During one of my numerous trips to Las Vegas, all of course due to very important, high-level business-related trade shows – World of Concrete, International Roofing Expo, Home Building Expo, International Gutter & Downspout Extravaganza, National Conference on Cotter Pin Safety, etc. – I’d had just about one too many bone-in rib eyes in a row, yet, found myself in a fabulous steakhouse; Jean-George Jagermeister’s PRIME, located in the beautiful Bellagio Casino. I told the snooty waiter that I just couldn’t handle another beautifully marbled, succulent, medium rare bone-in Kobe rib eye, having had them the previous five nights at other high-end Vegas meat emporiums. Obviously annoyed with my lack of degustatory gusto, he icily suggested that I might enjoy something beefy, yet quite a bit less expensive, his nose getting skinny as he lifted his chin skyward – braised short ribs. This encounter happened a few years back, say 10 years ago, when beef short ribs weren’t on most menus; in fact, they would have been considered a throw-away cut of meat, something you’d never imagine finding on the menu of a pricy restaurant, much like skirt steak, flank steak and brisket, which now, thanks to celebrity chefs like Jean-George Veganbanger, are no longer throwaways, but ‘hot’ cuts of meat. (Or were last week at the time of this writing; perhaps this week, they too are now passé.)
Anyway, I bit, as the description of the fatty beef that would fall off the bone like a Valentine’s Day chemise and melt in your mouth like a hollandaise-flavored cough drop was simply too much to resist; couple that with a White Truffle Gruyere potato gratin and a hearty Barolo, and we could just begin to forget about the travails of suffering through a night without a cut of béarnaise-drenched Japanese beef.
Needless to say, the meal was sublime – the short ribs presented in a small copper pot, with the cooking vegetables and braising liquid as accompaniment. The flavor was so round, so rich; I had to ingratiate myself upon the snooty waiter and beg as to what gave this beef it’s smoky, salty, sweet flavor. I had to have that damn recipe!
The waiter was forthcoming enough with the goods just to the point of teasing me; yes, yes I know, brown the ribs, braise them with carrots, celery and onions in some stock and red wine, and….”I’m afraid I can’t tell you what the special ingredients are that give them their sweet, salty finish”; seemingly gleeful that he had this little power thing going with me.
So I had to wing it and guess at what else might be included in the recipe to give them their unique, never before experienced flavor. I’m pretty sure I eventually hit the mark, as this recipe, at least for me, recreates the splendor of the original dish at PRIME. When we first featured these short ribs on a new fall menu, winding down our first year in operation, they were a huge hit – we couldn’t make enough of them as almost every diner ordered them those first few weekends in October. We actually had guests dine with us on Friday, order the short ribs, and return the next evening for a second go; should have charged more for them.
This dish takes some time to make, as it cooks low and slow; so you probably don’t want to plan on throwing it together some Tuesday evening after work. Also, you can use the method and ingredients in this recipe on chuck roast with equally great results.
Serves 4
3-4 pounds beef short ribs – bone intact
Salt & Pepper
1-2 cups flour
½ cup vegetable oil
1 - Large yellow onion, chopped
3 – Carrots, peeled and chopped
3 – Celery stalks, chopped
1 – Cup rich beef stock which you’ve made yourself (Do they even sell rich beef stock?)
1 – Cup red wine (Shiraz works nicely)
2/3 - cup Soy Sauce (No low sodium stuff, you putz!)
2/3 - cup dark molasses (Steen’s, if you’re lucky enough to live where they sell it)
2 – Bay leaves
12 – Sprigs fresh thyme
Preheat oven to 260F
In a Dutch oven, heat the oil to near smoking, and brown the short ribs that you’ve salted, peppered and dredged in the flour. Set them aside. In the same oil, sauté the vegetables until they just begin to take on some char. Remove and set aside. Put the ribs back in the Dutch oven, arranged so there is a little space between them; space which you will fill with the sautéed vegetables. Now pour your liquids in, slip in the bay leaves and evenly distribute the thyme over the top of dish. The liquid will come close to drowning the ribs, with maybe ½” – ¾” of the meat peeking over the brim of the liquid.
