steakhouse of mine and order just a simple 8oz filet with a baked potato and salad then that menu price would reflect the sum of all three products to line up at 35%’cost.

Filet – lets say it’s $18 lb. So 8oz would amount to the proprietor as $9 per serving. Now before we do this across the board you have to ask are these pre cut filets? Chain off? Or loins at $18 a lb? If you’re buying your own loins then you have to calculate waste but we won’t do that at the moment because then we get into some varying word problems and have to apply some arithmetic. It’s 6am and I’m on my first cup of coffee.

So, filet has already put your plate price at $9. If you were calculating your food cost to be 35% you would be looking somewhere around $25.60 to cook a filet and put it on a plate and serve it to a customer.

That’s the easy part. Now you have to calculate the plating accessories. You’ll most likely be purchasing your potatoes in 50lb cases. You’ll have to forgive me it’s been a minute but I think we were buying 60ct potatoes. My memory has lost quite a bit of storage.

You buy bulk potatoes in 50lb cases. So if you’re buying 60 count potatoes it means you’re getting 58-60 potatoes per case at 13oz avarage each. Cost of potatoes fluctuates like fucking petroleum. Always pray for good weather in certain regions it has a huge impact on your bottom dollar. We’ll mark this case at $30 for simple math. That puts a potato at $.50 a unit.

Sounds simple right? Well do we want to go by the law of averages and price out each potato loaded or just butter and sour cream which is the most popular choice? This is where your line training will set that pricing standard. When I used to work at the steakhouse the potato guys always prided themselves on the height of their loaded potatoes. Yes they looked great on a plate with that mountainous build up of butter, sour cream, bacon pieces, cheddar shredded and a mound of green onions. That little accoutrement could range from $.25 to .$50 per potato. Doesn’t sound like a lot but over time 1000 loaded potatoes could fluctuate your food cost by $250. That’s just one side item on your menu.

So let’s cost out potatoes at $.75 per build up just to be safe. That puts your plated filet $28. We haven’t touched base on the salad plating. I will skip over the individual cost of each salad component because I feel like my equations are probably already losing most of you.

But yeah you have to cost out each ingredient. And lettuce can go from $19 a case to $40 in a week if a nice flood or drought hits the farms. At the time I was costing out salads I believe the average side salad was $.80 per serving. That included the $.18 portion of ranch dressing. That was our popular salad dressing so I used that for the law of averages. You give your pantry guy tablespoons for accuracy, a portion vessel for lettuce and one I repeat ONE scoop for dressings and it better not be bigger than 2 oz or we will pull your ass off the line to reeducate. This is cost control at its finest. You put a lot of your food cost in the hands of $12 employees who usually maintain the efficiency you put into their training unless it gets busy of course then it gets a little hairy.

You think you’ve got a good hand on it? Now go look into the trash cans on the kitchen line. There always full of food. Mostly food that’s suppose to go out to the tables. How do you account for that? Well we have to start a waste sheet to blend in with your comps to explain to your investors why your food cost is trending upwards. You could fill up 30 more potatoes with the cheese, bacon and green onions you’d sweep off the floor during a Friday night line sweep. Salads that were dressing on the side and misread went into the garbage without thought of comping. As a line cook you don’t want expo to notice how many times you fucked shit up so most mistakes slide quietly into the trash. Grill cook is the same. Of 150 steaks going out the window at least 5 probably dropped on the floor, got thrown out for being undersized during butchering or they went flambé from all the fat and grease on the grill. Some will be comped others will sit in the at the bottom of the trash never to be found. Grill cooks are egomaniacs. They never mess up..

So now we have a steak (filet) $9

Baked potato assumed loaded $.75

Side salad assumes it’s 1.5 cup greens at level market price with tablespoon chopped bacon, diced tomatoes, two red onion rings slices (on slicer setting 3 for consistency) and two ounces of ranch. $.80

Price on plate $10.55. Menu price will be $30. That will put your food cost at 35.166666666666666666%. That’s what we want right? Close enough if every single plate goes out exactly the same way as all the others.

Which will never happen. Let’s bump it up to $31 at least. Now we are at 34% with a tiny bit of wiggle room for over portioning and drops. Not much though. You have about $.30 worth of wiggle room. I’d suggest $32 just to be safe. All of this is under the pretense that your company’s food cost is set a 35%. My own personal restaurants I liked for it to be hovering under 30%. Burger bar was 32%.

