Post-season

I knew it was coming. It's still a shock. Like walking off the cliff and falling into the Grand Canyon. Last weekend was Applefest, and we had as many customers as we'd had in any weekend this summer. We served more than 400 people. This week we went to a five-day-a-week schedule, closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays, so we were open three days -- Monday, Thursday, and Friday. And we served a little over 60 customers.

I'm reluctant, but I'll have to lay people off -- certainly can't pay them, and besides, there's nothing to do. Although it's interesting that we struggled a bit to get everything done. Spaces between tasks were too long to keep the thread going.

The weather was lousy today and yesterday, which I'm sure contributed to the problem. Yesterday we had tornados; one poor fella was killed in his house trailer. And it's been pouring. In fact, we probably had more rain in the last two days than in the entire summer. Maybe Lake Superior will fill up again. More likely the restaurant's basement will.

Uh oh. The planters have to go.

Yesterday the zoning commissioner called again. Apparently there's been a complaint about the planters I have on the sidewalk. They're in the city right of way (mostly around the telephone pole where they don't interfere with anyone walking). I had to move all of them to the patio.

We don't have many outdoor eating days left, so it's not going to pose a big problem, but I really have to wonder whose idea this was. Probably someone about town who objects to my peacenik activities.

Good old Charlevoix the Beautiful. That telephone pole is definitely a lot better looking than planters full of herbs.

Omelets yellow and brown

What a pain it is to make omelets.

Most people in the US want them browned. If they aren't browned, they're undercooked, and you're trying to poison them with salmonella. People who've traveled to France, people who consider themselves foodies, are appalled by any spec of brown on the omelet. You stir gently until the egg is almost set, then stop stirring and roll the omelet. The inside is creamy and moist -- on purpose.

Some people want the veggies or whatever inside the omelet to be grilled first, then added to the omelet just prior to rolling. Others want them raw. Some people want the goodies cooked with the egg; for others this is an abomination.

The rolling doesn't make everyone happy, either. Some folks want the omelet folded in half.

And of course, there's no agreement on seasoning of the eggs. Should we put salt & pepper in or not? Herbs? Some people hate green stuff, some think it's obvious that an omelet should have fresh herbs.

Puffiness? Do we add cream (or water) or not? If we do, you get a puffy omelet. If you don't, it's smoother.

This would be difficult, but do-able, except that everyone seems to think that however he wants his omelet is how everyone eats them, and therefore it's unnecessary to specify any of this. If we ask, people get annoyed. "For crying out loud. Can't you guys even make an omelet?"

My chefs insist upon cooking the eggs until set, then putting the "filling" ingredients on, and placing the omelet under the broiler to finish off the cooking. A few people are very annoyed by this and send their omelets back. "How could you possibly burn an omelet on the inside?" Good question. My attempts to get the chefs to adopt a more authentic French methodology (this is a French-Italian restaurant after all) are met with stubborn resistance. Not sure why.

And let's talk about the eggs. Egg whites ... one egg white and two whole eggs ...

Well, although no one seems to be entirely happy with the omelets, people continue to order them. They're one of our most popular items. So now you know why an omelet costs the customer $5.95: it costs us about $5 in labor to make it!

Customers

If you're in the restaurant business, you're in the hospitality business, and you'd better appreciate and enjoy people. Sometimes that's easy, sometimes it's quite a challenge.

Yesterday Taylor had a couple of ladies who came in a short time before closing. They chose to sit outside. After a few minutes of looking over the menu, one of the ladies complained to Taylor about the prices, and the way we price omelets in particular -- $5.95 to start, and then a small charge for each ingredient you add. (Not as expensive as it sounds -- you get a bowl of fresh fruit and toast with the omelet.)

She went on for some time about how summer people can afford prices like this, but ordinary working people can't. Eventually she ordered. And then asked Taylor whether we accept personal checks. We don't, a fact that's posted, inside and on the door. A few minutes later the chef came out of the kitchen and said "What's this order for American fries?" Poor Taylor had just written down what the customer said, afraid or too rattled to tell her our potatoes are oven-roasted redskins.