Put the lid on the pot, slide it in the oven and leave it be for 4 hours. No need to open it and jack with it to see if it’s done. It’ll probably be done in 3 ½ hours, and at that low temperature, it’ll still be okay if you get sloshed on the rest of the Shiraz and forget to take it out until it’s cooked for five hours. Keeping the damn lid on keeps all the damn moisture in the pot; and moisture is what makes that meat tender, silky and falling off the bone delicious – so keep the damn lid on!
Serve over a bed of creamy polenta, into which you’ve slipped some butter and a good Parmigiano Reggiano, and ladle just a little of the braising liquid over the meat and polenta.
Mmmmmmm…welcome to Flavor Country!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
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.........
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.........
Friday, February 18, 2011
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…………..
Thursday, February 10, 2011
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…….
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The River Room........Part I
Over the course of the next five or six chapters, I will attempt to tell but a small part of the heaven and hell of thrusting one's novice-ass self into the restaurant business. Those with similar aspirations, pay heed.
..--------------------------------..
I like to cook - a lot. I like to cook for family, for friends, for holidays, for relaxation, for fun, for serious and mostly, for myself, as like all cooks, eating and enjoying what you cook is at the end of what it’s all about. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years got to be where they weren’t about anything more important than opportunities to showcase my culinary skills to an adoring, friendly and mostly familial, kept crowd.
There are millions of us out there who share this passion for cooking, and most of us are smart enough to understand the chasm-atic delineation between farting around in your home kitchen and cooking in a commercial endeavor. The ones that aren’t smart enough end up borrowing money from banks, friends, family and personal savings to learn that difference after they’re about three-quarters of the way from going tits-up in the restaurant business.
Never did the original plans for buying The Riverside include me being the chef and cooking for a paying crowd. I knew that putting out a Thanksgiving feed for 25 family members wasn’t the same as consistently and competently dishing out six to eight different menu items to a busy 40-seat restaurant. What I felt I did have was a vision for what a good restaurant was supposed to be, what type of atmosphere and service would make people feel special, and what type of food our patrons would find appealing. I felt I knew this because of my prior experience of traveling the country and eating in literally thousands of restaurants – from local diner ‘meat & threes’ in Dangerfield, TX and duck blood soup-serving Croatian buffets in Cleveland, OH, to some of the finest and most famous restaurants in California, New York and everywhere in between. I shudder, and am a bit ashamed of myself, when I begin to calculate the amount of money I’ve spent dining out both for business and personal meals; I could feed a lot of hungry people well with the gratuities alone.
The River Room Restaurant in The Riverside was added to the west side of the building in 1971. It is 40’ long and 14’ wide, with 14 tables that seat 42 diners. There are five tables that seat two diners – two-tops, in restaurant lingo – that run along the western wall; all have excellent views of the Colorado river, Mt. Bross and the more than occasional spectacular sunsets. The room was impeccably decorated by Julie, always changing with the seasons, with fresh flowers on the table in the summer or small artfully-arranged centerpieces the other 11 non-summer months. There is a wood burning stove in the middle of the room that is no longer used, serving now as a substrate upon which faux greenery and twinkling lights have found purchase. The soft visual experience is topped off by an aural delight, that of the lilting strains of carefully selected classical music (with an occasional show tune – those Grand County cowboys are crazy for show tunes) gently floating through the air.
The previous owner didn’t build the room, having purchased The Riverside in 1980, but he did have the vision to make it into a one-of-a-kind, white table-cloth, elegant dining room; the kind of place that you know the second you enter, it’s not a place where you’ve come for a $7.00 burger in your camos. In fact, if you walk in clad in camos, if you’re the kind of patron we’re targeting, you’re saying, “Oh shit, I’ve got camos on, and even though I’m in Grand County where camos are at the high end of the sartorial ladder, this is not a camos kind of place.” You make amends for the fact that you’re ill clad by sitting down, ordering a $9.00 martini, a $24.00 Rib-Eye, and now acting, that in spite of your outlandish, but geographically proper garb, you belong in this place.