It’s difficult to price everything across the board at 30%. Some items won’t sell at that cost.

Some, the only thing you’re doing is taking a steak out of its airtight wrap and slapping it on the grill. Others you have to take into account the process of preparation. That brined, smoked, carved protein might’ve gone through an 30 hour process of preparation. It may have consumed a $18 an hour prep cook’s time most of the day. You have to make sure financially it makes sense. Prep time has its fingers in cost too.

Another thing to consider is what percentage of P mix is the big sellers on your menu? WTF does that mean Chad? Well let me tell you.

One of my problem children during my regional steakhouse days was our Columbia location. Its food cost was usually 2% higher on average than the other three. I spent a lot of time there rewriting inventories, meat count sheets, pouring over comps for theft. I’d sit with them while notating inventory and data entry, I’d watch every plate for consistency, employees eating, I set new portion standards and the cost wouldn’t budge. After spending a few weeks back in Greenville I began to recognize that although our menus were identical the consumers tastes were different. Greenville sold a lot of sandwiches and salads for lunch (a great food cost item), sirloins were the star (34% food cost). Columbia didn’t do much for lunch. People went thirst for steaks. They loved the ribeyes, prime rib and the Arizona dip sandwich which was priced out at 40%. The ribeyes were 38% and prime rib was around 42%. This greatly affected their overall god cost. The p mix for Columbia showed they sold up to 40% more of these items than the upstate locations. The lower cost items such as chicken, salads and sandwiches inserted on the menu to balance the higher cost items were way below par than the company average. It caused the fluctuations.

Also their sales were underperforming. High volume fixes food costs too.

How so? Well another equation you have to reckon with is inventory. The larger your menu the larger your inventory. Maintaining a strict inventory is good for costs. You have to set the standard with a little planning involved. Everyone’s inventory is different I can’t come out and tell you $8k is the ideal opening inventory every month. It doesn’t work that way. The months end on different days of the week. Our big trucks always came in on Mondays and Thursdays. Its not fun doing inventory on a Thursday night when you had a $6k truck arrive that morning. On the other side Sunday night inventory was most likely small due to the weekend taking everything off your shelves. Your costs are also effected by your existing inventory. It’s an over/under thing. You don’t necessarily get good credit by having a healthy inventory. It gets backed out of you monthly costs. I might touch base with this later but honestly I’ve probably lost most of you by now.

Ideally it would be great to end each month of your inventory on a Sunday when your shelves are mostly empty and you can start all over again. I prided myself on how streamlined my inventory was every week. Monday healthy inventory, Sunday empty shelves. There’s a fine line between reducing your inventory to a healthy low point as opposed to running to the grocery store 16 times on Sunday because you ran out of product.

Slow restaurants have higher food cost due to the fact that it takes a healthy investment to create that first inventory purchase and to maintain it. Your very first truck will most likely be your biggest one. It may take $10k to fill your stock up for the first time and then you’ll watch it flow down to $2k and back up to $8k but never back to tht original level. Why? Because hopefully you’re selling it and not holding it. The more shit that sits comfortably on your shelves collecting dust the higher your food cost will remain.

This isn’t some secret formula. Its economics.

You wanna talk about theft? It’s rampant in the service industry. Usually it’s just employees making a meal behind your back. I was very transparent with my line cooks. If you’re hungry eat. Don’t make a four course meal if you want a burger then get a server to ring it up. It had to stay under a certain menu cost. Most abided by it but I’d still get some jive ass turkey that would walk back into dish with 8 pieces of bacon, 4 biscuits, stainless bowl of grits and a piece of fried chicken.

Others kept me on my toes on daily inventory and meat counts. Especially if you bought meat in pre cut form. Its already wrapped and ready to steal. Most of your theft is on its way to the dumpster and then takes a detour to someone’s trunk. Always check your slim Jim’s at the end of services. Its usually wrapped up in a trash bag on top of other trash. Always at the end of service unless they are resourceful and have a cooler in their trunk. You don’t want a tenderloin basking in your backseat for 5 hours in July. Once you get a vibe from that employee they are easy to catch.

