bread&cup blog

One component of my writing is to try and give you a peek inside the world of professional food, to affirm and dispel the romance that surrounds the idea of being a chef, propagated in large part to the media driven image seen on the ubiquitous televisions shows that puff the celebrity and make cooking look like the cool, hip profession you’ve always longed for.

Let me make it clear; you did not want my job last night.

Every Saturday, usually around 4PM, a cloud of anxiety begins to form over my head, mostly from a knowledge of all the unchecked boxes on the list of prep that may or may not get finished on time because of that late afternoon crowd that shows up before we make the transition in the front of the house from lunch to dinner.

Last night was no exception. The clouds began to form. I just didn’t know that it was going to lead to The Perfect Storm.

By 6PM, as it should be, we had our kitchen prep done, all our mise en place ready and set to execute our menu for the evening. At 6:05PM, my staff was waiting on the printer to chatter off the first orders, but nothing was sent back. Ten minutes later, at 6:15PM, still with no tickets, I told my sous chef, “I don’t like the way this feels.” The host kept seating guest, both patio and dining room filling, and no orders. The billowing thunderheads were about to unleash, and there was nothing we could do but hang on. There is no 'fraidy hole to dive into

6:20PM and the printer started to squawk and the rain began to pour. 12 tickets all at once, back to back, and that sinking feeling didn’t let up for three more hours. Twelve chits on a rail may not be a big deal in a bigger operation, but it represented about 2/3 of my dining space, and several of those were large groups. My little kitchen doesn’t have enough horizontal space to set out 26 salad plates that needed to go out on the first courses.

Kitchen work is akin to playing in a band. It’s all about rhythm and timing. If one player gets out of sync with the rest of the musicians, you can’t really call it music. Noise, maybe; music; not.

It’s a terrible feeling, this being out of control, especially for a chef who does not thrive on chaos, but prefers being tethered to a well executed plan. I‘d rather be able to underpromise and overdeliver than to dash your elevated expectations with poor service and a lacking experience. And even with my front of the house personnel. I hate having to send them back out the door to face an angry customer with bad news that their food is not going to be ready in a timely manner.

But better to be plagued by this concern than not caring anymore. About 8:45PM I was drawing the conclusions that my life would be so much easier if I punched a clock all week and let my biggest interest be mowing the yard and watching NASCAR on the weekends like so many other people in the world. But nooo, I had to be my own boss and go off and create a lifestyle that knows nothing of a weekend anymore and grind the bursa in my knees to uselessness and…..so on. You get the idea.

But the self pity turns back into rational thought this morning as I write my way to therapeutic relief, that and a cup of coffee and beautiful sunrise, I am still glad I am a chef, still grateful for a job that is my own and a lifestyle that does not need to look like the majority of other people.

If you were a guest last night and were a victim of our Perfect Storm, or ever visit a restaurant where it seems like the wheels are falling off, I hope this gives a little insight into why stuff like that happens.

You haven’t seen Karen around the restaurant in the last couple of weeks because she has not been feeling well due to the fever she developed after the third treatment. You know how a fever can take any body ache and multiply it. Now add to it the joint pain from the Taxol and you have an idea what she went through.

Fever is a sign of infection, and especially in a cancer patient undergoing chemotheraphy, it is a cause for concern, since the white blood cells may not be adequate in number to fend off the infection. The cause of the fever is not certain, and the degree is fairly low grade, which has her doctor puzzled. But she is feeling much better now, and ready for this next round of side effects.

Cancer disrupts your life, but you must make sure it does not rule the roost, and the domain in which it has no authority is in your spirit. And since Laughter resides there, it is vitally important to keep your sense of humor, because it is a reminder that you, and not the disease, are in control of that domain.

After returning from the Farmer’s Market on Sunday, I came home to find Karen out in the garden, sweating heavily, pulling weeds. I certainly did not want to spend my day off in the heat cleaning up a dying cause, and neither did her mom, who has been here helping out with the caregiving the last two weeks. In motherly fashion, she scolded Karen for overdoing it and threatened to call the little old ladies at her church and tell them to stop praying for recovery if she didn’t slow down and take better care of her self. I know it’s probably one of those “you had to be there” stories, but it’s made us laugh several times since then. Now if she and I are in disagreement about something, I remind her that I will “call the little old ladies…” It still doesn’t change her mind, but the laughter is still good medicine.

She is taking this week off from work again, as she usually does after a treatment, but if all things are equal, hopefully she will be able to return. There is always a balance between work and rest, because at times, work can provide the needed therapy that gets the mind engaged and arouses the soul. Again, thanks for your concern and feel free to ask. We live with this everyday. We’re accustomed to talking about it.

With the pace of business increasing since he got here, I’ve failed to post his proper introduction.