It was The River Room that made me fall in love with The Riverside. My best memories as a customer involved long dinners with family and friends during our holiday visits, the snow gently falling outside on the frozen river, while we sat safe and warm, and more often than not just a little inebriated, talking, laughing and whetting our appetites while waiting for the sumptuous feast that Jamie, Abe’s cook, was preparing. (Sumptuous, at least, when compared to the other fine dining establishments in Hot Sulphur Springs.......of which there were none.)
After every Christmas visit to The Riverside, on the subsequent ride home to Kansas, Julie and I would discuss the dream of what we, as owners, would do to make this wonderful place….more wonderful. The excited chatter of “why doesn’t Abe do this?” and “if we owned it, we’d do that” made the bleak, frozen, unappealing vistas of eastern Colorado and western Kansas, combined with the rote yardstick that is I-70, glide quickly by as we headed back to the New Year and the resumption of our daily grind. That distillation of the warm post-holiday/vacation feelings of staying in an out of the way wintery haven, fresh with memories of good friends, family and food, topped off by 10 hours in a car spent upon reflection of good and introspection of what could be, distilled the fuel for the engine that ultimately drove us to Hot Sulphur Springs and The Riverside.
Unfortunately, all of this windshield time happened before IPods were invented.
To be continued............
..--------------------------------..
I like to cook - a lot. I like to cook for family, for friends, for holidays, for relaxation, for fun, for serious and mostly, for myself, as like all cooks, eating and enjoying what you cook is at the end of what it’s all about. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years got to be where they weren’t about anything more important than opportunities to showcase my culinary skills to an adoring, friendly and mostly familial, kept crowd.
There are millions of us out there who share this passion for cooking, and most of us are smart enough to understand the chasm-atic delineation between farting around in your home kitchen and cooking in a commercial endeavor. The ones that aren’t smart enough end up borrowing money from banks, friends, family and personal savings to learn that difference after they’re about three-quarters of the way from going tits-up in the restaurant business.
Never did the original plans for buying The Riverside include me being the chef and cooking for a paying crowd. I knew that putting out a Thanksgiving feed for 25 family members wasn’t the same as consistently and competently dishing out six to eight different menu items to a busy 40-seat restaurant. What I felt I did have was a vision for what a good restaurant was supposed to be, what type of atmosphere and service would make people feel special, and what type of food our patrons would find appealing. I felt I knew this because of my prior experience of traveling the country and eating in literally thousands of restaurants – from local diner ‘meat & threes’ in Dangerfield, TX and duck blood soup-serving Croatian buffets in Cleveland, OH, to some of the finest and most famous restaurants in California, New York and everywhere in between. I shudder, and am a bit ashamed of myself, when I begin to calculate the amount of money I’ve spent dining out both for business and personal meals; I could feed a lot of hungry people well with the gratuities alone.
The River Room Restaurant in The Riverside was added to the west side of the building in 1971. It is 40’ long and 14’ wide, with 14 tables that seat 42 diners. There are five tables that seat two diners – two-tops, in restaurant lingo – that run along the western wall; all have excellent views of the Colorado river, Mt. Bross and the more than occasional spectacular sunsets. The room was impeccably decorated by Julie, always changing with the seasons, with fresh flowers on the table in the summer or small artfully-arranged centerpieces the other 11 non-summer months. There is a wood burning stove in the middle of the room that is no longer used, serving now as a substrate upon which faux greenery and twinkling lights have found purchase. The soft visual experience is topped off by an aural delight, that of the lilting strains of carefully selected classical music (with an occasional show tune – those Grand County cowboys are crazy for show tunes) gently floating through the air.