Always have cameras on hand. I enjoyed watching two line cooks on a Friday night pile prime rib into a take out box while the manager was outside smoking.

Whole tenderloins under empty boxes, a chub of hamburger meat, pack of burger buns and a gallon of mayo. These are just the ones I caught. You might catch 10%.

I had a dishwasher get t boned on his moped after work and cryovac sealed pork chops were found all over the side of the road next to his moped. He was fine btw. Just walks with a limp now. I see him every morning on his little stoop next to the Hampton station. No hard feelings. Moped might’ve moved faster had it now been weighed down with stolen goods though.

Keeping your comps below 2% of your food sales should be the norm. 1% is ideal but no more than 2. A solid management team that communicates well with patrons will help. Stay away from the office managers who dislike confrontations and walk out with a stack of gift cards. If bribery is the only way to bring customers back then save yourself some trouble and lock the doors. Use your comps to show appreciation towards your regulars. It goes a long way.

So why are we bumping up our purchases 350 to 400%? Well we have bills to pay. That food inflation is imperative to pay things. A lot of things.

The napkins in your lap. Linen is a huge bill that adds up annually.

Bar towels, mop heads

Silverware, China, small wares. If you buy a plate from any reputable China distributor you’re looking at $10-$15 a plate. That’s on the cheap side. I’ve bought $25 bowls just to make my shrimp and grits look prettier. They all chip like a pringles in a dropped can. It’s fun watching 20 plates topple over when a dishwasher cracked out slips on the floor. Silverware? Sidework is pulling old silverware out of discarded linen for hours a week so you don’t have to buy more. Those little magnetic trash cans are trash. They may catch 1 out of 10. Also customers love those fancy steak knives and will take them home with them.

Chemicals for sanitation and washing dishes, hands, floors and ass.

Utilities. Want to see my gas bill on busy days? Power bill for 5000 sq ft restaurant in 90° summer heat with 300 people coming in and out all day is fun to pay.

I could write a hundred more lines but this was meant to be a brief blog.

If I could give you an easy equation to start off with for managing a forecast for a full service restaurant it would be this –

Keep your food costs under 30%

Keep your labor under 30%

Beer and wine under 25%

Liquor 18-20%

My easy diagram for dummies start up model is 30/30/30. This applies for full service. Food costs and labor for bars varies differently.

Aforementioned food cost after comps 30%

Labor ideally after taxes 30%

All other expenditures 30%. These range from monthly rent, utilities, small wares, paper products, repair and maintenance and everything else on your p&l lines.

If this pipe dream retains its level lines of financial burdens you’ll net 10%.

So if you have a $1,000,000 in annual sales you’ll net $100k. Sounds great right???

Well.

You lost a GM last quarter and had to train a new one so you double up on management coverage for 3 weeks while your new gm gets acclimated. Your kitchen turnover caused you to spend an extra $300 a week to train a pantry cook who thinks a fried egg goes into a fryer.

Your hood fuzzed out during Friday night dinner rush so you had to close at 6 and turn away 80 reservations

Line cooler shit the bed overnight or it got unplugged while cleaning last night and you toss out $300 in filets

The L on your marquee sign went out and it costs $600 for a professional sign company to pull their rig up and change the bulbs

Water heater doesn’t want to heat anymore

Your lease is on year 5 and now it’s gone up 3%

Your dining tables are sticky from years of food and residue and now they have to be sanded and restained

Again. I could write a hundred more lines of not “what ifs” but “when it does”

Just wait until minimum wage finally doubles. Look I get it. I understand it. The average consumer will not like it that’s all I’m going to say at the moment.

I’m about to compute my food costs for the deli soon. Charcuterie I don’t worry about because I add assembly costs to my food costs so it works out for the most part but that will change soon.

I threw this out there somewhat for fun because I do this for a living and also for some to understand why restaurants charge what they do.

It may also be good for some of my km and chef friends who don’t calculate your food costs accurately. Some have never grasped it or at least most of mine couldn’t seem to for the most part. I recall interviewing a chef for SC and asked him what his food cost were at his previous employer and he looked at me with a blank stare and said “I think around 15%” and our interview ended immediately.

Math is easy for me it’s the million other things that are not.

Don’t read this and think I’ve got it all figured out. This was only a brief summary I wrote out after a pot of coffee. There are a thousand different variables to come into play. This was meant to be a very elementary example for discussion.

