The River Room........Part IV

Mr. Green was the Chief Inspector of Food Safety for the Colorado Department of Health & Environment in the counties of Grand and Routt; if you bought food and ate it in these counties, Mr. Green was the major dude for making sure that it was fit to be consumed. Area-wise, Grand and Routt are two of the largest counties in Colorado; population-wise, they are two of the smallest. Mr. Green’s job entailed going into every commercial kitchen – restaurants, hotels, bars, grocery stores, schools, nursing homes and hospitals – and making sure that all facilities met the Colorado State Code for Food Handling, Preparation and Storage, an 86 page document that Mr. Green strongly suggested I make myself intimately familiar with if I intended to operate a restaurant in his jurisdiction. He also had responsibility for dairy farms, of which there were more than a few in Routt county, grocery stores, convenience stores, food warehouse and distribution centers – anywhere that food was grown, made, stored, handled, prepared, served, sold and eaten... Mr. Green was your Salmonella Warrior. He took his job damn seriously.

Simply put, Mr. Green had a pretty daunting job – while not hugely populated, his physical area of responsibility was massive - 4230 square miles; bad for him, but good for most of the restaurant owners, as his surprise visits were few and far between. Upon entering any small mountain burg, such as Granby, Kremmeling, or Parshall, the site of his green Mazda station wagon would get the phone trees buzzing from diner to diner. If you owned a restaurant, the mere mention of his name, let alone the actual sighting of his visage as he appeared at your doorstep, would cause your mouth to go dry, your throat to constrict and your gut to roil and rumble like the morning after the Annual Grand County Beer, Poppers & Chili Fest.

So back to our initial January 3rd phone meeting; after peppering me with the brapp-a-papp assault of necessities for legal operation of The Riverside restaurant, his tone calmed, and in fact, my quest for his sympathy seemed to have gone fulfilled.

Mr. Green relented and told me that we could operate the restaurant – today, tomorrow, whenever we chose. He would get the paperwork started for renewal of the restaurant license; all I needed to do was send a check for $150 and we’d get everything legal.

But here was the story.

Mr. Green told me that he visited Abe in September of 2007. It was the “first time in years” he’d been able to find the place open and Abe on the premises. He didn’t hide the fact that his feelings for Abe were less than fond, as I’m sure Abe was a constant foil to Mr. Green and the rules and regulations that he was sworn to enforce.

“I went through that kitchen with a fine tooth comb”, he began, “as I hadn’t been in there in a long time, and busted him on 20 things - major things. I knew there was no way he had the money to get that kitchen up to code, so I just held him to things that he and his help could fix and clean.”

“What were some of the major things?” I asked.

“I’ve already hit on a few of them with you. The biggest one is that fume hood. It’s not stainless steel and it has an old dry-powder extinguisher system that’s not only out of code, it doesn’t even work. I’ll be real surprised if you make it through your insurance inspection.”

Great to know that as well, I thought.

“What is it going to cost me to replace the fume hood?”

“Oh, I’d say installed.... you're probably looking at $50,000 - $60,000.”

I think I said something like “Holy Shit!”

Mr. Green continued “Then there is the walk-in. Sounds like your mechanical inspector caught that one; must’ve been the duct-taped box fan that got it on his radar. And the list goes on. You need to get rid of the refrigerators and freezers and replace them with commercial models. You need to get rid of every wood prep surface and replace it with stainless steel. You need a commercial dishwasher. You need to re-plumb the pipes, get some drains in the floor and put in a new grease trap. You need new walls that can be cleaned – no drywall like you’ve got now. You need to lose the old asbestos tile floor and replace it with ceramic tile. Shall I go on?”

“If you had to guess, what do you think it’s going to cost to get everything done to where it’ll pass code?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“Conservatively, if you buy the stuff right and do a lot of the labors yourself” then a pause…..’ ”I’d say you’re looking in the neighborhood of $125,000 to $150,000.”

“Good God, there’s no way I have that kind of money.”