The previous owner didn’t build the room, having purchased The Riverside in 1980, but he did have the vision to make it into a one-of-a-kind, white table-cloth, elegant dining room; the kind of place that you know the second you enter, it’s not a place where you’ve come for a $7.00 burger in your camos. In fact, if you walk in clad in camos, if you’re the kind of patron we’re targeting, you’re saying, “Oh shit, I’ve got camos on, and even though I’m in Grand County where camos are at the high end of the sartorial ladder, this is not a camos kind of place.” You make amends for the fact that you’re ill clad by sitting down, ordering a $9.00 martini, a $24.00 Rib-Eye, and now acting, that in spite of your outlandish, but geographically proper garb, you belong in this place.
It was The River Room that made me fall in love with The Riverside. My best memories as a customer involved long dinners with family and friends during our holiday visits, the snow gently falling outside on the frozen river, while we sat safe and warm, and more often than not just a little inebriated, talking, laughing and whetting our appetites while waiting for the sumptuous feast that Jamie, Abe’s cook, was preparing. (Sumptuous, at least, when compared to the other fine dining establishments in Hot Sulphur Springs.......of which there were none.)
After every Christmas visit to The Riverside, on the subsequent ride home to Kansas, Julie and I would discuss the dream of what we, as owners, would do to make this wonderful place….more wonderful. The excited chatter of “why doesn’t Abe do this?” and “if we owned it, we’d do that” made the bleak, frozen, unappealing vistas of eastern Colorado and western Kansas, combined with the rote yardstick that is I-70, glide quickly by as we headed back to the New Year and the resumption of our daily grind. That distillation of the warm post-holiday/vacation feelings of staying in an out of the way wintery haven, fresh with memories of good friends, family and food, topped off by 10 hours in a car spent upon reflection of good and introspection of what could be, distilled the fuel for the engine that ultimately drove us to Hot Sulphur Springs and The Riverside.
Unfortunately, all of this windshield time happened before IPods were invented.
To be continued............
Friday, December 24, 2010
Prime Rib for Vegans
As we approach our first Christmas season in Mississippi, I’m finding myself with just a tinge of nostalgia for winter in the mountains. Well, maybe half a tinge. It’s warm down here; warm unlike any Christmas I’ve ever experienced. One thing you could count on in the mountains was snow and cold temperatures at Christmas; for that matter, you could count on snow and cold in July. While it will take some adjustment getting used to a sunny, 74 F day on the winter solstice, I’m confident that I’ll be able to deal with it in time.
One constant with Christmas and me, be it in Mississippi, Hot Sulphur Springs or Shawnee, KS, is the art of the feast. The menu has been unchanged for years – a standing rib roast on Christmas Eve, and Thanksgiving dinner redux on Christmas night. The standing rib roast recipe was handed down by my father, and all of the prime ribs made at The Riverside were prepared in this fashion. Prime Rib was our standard offering on all of our holiday and special event meals – New Years Eve, Valentine’s Day, wedding meals and large group dinners.
As this crust bakes and mingles with the marbled fat exterior of the roast, it takes on a life of its own, almost eclipsing the flavor and splendor of the smoky beef; kind of like finding cash inside of a gold nugget. By last count, I swear to God, we had eight, full bore, dining room conversions of vegans jumping ship as they rediscovered the wonders of carnivorousness. It brought tears to my eyes watching the color return to the cheeks, while smiles returned to the faces of these ill-humored, wan, sallow jicama junkies as they scarfed down these blood rare bits of roasted goodness, shouting “Amen Brother!” and “Hallelujah Sweet Jesus but this is tasty!” between mouthfuls.
Serves 8 (or 4 reformed vegans)
1 – 4 bone Prime Rib roast (6-7 pounds)
½ cup Dijon mustard
½ stick unsalted butter
6 cups non-seasoned bread crumbs
8 cloves finely minced garlic
1 cup finely shredded Parmigiano Reggiano
3-4 healthy sprigs of fresh rosemary leaves, finely chopped
½ cup Kosher salt
¼ cup freshly ground coarse pepper
Melt the butter in a saucepan and whisk together with the Dijon Mustard. Using a pastry brush, literally paint the exterior of the roast with the mixture until all is covered.