This counts as a deli update right?..

Man this day really started that cliche reference “snowball rolling down the hill” for me.

Our/my restaurant group was about to get the mandate handcuffs

Anyone that was social media friends with me got to have front seats to the meltdown show.

It wasn’t really that bad. Not on your cellphones at least just in my head

There was already a whiff of change in the air with my vocational attitude and my old partners.

A tiny thread holding up a bowling ball in a hurricane force gale.

The upcoming coronavirus had caused a fun argument to erupt between me and my old partner. Trivial at best but at that time I was around a 9.99 on the tension scale.

Hour long stares over ridiculously large Office Depot tables in tiny rooms.

Covid was icing on the relationship cake.

I’ve always been the one to take the fall if sales were underperforming, bad reviews, poor employee moral or under trained mangers. If food cost were high I’d jump on it. Menu ideas choked I would write a brand new one. Three to four menu revamps annually per restaurant. Some I’d tweak others I’d revamp

Gotta stay current

Gotta sell tickets

Ticket sales had been dropping for a bit. I as per the norm took full responsibility. My control was a minority partner. When fault was to be had I was the majority partner. Hey they were my concepts. I created them I get it .

My only argument from time to time was “maybe we could’ve tried to build one that wasn’t already in someone’s front yard?”

I look back and can say with all heart and integrity I gave it my all.

Until that day. Then I started dropping zero fucks like Johnny Appleseed. I had always been open to criticism but never had anyone question my sacrifice.

My drive

My passion

I’ve punched heads for less. Not that I would’ve in this situation but that temper is still there.

My grip on my old company loosened after this day 4 years ago.

My old comrades jumped on that opportunity.

Smart

I would’ve done the same. Just turn your back for one moment. I did but I’m not an idiot all I did was close my eyes long enough for them to make the changes.

I don’t take that part personal at all. There were plenty of personal issues. Conflicts of personality and egos it happens. I will never reflect on any of my old partners in a viscous way. I gave back the same I’m no fucking angel.

The difference for me was I still tried to retain a good relationship.

The effort was mine to give and to takeaway. I’m petty as Tom.

It doesn’t take much

Listen I’ve said it before I write before I think and I rarely backspace because then I’m editing my thoughts. 4 years later I’m still fuming over a few things. Sobriety puts my emotions on the big screen. If I know you’re watching me I’m going to show my ass .

It’s my show

It’s my ass

Anyway

New direction here ___

From March 17 2020 to September 30 that same year. I can’t tell you much about my old job. I was there but I wasn’t.

Many decisions were being made in rooms that I wasn’t present in.

Many whispers

I’d been through it before and I fought my ass off.

This time I sat back and waited. There was no fight left in me. Hard to swing when you no longer care.

The longer we dragged out opening the restaurants back open the more I disassociated. If that was the plan then well done sirs. And ma’am.

I do recall sitting through three presentations of demographics

Plugging in food costs in three different platforms and then doing it all over again when I rebranded all three menus.

Man I hate data entry. That was well known.

I had the cleanest office in the company. I never used it. Can’t do what I did behind a desk.

Not looking for a pity party yall. I was just triggered and my finger never left it. Still dealing with that.

Reopening all the restaurants literally felt like to me I was getting back together with a toxic ex girlfriend. I knew what I was walking into but didn’t know how to get out of it.

Actually I did know. All I did was watch the clock.

I have always been a fighter when I believe in the cause. The fact that I didn’t fight this time was obvious.

The mandate cuffing made my blood boil. Do you understand how frustrating it was to run outside with styrofoam boxes, wearing gloves and masks? Boxes with brunch items. Customers and friends supporting you out of desperation. Sunday brunch we were doing 400 covers. At that moment we did $200.

And as I’d walk outside sporadically to thank every single person that pulled up I’d look across the parking lot at Home Depot with over a hundred cars corralled 300 yards down the road. Mulching your yard was waaay more essential than food.

The ridiculous tents we would erect to save our dining rooms. Price gouging, not to mention the press reminding everyone that restaurants were the most likely place to catch covid. I literally watched a segment where they detailed someone sneezing and the mucus trail through the HVAC over the table, diagramed.. to show the sneeze landing on top of another table.