Welcome, Erik Hustad.

Erik joined our staff about four months ago and has immediately proven he was worth the risk in hiring him. When people ask me how I find such good people, I do have to admit that occasionally they find me.

I was unwinding with The Future late one afternoon at my local go-to watering hole, and in walks a mutual friend who was back in town for a few days from Seattle. After working through the awkwardness of determining the right way to make a handshake greeting, he asks me, out of the blue, if I am hiring. Not the most common topic of conversation right off the bat, but to which I responded, “Maybe.”

He said he knew a guy that was finishing his degree at the Art Institute of Seattle, would be moving back to Lincoln soon and was interested in applying to work with me. I told him to contact me right away, and sure enough, the next day I had an email in my inbox from Erik. You only have one chance to make a good first impression, and that quick response didn’t hurt.

This interaction was in the early Spring at a point when I was anticipating a need to add to my staff. I had a hunch we were about to break through to another vista, but I didn’t have the numbers to back it up. I only had hoped that it would. Thus, another risk to take.

During the course of our conversations on the phone, I explained to Erik my predicament, that as a young, inexperienced restaurant we are constantly forging new direction and remarking our map to read Terra Firma instead of Terra Incognita. He made a pretty bold assertion by saying, “hire me, and I’ll earn you my salary.”

Damn if he hasn’t done just that.

Erik has already proven his worth in many ways, but the most immediate one I appreciate is taking some of the load off my shoulders so I can get my head above water, scan the horizon and breathe again.

He brings a strong sense of order and management to our team. He is the extra set of eyes that look for the same things I want to see; cleanliness, consistency and a quality plate that gets sent out through the swinging door.

Since Erik and I have the same haircut, you may mistake one for the other if our back is toward you.

Sustain. Sustainable. Sustainability. All buzz words of the current generation that get tossed around with such ease and abandon like chips on a craps table. But what does it actually mean to sustain.

The last three months of business have been a daily encounter with change and growth unlike what I’ve had in the first three years of operation. In this short period I have added two full time salaried employees, a new menu, some new equipment, an interior facelift, along with a new service attitude. Sales continue to be going in the right direction and I have more time now to concern myself with these types of matters.

But something still doesn’t feel right.

What I grapple with now is that I am actually in the kitchen less than ever. Not because I don’t want to be, but instead because I don’t need to be there as often. I have good quality folk on which to rely. I don’t have to be butcher, baker and candlestick maker any longer. I can now focus on that part of the work that only I can do. Others can cook, bake and manage. Only a few can incubate a vision.

My personal quest is to grow a sustainable business while living a sustainable life, and in the process, pass on written words that parse what I’ve discovered in the hope that it will encourage others to do likewise. This is a difficult path, as I find few in this profession to which I can get close enough to see and learn from either their wisdom or mistakes. But this is no excuse to stop watching the inner compass and staying aimed at true north.

One enemy of sustainability is in having nothing set aside, and living as if our current supply will always be adequate. But if we deplete our supply without thought of what might happen to it if a disaster strikes, we run the risk of having nothing to get us through such crisis. My buddy Dave lost fifty chickens in the sweltering heat this month. That’s a lot of income for him, and a good product for me, but our menu is diverse enough that we can adjust it by utilizing less poultry and leaning more on other proteins. But if we only sold chicken, to borrow a phrase from the kids, “we’d be screwed.” As it is, we have a reserve and thus can carry on.

This idea works internally as well. This week has been very difficult on me personally, on one hand watching Karen struggle with her cancer treatment, and on the other, preparing for my son to go off to college. The supply side has taken a hit and I find myself feeling depleted more often than not. If I don’t stop to address what’s left in the tank and, how to keep a small cache in store, I won’t be able to sustain what needs to be done.

It should be intuitive. We eat when we are hungry. We stop when we are full. So where along the way do we lose sight of the source and its importance? If consumption is of high concern, what will be left once we’ve had our fill?

I’ve not posted anything about Karen lately since there hasn’t been much to report. There have been a few hiccups along the way, with some significant aches and nausea this past week. It did keep her away from the restaurant during our anniversary week, but not entirely and she was still able to meet and greet a few days. I am so grateful that the success of our business has been a mental diversion from the disruption of her treatment.

Probably the most interesting development as of late is the matter of hair, or lack thereof. I point out to Karen my observation that women seem to dress for each other and not really for the attention of men. This is likely due to the fact that we men don’t always notice when there is a new hairstyle or nifty pair of sandals on her feet. I’ve come to this conclusion by watching other women size up my wife when we are out on a date. The glance usually starts up top with the hair, moves down to the shoes, then up to the purse and outfit. This three-point reaction is appears to be Pavlovian, but since I am not a scientist or psychologist, I will not preach about this conclusion with any kind of authority.