I went outside to talk to the customer and to explain our potatoes. She asked whether we had started to make her food and when we told her we had not, she decided to leave. Probably a good decision for her, and something I don't take personally. We can't be all things to all people. But then I decided to be helpful. "There are several restaurants in the area that have a more traditional American breakfast (trying to be diplomatic)." I named them and she said between clenched teeth, "All closed. This is ridiculous. What Charlevoix needs is a good family restaurant." I can't tell you what I was thinking, but what I did was wish her good luck in her search.

The first week we opened we had a couple come in and stomp out because we didn't have "regular toast." You never know what people mean by comments like that, so I asked for more information. "What kind of toast would you like?" After a few "you know, regular toast" comments, they told me they wanted store-bought white bread. Cheap stuff, in the plastic bag. Our fresh-baked French baguette, 7-grain, raisin-walnut, and cranberry focaccia weren't good enough for them. I try to remain polite and understanding when dealing with people like this, but it is very frustrating. There is a Flap Jack down the street. Why come into my place?

We have fabulous French toast. We start with French baguette, and pour a custard over it. We bake it in a ramekin and top it with a pecan praline. We have many customers who come in to get this dish every week, saying they want to try some of our other menu items, but can't seem to pass up an opportunity to have the French toast. Many people (including a few old guys, hunters, construction workers) have ordered the French toast expecting the usual kind. They frown when we set our dish in front of them. They take the first tentative bite and the ooohing and ahhhing begins.

In all of this time, we've had only one customer not like our French toast. She was furious that our French toast wasn't made "Texas toast" style. "Just throw some on the griddle; how hard can it be?" She complained vociferously for the entire time she was in the restaurant. Again, why come to my restaurant? You want volume, try one of those all-you-can-eat buffets. OK, it's an illness, this gorging on food. Still, why do it in front of friends in a restaurant? And why make such a loud issue of it?

Again, we try to remain curteous, but I suspect I'll snap one of these days.

But some of our customers are wonderful. Mr. & Mrs. R. have a condo in the area (he's a downstate lawyer). They come in now & again, and are always complimentary -- they love that we make food from scratch, use fresh high-quality ingredients, etc. Mr. R. is one of those people who has to offer suggestions, an idea guy with enthusiasm to spare.

I love this type of customer. "What you need is fresh-squeezed orange juice. Put the juicer on the patio." "What you need is to serve coffee drinks and desserts in the evenings." "What you really need to do is serve fabulous pasties." Things like that. You can tell they want you to succeed, unlike some other folks who walk in the door hoping to be disappointed and leave hoping you fail.

The Rs are my first "house account." We set it up so their kids could come in and eat anytime they want, and I would bill the parents monthly. They also talked me into preparing pizzas for them to pick up at 3 when we close, so they could bake them at home for dinner. This week Mr. R. convinced his resort condo association, which is associated with one of the larger dinner restaurants in the area, to name the Alcove as their preferred catering vendor. Then he brought me the name of the general manager of the condos and said I needed to introduce myself to him. And finally, they came in again to eat (on their way out of town), with a colorful local guy in tow. "You need to meet this guy and he needs to find out how great your food is." How cool is that? People like this make up for the rest.

"Tipping culture is virtually non-existent in Finland"

A lovely family of six, visiting from Finland, returned to our restaurant today a week after their first visit. The first time they came in they paid with credit card, and left the lines for "tip" and "total" blank, so their waitress received no tip. We shrugged it off -- either they assumed we would fill in the tip, or they didn't know about tips, but either way we just had to live with it. It's unfortunate, because in this country wait staff aren't paid much. I pay $3.25 per hour, above the minimum wage here in Michigan, but not a decent wage in anyone's book.

When they returned, the same waitress was working, and we discussed what we should do. We decided to ask them to fill in all of the lines on the credit card receipt, a reasonable request, and we thought, a subtle hint. They ordered two bowls of gumbo, chock-full of shrimp, chicken, andouille sausage, and tasso ham; a margherita pizza; two rosemary-chicken pizzas; and a pepperoni pizza. And, since we had it today, four pieces of cheesecake, which our cook garnished beautifully with raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries. Produce arrives on Wednesdays, and we have a lot of fun with it. They drank lots of coffee, of course. And loved everything.