Mix all of the remaining ingredients in a large dish, and roll the coated roast in the mixture until all is covered. This can be done early in the day, storing the roast uncovered in the refrigerator. (The ‘store in the refrigerator’ part wasn’t necessary at The Riverside, as room temperature was typically in the low 40’s.)
Preheat oven to 475F. Put the roast on a V-shaped roasting rack (they sell these at Wal-Mart for 6 bucks) and put it in the oven for 20 minutes – this will sear and crunchify the crust.
Reduce the heat to 275F and slowly roast until the internal temperature hits 125F – that’s the high side of rare. Remove the roast, tent with foil and let rest for 30 minutes. The roast will still be cooking, and the internal temperature should get to 135F – medium rare – at the end of the resting period.
Slice, serve, stand back and watch, whilst even the most strident of the anti-red meat crowd quiver in anticipation, before caving and succumbing to that which must be enjoyed.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and all the best for 2011!
One constant with Christmas and me, be it in Mississippi, Hot Sulphur Springs or Shawnee, KS, is the art of the feast. The menu has been unchanged for years – a standing rib roast on Christmas Eve, and Thanksgiving dinner redux on Christmas night. The standing rib roast recipe was handed down by my father, and all of the prime ribs made at The Riverside were prepared in this fashion. Prime Rib was our standard offering on all of our holiday and special event meals – New Years Eve, Valentine’s Day, wedding meals and large group dinners.
As this crust bakes and mingles with the marbled fat exterior of the roast, it takes on a life of its own, almost eclipsing the flavor and splendor of the smoky beef; kind of like finding cash inside of a gold nugget. By last count, I swear to God, we had eight, full bore, dining room conversions of vegans jumping ship as they rediscovered the wonders of carnivorousness. It brought tears to my eyes watching the color return to the cheeks, while smiles returned to the faces of these ill-humored, wan, sallow jicama junkies as they scarfed down these blood rare bits of roasted goodness, shouting “Amen Brother!” and “Hallelujah Sweet Jesus but this is tasty!” between mouthfuls.
Serves 8 (or 4 reformed vegans)
1 – 4 bone Prime Rib roast (6-7 pounds)
½ cup Dijon mustard
½ stick unsalted butter
6 cups non-seasoned bread crumbs
8 cloves finely minced garlic
1 cup finely shredded Parmigiano Reggiano
3-4 healthy sprigs of fresh rosemary leaves, finely chopped
½ cup Kosher salt
¼ cup freshly ground coarse pepper
Melt the butter in a saucepan and whisk together with the Dijon Mustard. Using a pastry brush, literally paint the exterior of the roast with the mixture until all is covered.
Mix all of the remaining ingredients in a large dish, and roll the coated roast in the mixture until all is covered. This can be done early in the day, storing the roast uncovered in the refrigerator. (The ‘store in the refrigerator’ part wasn’t necessary at The Riverside, as room temperature was typically in the low 40’s.)
Preheat oven to 475F. Put the roast on a V-shaped roasting rack (they sell these at Wal-Mart for 6 bucks) and put it in the oven for 20 minutes – this will sear and crunchify the crust.
Reduce the heat to 275F and slowly roast until the internal temperature hits 125F – that’s the high side of rare. Remove the roast, tent with foil and let rest for 30 minutes. The roast will still be cooking, and the internal temperature should get to 135F – medium rare – at the end of the resting period.
Slice, serve, stand back and watch, whilst even the most strident of the anti-red meat crowd quiver in anticipation, before caving and succumbing to that which must be enjoyed.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and all the best for 2011!