“I know, and I knew Abe didn’t have that kind of money. That’s why I let him off the hook on all the major things. But I told him ‘Abe, I’m not gonna make you fix all of this, but before you sell this place to someone else, you’ve got to let me know and have them get in touch with me, because they’re gonna have to fix all of this before I give ‘em a license’. And do you know what he said to me when I told him that? He said ‘Mr. Green, I have no intentions of selling The Riverside. I haven’t given the first thought to retiring.’ That’s what he told me in September. When did you approach him about buying the place?”

“It was March of 2007. But do you know when we signed the papers where there was no going back without losing our $40,000 worth of earnest money?” I asked Mr. Green. “That would have been August 30th of 2007, the month before your visit. The month before he stood there and told you he had no intention of selling the place. That lying bastard!”

(Again, caveat emptor. Abe might have been a lying bastard, but I for damn sure was a stupid one.)

So let it be known, that good old Mr. Green, the man that struck mortal fear into the meanest and toughest of Grand County restaurateurs, had a heart and a soul after all.

He could have shut Abe down years ago, but chose to leave it be. He could have shut me down immediately, but instead chose to take pity on me and leave me be. He said there were a few things I had to address immediately, the principle one being the walk-in – that as much for the energy savings it would net me (the old compressor ran 24-7 and still didn’t properly cool the walk-in) as well as the obvious health aspects of not being tempted to cook and serve the spoiled food that dwelt in the non-functional cooler. He also was adamant about the commercial dishwasher, but gave me the number of a company that rented and maintained them for $80 bucks a month. He then asked that I make an effort, year-by-year and bit-by-bit, as my funds allowed, to start replacing the old, out-of-code equipment with new stuff. He said “as long as I see continual improvement on an annual basis, you and me’ll be OK.”

Perhaps it’s like I’ve said before, God seems to have a soft spot for idiots like me and it’s apparent that Mr. Green does as well; as God, Mr. Green and hopefully now you know, you’d have to be an absolute idiot to get into the restaurant business.

To be continued.........

The River Room...........Part III

Fast forward to January 3rd, 2008.

As the new owners and proprietors of The Riverside Hotel, Bar & Restaurant, we’d just enjoyed/suffered through our first week of operation. During the last week we’d experienced pulling a 9’x12’ U-Haul across an icy I-70, a major Colorado blizzard that filled our hotel and restaurant on our third night of ownership, two encounters with the otherworldly inhabitants of The Riverside and an outdoor vomiting incident that still has some of the local fauna shaking their heads in disbelief. This doesn’t even begin to cover the emotional roller coaster that we were riding, without seat belts, over the life-altering signatures that we’d just affixed to paper.

I casually noticed on the evening of December 31st 2007 that our restaurant license expired on the evening of December 31st, 2007. “Damn that Abe!”, I thought, as he’d told me the license was good until next September; in amongst all of the little ‘caveat emptors’ that I’d discovered the last few days regarding Abe and, let’s kindly refer to it as, his lack of forthrightness, this one didn’t even raise an eyebrow – just a “Damn!”

Back in Kansas City, I searched the web and made a few phone calls to find out where I needed to go and who I needed to talk to regarding renewal of the license. I finally was able to get a name and number, and I called, got his voice mail, and left my message saying something like “Mr. Green, this is Richard Paradise, new owner of The Riverside Hotel in Hot Sulphur Springs, and I’m calling to see what I need to do to get the restaurant license renewed. The man we bought the hotel from told me it was good until September of 2008, but it looks like it actually expired at the end of the year. Please call me at your earliest convenience to discuss. Thanks!”

Within the hour, Mr. Green called The Riverside – I believe my nephew Thomas, who was our cook/chef, took the call – and said something like “You will immediately and indefinitely cease operations of the restaurant, and I need you to have the new owner call me ASAP!!” Thomas casually mentioned that Mr. Green seemed just a little ‘pissed’.

So I called Mr. Green, and here’s what was discussed, to my best recollection.

“Mr. Green, I’m Richard Paradise, the new owner of The Riverside in Hot Sulphur Springs” I said proudly.