We chatted about the weather. They'd packed sweaters and other warm clothes, perfect for today, but not at all what they needed last week when we had temperatures in the high 80s. They had stopped at the Alcove on their first day in town, and decided to stop on their way to the airport. Really nice folks.

Unfortunatelyn our strategy didn't work. Not only did they pay with cash, but they took the check with them. We got the copy from the kitchen and rang everything up -- the $80.34 bill was paid with $81.00. Lisa got to keep the change - 66 cents. I came home and Googled "tipping Finland" and learned, as we now suspected, that tipping is virtually unknown in Finland. Not sure what can be done about situations like this; I guess it just kind of goes with the territory. Of course I'll add money to Lisa's paycheck and we'll split the loss.

Uh, oh. Tables on the sidewalk ...

Today our zoning commissioner called to tell me she had received a complaint from a "persistent" person about the fact that I have tables and chairs on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Each morning (well, most mornings) our tables start out against the building, with chairs running parallel to the building, leaving a good 4 feet of sidewalk clear for pedestrians, not that there are any to speak of. During the day, customers move the tables and chairs, park their dogs, strollers, and bicycles every which way, and generally make themselves at home, so that by day's end those 4 feet have become 2.

The city has contributed to the problem by wrapping corn stalks, donated by a local farmer named DeKorn (really) around all of the street-side trees, further reducing the amount of clear space. It looks great, and the stalks, which still have corn attached, are feeding a variety of critters -- blue jays and a very wet squirrel today -- providing hours of entertainment for our diners.

I promised that I would move our tables and chairs closer to the building and our zoning commissioner said "that's good enough for me." Small towns, don't you love them? I doubt I've heard the last of this, of course, but it is the end of the summer, about time to store the tables for the winter, so I'm confident I can dodge this one until next spring. Then we start a new game.

The water

We are blessed here in Charlevoix. The Alcove Cafe is one block from "Round Lake," actually part of Lake Charlevoix; two blocks from Lake Michigan; and one block from the channel that connects Lake Michigan with Lake Charlevoix.

Lake Charlevoix is spring-fed, so the water is clean and clear. It has a mostly sandy bottom, and all summer long it's a beautiful deep blue. Yes, I know it's just reflecting the sky, but still ...

Lake Michigan changes with the seasons, and with the day. Two weeks ago I sat on the beach a block from my house, drinking wine with my cousin and her husband, gazing at a dark blue-gray lake, and sky the color of cornflowers, with a scattrering of puffy cumulus clouds, like the ones I used to see in the sky when I was a little girl. Day before yesterday I drove by an angry gray lake with whitecaps, under an angry gray sky. The beach was deserted and desolate. Today it poured down rain all day. All day. You could barely see the lakes. We're all astonished -- went most of the summer without any rain at all, bad for the flowers, although it was great for tourists and those of us who hate to mow our lawns.

The town's City Council recently approved the construction of an interactive fountain in our new downtown waterfront park, at a cost of $380,000. It may not seem like a lot of money to you, but it's a large commitment for a community of 2900 people. What sold the people of the town on the idea was the image painted by our Mr. Petunia, who drives a water truck around town every morning in the summer to water the petunias that line the streets. He spoke eloquently to us about the sound of children laughing, squealing, and rolicking in the water of the fountain.

The park, a narrow strip of land abutting the new marina, will also have a trout stream. That's a lot of water for one small strip of land. And we're talking about an artificial ice rink in the same area, so that we can extend our "water" activities into winter. Of course we have a ski hill, too, but it's a half mile down the road. A couple of years ago two high school students started a restaurant called "Two boys and a grill." It made a killing. The restaurant was a pontoon boat with a grill, a couple of coolers, and a smoothie machine. It floated in Round Lake, and served a clientelle of boaters. And a couple of weeks ago a group of local citizens built a "rain garden" at our new library.