Friday, December 3, 2010
Friday the 13th......The Final Chapter : Fin
Our two-year story of Living Life Riverside is a classic comic-tragedy; the last seven installments of this blog detailed the tragic side of the story. Yet, I reported this side of the story at the end of the ordeal, in retrospect, after the building burned down and all that was left was to sift through the ashes (metaphorically speaking). Truth be known, beyond the dread, the vomit and the immediate buyer’s remorse, my first experiences of The Riverside were filled with hope and excitement. If you were to go back and read this blog from the beginning, you’d find that I was reporting our life from a state of awe and wonderment; always at the ready for what great things awaited us – no hint in my writing or mood of despair or failure. While I knew at the start that this was going to be an uphill climb, with a potential quick slide into financial hell were we unable to reach the apex, I had no choice but to cheerfully continue that climb. I had terrific experiences with people that still bring tears to my eyes; once in a lifetime experiences that continually reminded us why we chucked it all to risk everything and do what we did. Those memories will always be there for me, and they will one day hopefully overwhelm the reality of the financial ugliness.
I’m often asked if I have regrets.
Knowing what I know now???
Hell yes!! I have regrets. There isn’t one thing about this experience I don’t regret. Daily! Hourly!
“Well”, people say, “you can check that off your bucket list.”
Dear God, if only I could do it over and have it eternally on my bucket list. The pain of wishing you could do it and not having done it has to be miniscule in comparison to the pain of having actually done it and having that experience bludgeon you to death.
I beg of you, please consult with me if owning a bar, restaurant or B&B is on your bucket list.
Many have lauded us for simply trying. While I truly appreciate the lauding, the folks at WalMart don’t yet accept lauds in lieu of cash when purchasing Cheetos and Little Debbie Nutty Bars. The truth be known, I wish I was being lauded for showing restraint and sticking with the dull but ‘sure thing’ corporate gig. While I wouldn’t have the memories of charming Hot Sulphur Springs, $750/month water bills and all of the wonderful people we met the past two years (“Yuk! Clean it up!”, “Dog attack at the Riverside!”), I would instead have memories of fabulous meals in Paris, quaffing fine wines in Verona and most importantly, memories of quarterly meetings with my financial advisor.
But alas, I opted for that bucket list thing. And I blame nothing, or no one, but myself.
I do know that we bought an old hotel, an icon in the area and an important slice of history in Grand County, and for two years, we made it a warm and shining place in a cold, desolate outpost. We welcomed strangers who left as friends. We entertained guests from all over the world who hugged us as family when they departed. I truly believe that we brought new life to a dying town and county, if only for a short while.
While there were many wonderful guests and moments, there was a particular guest and moment that still makes me think that our adventure wasn’t a total failure. A delightful German couple stopped in one summer afternoon looking for a room for the evening; they ended up staying with us for four nights. The husband played first chair French horn with the Frankfurt Symphony Orchestra - a gentle man of class, culture and great elegance; he’d traveled throughout the world as a professional musician, and was in the midst of a month long ramble throughout the United States as a prelude to a two year resident teaching position in China. During their last evening with us, while dining in the restaurant, I stopped by the table to ask about their dinner. The man’s eyes were closed and his hands were clasped, as if he was praying, but the meal was over. He looked up at me and said “Everything is perfect. The beer and the food were wonderful, this room is wonderful, and you are playing Schumann’s Fourth Symphony. I can’t believe I am here in this place listening to Schumann. This is Allesklarbeidir. I know you’re not familiar with that word, but it is a German word that is even hard for me to explain the meaning, because I don’t know of the English word that exists to describe the meaning of the word, but I will try. I think a literal translation in English is the word ‘adore’, but you would never use this word to say you adore something in the German language, as it goes far beyond adoring something. And this is not a word that is used lightly, as very seldom do you experience the feeling of Allesklarbeidir. It describes an internal feeling that you have of total comfort and wellness, a feeling you have when you are wholly in love and at peace with all of your surroundings. It is a warm feeling, a feeling of quiet joy. I have that feeling, now, in this place of yours’.”
At that moment, the feeling was mutual.
...................................................