Mr. Green did not respond warmly to my proud proclamation. “Mr. Paradise, you are in violation of the law by operating your restaurant without a license. You had a list of the things that needed to be done to that kitchen before we would consider granting a new license, and you were told to contact me for an inspection when all of the items were addressed. The quickest I can get up your way to inspect is the week of the 15th, so until then, you had better not open that restaurant!”

Thomas was right; Mr. Green was pissed.

OK - so I had to take a deep breath and stop and refocus on what I had just heard. I was a little dizzy, and the surrounding world seemed to be floating away from me.

“Uh, Mr. Green,” I began “I have to plead ignorance here and say that I don’t know what items you’re talking about. I was told by Abe that his restaurant license was transferable – I know the liquor license wasn’t, but he told me the restaurant license was. I’m kind of at a loss for words right now. We just bought this hotel and I’ve got my life savings tied up in this thing, and now you’re telling me I can’t operate the restaurant? Good God, what I’m I going to do? What do I need to do?”

Mr. Green, now calmer and his demeanor noticeably changing for the better, “Are you telling me Abe didn’t go over with you what needed to be done to get that kitchen up to code?”

“No sir”, I replied. “The man that did the mechanical showed me a few small things that he said would need to be addressed, and I planned on doing those after we purchased the place. Nothing really seemed to be that big of a deal, except for I learned that the walk-in was going to cost me some money, and I’ve got a guy coming to look at that this week.”

“Well let me mention just a few things for starters. Did you get a new fume hood?”

“Uh, no. Do we need a new fume hood?”

“Damn right you do! That one’s made of galvanized metal and it has to be stainless steel. It doesn’t even have a functioning fire suppression system. How about a commercial dishwasher; did you get one of those, or do you still have the old three compartment sink in there?”

“Uh, yea, still got the sink. No dishwasher.”

“How about all of the wooden prep tables, do you still have those, or did you get stainless steel tables?”

“No stainless; still got the wood.” I said, softly. My ‘proud new owner of The Riverside’ voice had disappeared; I was now all but whispering my responses.

“Well Mr. Paradise, I’m thinking that maybe Mr. Rodriguez didn’t give you the full story about his kitchen.”

“No, Mr. Green, apparently he didn’t. I have to tell you, that I’m a little bit in a state of shock right now. Had I any idea about all of this a few months back, I can tell you that you and I would’ve never made this acquaintance. I damn sure know I wouldn’t own The Riverside right now, at least not near for what I paid.”

I have to admit, that while I was shocked – truthfully, still too shocked to be rightfully seething with anger or able to grasp the reality of what I was facing – I was also working hard to play the pity card with Mr. Green, and it seemed to be working as his tone had gone from accusatory to conciliatory. I was also cognizant enough to know that I needed every friend I could get in Grand County, and Mr. Green as a friend had to quickly become a reality, or my ass was doomed; (er, at least doomed a little quicker than when it ultimately ended up being doomed.)

To Be Continued…………..

The River Room........Part II

The actual physical commercial kitchen that we inherited (purchased) from Abe was a perfect microcosm of the larger mess, in the shape of a hotel, that we purchased (inherited) from Abe. Not having any actual restaurant experience beyond dropping bucket-loads of money in them, I wasn’t savvy enough to see the pratfalls to success that were, unfortunately, the foundation of our venture; nor was the bank, and most importantly, neither was the gentleman that did the property inspection for me and the bank. He was touted as an expert in 1) old buildings and 2) commercial kitchens; when viewed in retrospect, he knew as much about commercial kitchens as I did – that kinship of ignorance equated to a tasty recipe for disaster.

In August of 2007, I flew out to Denver, and then drove to Hot Sulphur to be present at the mechanical inspection. At this point, we were still contractually able to walk away from the deal - no harm, no foul. If things were obviously askew, i.e. if there were blazing, flying, roaring red flags – red flags that someone would be looking for before throwing their life and money at a lark – we could’ve still simply said at that point ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ Anyway, I meet Mr. Inspector on a sunny Saturday, and he takes me on a tour of the physical being that is The Riverside Hotel. I’ll skip the discussion of the roof, the foundation, the crawl spaces, etc., and jump right to his assessment of the commercial kitchen – his advertised area of expertise.