We are all about water. We love it ourselves, and it is the basis for much of our economy. We do our best to keep the water clean, but have a problem -- storm water runs over the downtown streets and highways, through the storm sewers, and into Round Lake. Unfiltered. Carrying oils and gasoline, and anything else people leave on the streets and sidewalks. Some have suggested that we should install a filtering system in the storm sewers instead of building the fountain. Costs are comparable. But there are problems with the filtering solution. It's at the endpoint, rather than the source; it would present serious maintenance issues; and it just wouldn't be effective.

This summer a 15-minute storm dropped a large amount of water onto our downtown. The storm sewers were overwhelmed (I know because water backed up in my basement), and a small river raced down the middle of Park Avenue in front of the restaurant. In fact, a river rushed down each of the "side" streets in our downtown, across M31, and into Round Lake, bypassing the storm sewer system altogether, and tipping over a large dump truck on its way.

We need a solution to this problem. Blessed with water everywhere, it would be a shame if Charlevoix found it necessary to post "Unsafe for swimming" signs on Round Lake.

Animal kingdom

We share our neighborhoods with a variety of critters here in northern Michigan. Deer are of particular interest. Most of our workforce finds itself "sick and unable to work" or "attending the funeral of a close friend" on opening day of hunting season. Nearly all of the guys and a few of the women head off to "hunting camp," which is what we call those grimy, primitive cabins where the gun-toting, hard-drinking carousers gather to do ... well, something. Shoot guns and bows, among other things.

That's not the whole story on deer, however. We live in perpetual dread of running into deer, or being run into by a deer, when we drive at night. We stare into the dark until our eyeballs feel like they're going to pop out, exhorting our passengers to "shut up and help me watch for deer." I hear that the deer come out at dusk and at night, and of course we know this must be true because almost every day, until hunting season begins in November, there are dead deer along the highway in the morning. When I moved here someone told me to watch for the glint of eyes as the deer were caught in the headlights, but I've seen many, and my experience to date has been that deer aren't looking at us -- they're looking at the deer in front of them, or at the grass. So what you see, if you see anything, is the silouette of a deer as it crosses the road in front of you. You aren't really sure whether you've seen anything ("was that a shadow?") because there aren't any lights on the road, of course, other than your headlights and the light from the stars, and if you're really lucky, the moon. If you live in the city, you may not realize that some roads have no overhead lights, and you can actually see the stars if you look up. Anyway, at some point your deer detector kicks in, and you realize that the shadow was a deer, and there are likely to be more following, since they seem to queue up very well. So you slow down or stop to watch the graceful creatures bound across and breathe a sigh of relief.

My uncle Joe has lived his entire life in northern Michigan and had never hit a deer, but figured he was due, so he invested in a deer whistle, a gizmo that you mount on the front of your car to warn deer that you're coming. The theory is that deer, being shy creatures, will hear the whistles and head in the opposite direction. Within a week he hit his first deer, which broke the whistle off the front of his car. Lousy luck! He had the car fixed and replaced the whistle because evidently there were more deer, and aggressive deer, about. A week later he hit another, breaking off his second whistle. This time he repaired the car, forgot about the whistle, and he hasn't hit one since.

We have more than deer here, of course. Last week my mother, who lives an hour and a half north of here, was walking to the post office (yeah, she has to do that to get her mail) one morning. She was watching the ground for "interesting tracks," and heard a noise, so she looked up. Twenty feet in front of her was a young bull moose. She stopped, he stopped, and they looked at each other for awile. Then he continued on across the road.

We also have wild turkeys, and they cause quite a bit of trouble. They amble aimlessly in large groups, and can't seem to make up their minds where they want to go. Across the road, no, back, no let's stop here in the middle and look around for awhile. I understand why the Pilgrims had turkey at the first Thanksgiving -- easy pickings. A slingshot would do it. Anyway, there's no hurrying them. Honking your horn seems to confuse them more. So you sit and watch them until they all get off the road and you continue.

Last year must have been a great nut year, because we are overrun with black squirrels. Last month one of my cooks came in and told us that while he was outside smoking, a squirrel had jumped into the channel and swum across. But on the other side there was a wall, so he swam back, and kept swimming in circles looking for a way out. He went back out to check on him, and found the squirrel on the bottom step of a ladder, unable to get any higher, shivering and exhausted. So we mounted a rescue operation -- we gathered pieces of cardboard and brooms and headed for the channel. Meanwhile Mr. Squirrel had apparently found another good Samaritan, because he was out. A couple of days later, my cousin told me a story about another squirrel she had observed jumping into the channel -- different day, so not the same incident. According to our local newspaper, the Courier, squirrels were jumping into the channel in search of new territory and to impress potential mates. Not sure how anyone could know this, but it's local color.