After I assume room temperature and should my life ever be examined by someone other than creditors, I’m hoping that it will be discussed by close friends at a nice bar; one that pours a good drink, as we did at The Riverside. I’m certain that after the cussing and discussing, all will agree that if I did nothing else, my greatest accomplishment in this life was that my follies were occasionally capable of inducing a feeling of Allesklarbeidir and my failures did well to serve as a warning to others.
I am at peace with my fuck-up.
It ain’t cancer.
May God continue to bless us all……
I’m often asked if I have regrets.
Knowing what I know now???
Hell yes!! I have regrets. There isn’t one thing about this experience I don’t regret. Daily! Hourly!
“Well”, people say, “you can check that off your bucket list.”
Dear God, if only I could do it over and have it eternally on my bucket list. The pain of wishing you could do it and not having done it has to be miniscule in comparison to the pain of having actually done it and having that experience bludgeon you to death.
I beg of you, please consult with me if owning a bar, restaurant or B&B is on your bucket list.
Many have lauded us for simply trying. While I truly appreciate the lauding, the folks at WalMart don’t yet accept lauds in lieu of cash when purchasing Cheetos and Little Debbie Nutty Bars. The truth be known, I wish I was being lauded for showing restraint and sticking with the dull but ‘sure thing’ corporate gig. While I wouldn’t have the memories of charming Hot Sulphur Springs, $750/month water bills and all of the wonderful people we met the past two years (“Yuk! Clean it up!”, “Dog attack at the Riverside!”), I would instead have memories of fabulous meals in Paris, quaffing fine wines in Verona and most importantly, memories of quarterly meetings with my financial advisor.
But alas, I opted for that bucket list thing. And I blame nothing, or no one, but myself.
I do know that we bought an old hotel, an icon in the area and an important slice of history in Grand County, and for two years, we made it a warm and shining place in a cold, desolate outpost. We welcomed strangers who left as friends. We entertained guests from all over the world who hugged us as family when they departed. I truly believe that we brought new life to a dying town and county, if only for a short while.
While there were many wonderful guests and moments, there was a particular guest and moment that still makes me think that our adventure wasn’t a total failure. A delightful German couple stopped in one summer afternoon looking for a room for the evening; they ended up staying with us for four nights. The husband played first chair French horn with the Frankfurt Symphony Orchestra - a gentle man of class, culture and great elegance; he’d traveled throughout the world as a professional musician, and was in the midst of a month long ramble throughout the United States as a prelude to a two year resident teaching position in China. During their last evening with us, while dining in the restaurant, I stopped by the table to ask about their dinner. The man’s eyes were closed and his hands were clasped, as if he was praying, but the meal was over. He looked up at me and said “Everything is perfect. The beer and the food were wonderful, this room is wonderful, and you are playing Schumann’s Fourth Symphony. I can’t believe I am here in this place listening to Schumann. This is Allesklarbeidir. I know you’re not familiar with that word, but it is a German word that is even hard for me to explain the meaning, because I don’t know of the English word that exists to describe the meaning of the word, but I will try. I think a literal translation in English is the word ‘adore’, but you would never use this word to say you adore something in the German language, as it goes far beyond adoring something. And this is not a word that is used lightly, as very seldom do you experience the feeling of Allesklarbeidir. It describes an internal feeling that you have of total comfort and wellness, a feeling you have when you are wholly in love and at peace with all of your surroundings. It is a warm feeling, a feeling of quiet joy. I have that feeling, now, in this place of yours’.”
At that moment, the feeling was mutual.
...................................................
After I assume room temperature and should my life ever be examined by someone other than creditors, I’m hoping that it will be discussed by close friends at a nice bar; one that pours a good drink, as we did at The Riverside. I’m certain that after the cussing and discussing, all will agree that if I did nothing else, my greatest accomplishment in this life was that my follies were occasionally capable of inducing a feeling of Allesklarbeidir and my failures did well to serve as a warning to others.
I am at peace with my fuck-up.
It ain’t cancer.
May God continue to bless us all……
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