“All in all” he began, “the kitchen and the equipment are in decent shape, considering their age. Let me show you a few things that you’ll need to address for the Health Department. See this gap on this (food prep) table? Food particles can collect in that and it’ll be a trap for bacteria. There are four or five of those in here that need to be covered up. Here’s another one. See?”

Didn’t seem like too big a deal; get a little silicone, a spatula and ‘presto’, no more little bacteria farms. He continued:

“One thing you’ll have to fix pretty quickly is this fluorescent light fixture. First off, the bulbs can’t be exposed like they are – they could break and send glass bits shooting all over the kitchen; definitely bad for business if people have glass in their food.”

(I stood in awe while listening to this expert assessment.)

“Plus, the grease on those bulbs has caught all those little bugs – again, you don’t want those gnats falling off those exposed bulbs and ending up on dinner plates. I’d get a new compliant fixture first chance you get.”

(I hastily took notes – no glass in the food or bugs on the plates. This info was killer to a novice such as me.)

Next he went to the equipment. “The stove works fine, again, considering its age; all of the burners work and both of the ovens. It’s missing a knob here, but you should be able to find a replacement pretty easily.”

“Fume hood works fine” he said, as he flicked the switch and the blower motor creaked to a rolling crescendo.

“Here’s the ice machine”, as he opened the door and showed me copious amounts of crystal-clear ice cubes. “No worries.”

Then, “three stainless steel dish sinks; everything drains and flows nicely.”

Good, I thought. Draining and flowing is good.

“Now I have to show you a few areas of concern that I have with the walk-in (cooler).”

I’d been in The Riverside kitchen maybe a dozen times to that point, but I never knew that that there was a walk-in cooler in the back room.

“Cool”, I thought. Then I saw the cooler.

Outside of the cooler, perched upon an 18” square platform that was precariously affixed to the wall was a black machiney-looking thing, with a little motor, a small tank and coils that looked a little like a mini-distillery; in total, it was a mechanical contraption that Tom Edison would have regarded as primitive.

Pointing at this little humming conundrum, Mr. Inspector said “this is the compressor. It’s on its last leg and will have to be replaced. I’m actually amazed that it runs and cools at all.”

He then opened the cooler door and said “you won’t believe this!”

To those of you who don’t know anything about refrigeration – I was you at that point – on the opposite end of a compressor there would be a condenser, with cooling coils and a blower to disperse the cold air about the space. In reality, suspended from the ceiling of the walk-in, there was a condenser, resting on a rotted piece of plywood which was affixed to the ceiling by pieces of cheap, electrical flex conduit. The cooling coils – picture a small car radiator with frost all over it – were fronted by a $10 box fan that was attached to the whole Goldbergian contraption with 100 yards of the finest duct tape. A continuous drip of water from the condenser found purchase in a massive pot situated beneath it on the floor; there was science project fungi floating in that pot. I shit you not.

“Oh my!” said I. “Is this up to code?”

“Not hardly!” said our commercial kitchen expert. “You’re looking at a few grand to get this whole thing up to snuff. Plus, you’ve got a few more of those bacteria catchers in the gaps between the floor tiles and the walls that you’ll need to caulk. I’m guessing you’re looking at $3000 - $5000 to get this up to code.”

“Wow!” I thought. ‘I didn’t even know that there was a walk-in cooler, let alone a walk-in cooler whose main functional attributes would have been a hysterical stand-up routine at a refrigeration specialist’s annual award banquet.’

So there I was, standing in this commercial kitchen, with a commercial kitchen expert, on a beautiful August day in the mountains of Colorado. I was looking at, ....what... not much bad shit... really? Some silicone caulk, a new $30 fluorescent light fixture and maybe $3000 - $5000 to get the walk-in up to shape.

"That’s it???"

"Geez, I’d have thought it to be much worse. Lucky me!"

To be continued…….