Planes? Planes were fine just wear that paper mask. What could possibly go wrong? I’m sure the germ swam over here anyway.

I have not watched more than 30 seconds of national news since that year.

I am extremely biased towards things that I never cared about now. Or when I used to say to each their own it’s changed. I’ve made it a point, being a local business owner to keep most of my opinions to myself when it comes to politics and religion. If I voiced my political opinion I’d probably have the fbi knocking on my door. I don’t even write it down. I’m not an idiot.

And it all stems from this day 4 years ago.

I’ve overcame quite a bit the past 4 years but let’s never have that discussion in person. I don’t control my emotions very well. I’m still angry.

How much does it linger? I made a promise to myself after my split that no matter what I do I will fucking make sure it’s as bureaucratic proof as possible. If the goddamn bubonic plague makes a comeback my business will still be running.

I’m about to open a spot. What’s the first thing I post about it? No dining room. Counter only. And if something happens I will bring you your fucking food.

So yeah. I still have some of that bullshit from 4 years ago in me.

But

And we just discussed this (my wife and I) this week

Aside from all of that

Pandemic’s punk ass

Partnership shit

Mental breakdown almost, I kept it together. Anger can provide some healthy strength provided you know when to let go. Anyone that reads this it is obvious I’m still hanging on to a few angry hairs.

Dead ass as you kids say

Aside from all of that.. I’ve changed. Goddamn have I.

If you could put that Chad from 4 years ago beside the one now

I don’t know. I think we’d look a lot different. My frown lines have lessened a tad. I’m at least 25 lbs lighter, I know my head has shrunk. Egotistically and physically.

My beard is mostly gray. It went real gray after I left my company. Stress can do some wild things to you.

My craft has changed dramatically. If I had to give myself credit my skill set has actually improved with rest. I do things much more deliberately, aesthetically.

I feel like an old boxer who retired and took up oil painting.

I don’t beat myself up physically anymore. I may not feel as “hard” as I used to but I’m much more fluid and flexible at 52.5 years of age. Bench pressing 275 lbs will never be achieved again. But my knees don’t crack like they used to and I can pull my hoodie over my head without wincing in pain.

I walk instead of run now. I’m just not in some much of a hurry anymore. I don’t run up the mountains anymore. Remember that guy? I was always running. I had to get to the top of the mountain as fast as I can and then run back home and go back to work.

Nah. Now I mosey up. I pull out and chair and a blanket and we have a nice sit down. Maybe all night.

Some scars take a long time. I’m still healing in places I didn’t know about. These goddamn anniversaries remind me of this.

Back to my convo with Jess

My wife always being the pos to my neg reminded me that all of this had to happen for me to change.

It’s taken 4 years for me to swallow that. It’s still tough.

Poignant moment, sitting in a camping chair with a Dales Pale can in my hand. Watching my 10 year old daughter dancing over the sprinkler in our yard. My brain clicked into reset. You could almost hear the chef knife dropping from my hand.

I was done

That was in April. I lasted for 5 more months but honestly I was gone from my company at that moment. They knew it too.

Parting was amiable. Our partnership for the most part always was. Emotions can spike months later. Mine did. Sobriety makes you reckon with them.

I do believe this and it helps

I would still be drinking, probably more so

I’d probably still be with my old company. It wouldn’t be pretty at the moment if I were

Id still be miserable without even realizing it or worse. Much worse.

I could feel my body weakening from all the abuse. I needed to see my daughter jumping and dancing over that sprinkler.

The reckoning only came about because I had slowed everything down enough to put it in front of me. To finally analyze something other than food costs, P&Ls, demographics, emails and overall toxicity of the service industry.

Thank god I don’t have that full service bar beckoning me next to my favorite bar stool. Now I have a well worn spot on my sofa where I’m currently enjoying a cup of coffee with a clear head. A present, happy head.

I still hate this fucking day. I’ll always feel like there are some really big, powerful people that can kiss my ass forever.

But to the circumstances and what they changed in my life? Well played mother fuckers but let’s not do this again.

Your boy is tired. At least it’s a good tired. I like being in my 50s. Your brain has an amazing way of prioritizing things if you allow it and I have.

Gonna take the fam to Folly today to celebrate because regardless it’s a celebratory moment.

Might even get a little tan