We love our animals here in Charlevoix. And we love it when people bring their dogs to the restaurant. We have doggie water dishes, and always stop to chat with them. Of course they have to sit outside.

Opening day

We opened on April 20. I had staff lined up, food ready, everything set. I'd programmed the cash register (nice, personalized greetings on the receipts), tested the cash register and the credit card machine both. I was READY.

Our first customers showed up at 7:30, when we opened, and before we knew it the place was bustling. Not packed, thank goodness, because in those days we struggled to serve 35 people in one day, but just busy enough. The food was coming out of the kitchen, and people, except the "there's no brown on an omelet" crowd because my chef was determined to brown them, were happy, and we were doing well.

I rang up the first order, proud of myself because I remembered how to do it. $14.83. The customer handed me a $20 bill. The register displayed the change amount -- $5.17, and the cash drawer popped open. Empty. I had forgotten to put cash into the cash drawer.

I called the bank. "Hi, this is Raechel at the Alcove Cafe. I wonder whether you'd be willing to bring me $250 because I forgot to put cash in my cash register." Long pause. "Sorry, do you have an account with us?" Once we established who I was and that I did have an account, the wonderful folks at Citizens Bank walked over with some cash and I made change. My employees spent the rest of the day laughing about the expression on my face when the cash drawer popped open.

Moral of the story? Don't get too big for your britches, or the world will hand you a humility lesson.

The Problem with Signs in Charlevoix

My location on Park Avenue has been a mixed blessing. Lower rents, al fresco dining, and lower traffic noise are happy consequences of having a location just off, but not on, Bridge Street. The downside is that resorters tend to stick to the main street as they wander from store to store and restaurant to restaurant in our downtown district. They may travel up and down Mason or Antrim Streets as they make their way from whatever parking places they are able to find, blocking hapless residents’ driveways, or even on their lawns, to Bridge Street. However, Park Avenue is the last street before the bridge, and the road to the hospital with not much parking, and therefore rarely traveled by pedestrians.

In the first block of Park Avenue, there is a used bookstore, a ramshackle (and fascinating) gift shop, a real estate office, and a mortgage broker, in addition to the Alcove Café. Chuck, the owner of the bookstore, in its 6th month of operation, is a just-retired attorney. The first time we met, he asked whether I would join him in paying for a single sign listing all of the businesses on Park Avenue, to be posted on the corner of Park Avenue and Bridge Street., where there is a clothing boutique. I agreed, and he set about getting the premission of the other business owners as well as the owner of the building upon which he would post the sign.

Signs are a matter of much controversy and debate in Charlevoix. The Planning Commission had just finished an updated sign ordinance, approved finally by the City Council in a heated meeting just a couple of months before. For months the Charlevoix Courier had carried stories, editorials, and letters from citizens debating illuminated signs that restaurants like McDonalds wanted to erect in front of their businesses (they lost). The consulting firm that completed a study of Charlevoix under Michigan’s Cool Cities program about the same time noted that signage was woefully inadequate – no signs pointing people to the hospital, the library, the historical museum, the community pool, or anything else in town. The question asked by those consultants was “how can a city that holds itself out as a vacation destination be so unfriendly to visitors?”

Both the old and new ordinances prohibit signs that are too large, lit from outside, hang on poles or are free-standing, hang perpendicular to buildings rather than flush against them, hang too close to the ground or too high off the ground.

I had investigated the sign ordinance prior to opening, because I knew I would be replacing the sign that hangs in front of the restaurant. The new ordinance hadn’t yet been approved, but it was in the works, so I had to review both old and new to be sure I wouldn’t have an issue. As it turned out, I had several problems. The 3 x 4 foot sign for the Acorn hung on a bracket out from the front of the building, its bottom about 8 ½ feet above the ground. It was too large, too close to the ground, and perpendicular to the building. The Acorn sign had been up for 14 years and was ready to fall. It was made of plywood, and you can imagine the beating it took during our winters less than a block from Lakes Michigan and Charlevoix. The wood was rotten, and it was a miracle no one had yet been beaned by it. I figured that an existing sign might avoid the scrutiny a new sign was sure to receive, so I had a sign created that is identical in size and shape to the Acorn’s. And passed it off as a new paint job.

I should also note that reading the ordinances, old and new, wasn’t easy. They’re nearly identical, differing primarily in section numbers. They’re embarrassing, to put it kindly.

Given my experience to date with the whole sign issue, I figured Chuck would be in for a rough ride, and he was. He obtained the permission of every business owner, and the building owner. He convinced Joe, the head of the Historical Society around the corner on State Street, to consolidate signs. Joe had put up a sign years before without a permit, and gotten away with it, being not-for-profit. I suggested we talk to Casey, the new executive director of the Downtown Development Assocation and manager of the Cool Cities project, to see whether we might bypass the Zoning Commission and get to a more general solution (the consultants had recommended kiosks).

Casey’s take on the issue was that unfortunately, since the Planning Commission had just completed an ordinance re-write, timing was terrible, and it would probably be a long time before a more general solution could be devised. After spending months on its minimal re-write of the ordinance, Planning Commission members would be embarrassed to find it so quickly in need of revision. We had no choice but to approach the Zoning Commission.

So Chuck filled out the forms requesting a sign permit and delivered them to our parttime zoning commissioner, whom I’ve never met because she is never in her office as far as I can tell. His request for a permit was denied, and he was told that his next option was to request a variance . He asked the Zoning Commissioner what the basis for this denial was, since not knowing made it difficult to frame a variance request, and was finally informed that the sign was an “off-premise” one, and therefore prohibited under the ordinance.

Recall that Chuck is an attorney. He read the ordinance, and although he found a reference to off-premise signs in the definitions section, nowhere in the ordinance are such signs prohibited or even discussed. When he raised this issue with the Zoning Commissioner, she told him she’d really not had time yet to read the new ordinance. Makes you wonder how she decides whether to approve permits. And then she said she’d have to get back with him. A week or so later she did, and informed him that because the ordinance didn’t specifically allow off-premise signs, they were assumed to be prohibited.

Of course Chuck was taken aback, I was amused, and we had a few sputtering conversations about green signs, Spanish-language signs, signs with quotes on them, and so on. Chuck decided to request that the Zoning Commission interpret the ordinance properly and overrule Diane at its next monthly meeting.

Before I continue with this tale, I have to explain a bit about Chuck’s previous experience with signs. His bookstore is in an old house, and is easy to miss. I often point it out to customers in the restaurant, some of whom are bemoaning the fact that we don’t have a bookstore in town, and he’s right across the street! In an attempt to advertise his existence to those pedestrians on Bridge Street, he bought a cheap tent sign that he put on his front lawn near the sidewalk, the sidewalk that no one walks on because no one knows there’s anything to see on Park Avenue. One day a police car raced by with flasher going and pulled up to Tony’s place. We were alarmed, assuming that he’d been robbed, but it turned out the police were there to tell him to remove his sign, which was in violation of the ordinance. No free-standing signs.

It had become a matter of principle.

Chuck asked the Zoning Commissioner what he had to do to take the issue before the commission and was told that his only option was to request a variance, using a variance request form. But Chuck didn’t think he needed a variance, since the ordinance, properly read, didn’t prohibit off-premise signs. Nonetheless, since this was his only option, he paid the fee and filled out the forms. It was too late to make the June meeting of the Commission, however, because by law interested parties had to receive two weeks’ notice of meetings. So it would have to go before the July meeting. This, of course, was meant to discourage Chuck, since the summer would be nearly over before he could resolve this issue.

He filled out the form, the third page of which was simply a list of types of signs. He turned the form in, but it was returned to him because he hadn’t filled out page three. So he wrote some stuff on page three (there was nothing to fill out), and turned in the form. The city engineer called Chuck to talk, and informed him that the Michigan Department of Transportation had told him ten years ago that all signs within the line of sight of drivers on Bridge St. (a state highway) were prohibited by state law, which is why signs like this couldn’t be hung. That night Chuck called an attorney friend who specializes in sign law, and obtained a copy of the statute, which states that in business districts the state defers to local authorities for sign standards. There is no such state prohibition. Apparently the city engineer and City Council have failed for ten years to address this situation because someone had a discussion with someone, no one knows who, in MDOT and was told, in error, that they couldn’t address it. And no one ever bothered to check the facts.

Two days later the Zoning Commission returned Chuck’s variance request and check to him in the mail. When he called for an explanation, he was told that they just “assumed” he wouldn’t want to go forward with his request in light of his conversation with the city engineer. Chuck had to take care of some business in Ann Arbor, so I walked the check and forms back to the ZC's office, and the meeting was scheduled.

Chuck, Cassandra (owner of the gift shop), Diana (my landlady), Jim (head of the Historical Society), and I showed up a little before 6, when the meeting was scheduled, and took seats in the front row. Our mayor didn’t show up and another couple of commission members were missing as well, because our Lieutenant Governor decided to show up in town at the same time for a public meeting. Or maybe it was a league softball game. That happens sometimes in our town.

We were first on the agenda. The head of the Commission stated for the record that we were requesting 6 signs to be placed off-premise. Chuck stood up and stated his name and then explained what we were requesting – a single sign listing all businesses on Park Avenue. And then stated that he did not feel a variance was required since the ordinance had been mis-interpreted, and then he explained the ordinance for the panel, although he was sure they had all read it in preparation for the meeting (of course none had).

The assistant city attorney interrupted to state that the meeting had been called to address a variance request and proper notice had not been given for an ordinance interpretation. Of course, there’s no way to request an ordinance interpretation. So Chuck explained that there was apparently no way to request an ordinance interpretation, but that since he was very clear about what he wanted when he filled out the variance form, and was sure everyone had read it, and this was a properly-noticed meeting, there was no notice issue.

Needless to say, it wasn't clear whether anyone on the commission had read the ordinance, or knew how to read the ordinance. Although it is their responsibility to interpret and enforce the ordinance, they’d never had to do it before, and were reluctant to set a precedent, which might result in all kinds of businesses doing what we had …. I almost laughed out loud imagining the horror that would result should all businesses on all 6 side streets manage to place signs on the corners of buildings. 6 signs! Assuming all 6 landlords would agree. The city would never recover.

The city engineer stepped in with his “MDOT won’t allow it, somebody told us that 10 years ago” excuse, and Chuck was permitted to read the state statute into the record. The assistant city attorney looked like he was ready to explode, and the city engineer was busy worrying about the Courier reporter madly taking notes in the corner. Eventually the panel skipped over the ordinance issue altogether and denied the variance, the one not requested, on the grounds that its purpose was commercial in nature. I guess the only sign variances permitted are for residences. The commissioners did assure us that their hearts were with us, they understood our need, but felt it was a Planning Commission responsibility to solve the signage problem. There’s a hole in the bucket …

We left, Diana and I to get a drink at Scovie’s Waterfront Grille. And when I drove home, I passed a large utility trailer parked across the street from the library. On its side is a large sign that says “Rudy’s Home Improvements, Remodeling and New Construction” with phone numbers. Our mayor's company. And the trailer was still there a week later, strategically placed for the Venetian Festival.

Of course it’s not over. Chuck spoke with the city attorney. And Casey has decided to take this on, so the Planning Commission is working on the sign problem and expects to have a solution for all off-Bridge-Street businesses by next summer. The city engineer and zoning commissioner have both retired, and we have a new city manager. I doubt it has anything to do with our sign fiasco, but it couldn't have helped ...

I have decided that signs are only one way to advertise. I purchased 4 red market umbrellas, along with five tables and chairs. They’re all out in front of the restaurant. I have flowers in pots all over the sidewalk. Chuck, Cassandra, and I all have banners (“Open” and “Welcome”) flying. It looks like a carnival is in progress on Park Avenue. Bunches of helium balloons are next. And we did have a lot of fun taking on city hall.

I've changed the names to protect the participants, more or less. If you live here, you know who all of these people are anyway. Do your own translation.

Does anyone here know how to cook?

In the first couple of months of business we struggled a bit with cooking. I've learned what I can and cannot trust the prep cooks to do, and what I have to check before I give it to a customer. I've also learned that someone can be a great line cook without knowing how to cook.

Tim made bechamel. He asked me to look at it. It looked like creamed small-curd cottage cheese. I asked how he made it. “Butter, flour, and milk.” “But how exactly did you make it?” “Put butter, flour, and milk in the skillet and heated it up.” Turns out he figured it would be faster that way ...

Carrie made bechamel, and it was thick, really thick. As in bread dough thick. "Carrie, why is this bechamel so thick?" "Isn't it supposed to be thick?" "I told you 1 tablespoon of butter, 1 tablespoon of flour, 1 cup of cream." "Yeah, but it didn't seem thick enough, so I used less cream." Then Carrie made pesto. She asked me to look at it because it didn't look right. Really thick paste, with olive oil on top. “How did you make it?” “Basil, garlic, pine nuts, olive oil, parmesan cheese.” “But how exactly did you make it?” “Well, I put the basil in the food processor, and then I added 3 cups of pine nuts …” Well, it tasted a lot like pine nut paste at that.

Tonya made balsamic vinaigrette. She asked me to look at it. Really thick paste. “How did you make it?” “Vinegar, garlic, olive oil, brown sugar …” “How much brown sugar?” “Four cups.” “How much vinegar?” “One cup.” “How much garlic?” “One of those little pieces [known to some of us as a 'clove'].” "Why didn't you follow the recipe?" "I didn't think I needed to." A little later: "OK, you'll need to get some asparagus out of the cooler and slice it." "What's asparagus?"

Micky Mouse Up

I'm new to the restaurant business. Never even worked in a restaurant until I bought the old "Acorn Cafe" and turned it into the Alcove. I've been keeping a journal of sorts about the experience, and was planning to write a book from it. So I started to think about how blogs and books differ ... you've all thought about this, too, and heard experts drone on about it ... anyway, I'm intrigued. So blog it is. I'm going to write about things that happen in the restaurant, just little stories in no particular order. Hope you enjoy.

When the Alcove first opened in April of this year (2007), I had a kitchen crew that included a chef and a couple of prep cooks. One of the guys, Darren, had been a friend of my daughter's in high school. Darren was a bit of a screw-up, which in our small town means he's had a few drug or alcohol-related arrests, fooled around with a lot of girls, probably wrecked his car, and been awarded a "bad reputation" by the high school teachers who preside over such things. But he's smart, witty, charming, cute, ... you know the type. A good-hearted guy who was labeled early by a town that won't forget, ever.

The old Acorn had a menu item called "Micky Mouse pancakes," three pancakes overlapping to make the head and ears, and two raisins for eyes. In the first month or so of business customers frequently came in not realizing that the restaurant was new, and requested their old favorites. One morning a family sat down and an imperious seven year old announced "I want the Micky Mouse pancakes." We explained that this was a new restaurant, the menu had changed, and that although we didn't have Micky Mouse Pancakes, we had several great children's breakfast items. No sale. This kid wanted his pancakes. So the waitress walked back to the kitchen and said "do you think you could make Micky Mouse pancakes?"

Darren jumped up. "I'll make them. I make these all the time." I was relieved, the waitress was relieved, and we went about our business. Ten minutes later Darren called from the kitchen, "Micky Mouse up!" We all ran out to see the pancakes (not sure why -- must have been a really slow morning). Darren's Micky Mouse pancake was made of three circles, each about nine inches across. The "ears" didn't even fit on the plate -- they hung over onto the counter. When we stopped laughing, one of us (maybe me, can't remember now) went into the kitchen and started over. Darren was so offended he walked out.

That night I told the story at family dinner and my cousin gave me an old blue Buggs Bunny waffle maker she'd used when her kids were small. I took it to the restaurant and we presented it to Darren with a bit of ceremony, which of course offended him again. What the heck had he been thinking?