But since Karen is as bald as I am now, she is finding the courage to accept this by-product of her treatment in positive ways, one of which is the reduction in the amount of time it takes to get ready in the morning. I’ve known the benefit of this for fifteen years now, so it is not as revelatory to me as it is her. And with the triple digit heat we’ve had lately, wearing a wig would make about as much sense as affixing a damp polyester bath mat on your melon with a sweaty ACE bandage. A chrome-dome does have liabilities, but there are a few advantages as well.

The first day Karen came in to the restaurant without a hat or scarf, I was interested in seeing the reactions of others, and as I predicted, it was the women who responded with the most enthusiasm. I would not be exaggerating if I were to use words like, awe and amazement. A group of four ladies at a table were effusive in their compliments toward Karen’s appearance. One woman came up to me and simply said, “damn, that’s hot.” I blushed, but nodded in agreement.

It’s too bad there is not a Blue Woman Group holding an audition, because I believe she has the prototypical skull shape that their producers would be looking for. That old joke we bald guys have been telling for years that says, “God only made a few good looking heads, that’s why he chose to cover the rest up with hair.” This would apply to Karen. Her lack of hair, accessorized by big, dangling silver earrings and those thick framed sunglasses the kids are into these days; that’s a fashion statement not many can pull off. And she does it with style and grace.

But another observation I’ve made is how her acceptance of this aspect of treatment puts people at ease. It’s an admission that says, “Yes, I have cancer. You don’t have to be awkward around me or tip-toe around the subject.” It admits, “I’m not trying to look as if nothing is wrong.”

This is one reason I try to write about this experience. I hope to give you permission to say it’s OK to ask. I remember one mother who lost her son in a tragic accident tell me that people would say to her, “I didn’t know if I should ask or not. I didn’t want to make you upset.” Her reply was unforgettable. “Upset? I live with this daily. How can you make me more upset?” Keeping you informed is my way of saying we’re OK telling the story, and conversely, you’re OK to inquire. You’re not going to make anything worse.

Thanks again to all who have asked, written, prayed, and shared in this leg of the journey with us. Your responses are priceless.

Did someone get the number of that truck? As I passed beneath the undercarriage, I managed to glance back and seem to remember seeing the license plate reading 3.

3 as in “Three Years.”

For most of you, it was just another day, and for my employees, it was a much busier than average week. But for me, it was a huge milestone, one that has evoked memories that date back much further than these three short years. From where I sit this morning, I think back to the many years that bread&cup only existed in my mind, and to no one else. I recall the countless number of nights out here, under the flicker from my trio of catholic icon candles, the distinct aroma of a little whispy nag champa smoke in the air, and an occasional moon crossing the southern sky. Yes, this is the place it was nurtured into being, and I return to it after an amazing week of seeing people enjoy the fulfillment of the vision.

There are some paths we walk with others, and there are some we must trod alone. As with Karen’s cancer, I can’t tell you how many folks have offered generous support in the form of victorious stories, showed kindness by mowing, cleaning gutters, brought flowers and food, and reminded me that we are not the first and only ones to experience this kind of circumstance. But at the same time, it still remains my unique experience, regardless if someone else has it worse than me or not. Despite the presence of supportive community, I am eventually left to account for my blessings and sorrows in those quiet moments as I stare at the ceiling, head on my pillow, determining if I will hold a negative or positive balance within.

Thursday and Friday of last week, I had penned into my schedule a two day leadership conference, for which I had registered a couple of months ago, and was high in anticipation of being in an environment of others who are engaged in their own leadership conversation. But given the fact that disruption is par for the course of a small business owner, my two day conference turned into only about an hour or so of direct involvement in that discussion, but as Providence would have it, that’s pretty much all I needed to hear.

The opening speaker basically put the last five years of my life in the outline of his talk. It was not a speech that I would say I learned anything new, but instead received a tremendous sense of affirmation that I made the right decision in 2005 to drastically change my career direction into a field I had no professional experience with which to validate a long-standing dream.

To economize the story, what this truncated two-day seminar helped me conclude was this; my life is my own and what I choose to do with it is also mine. I cannot change circumstances, but I can change my responses to those circumstances.

Deciding to open a restaurant was a conscious idea. It didn’t happen on its own, nor did it happen overnight. It did not happen without delays, setbacks, conflict, or disappointment. It was not an easy road to get here. And now throw cancer into the mix and it feels a little like an episode of Chopped. Let’s see what you can do with beef tenderloin, a Kool-Aid packet and durian fruit. No chef in the world would choose on his or her own to make a shopping list of such unrelated ingredients, but sometimes that’s what you get handed and you make your decisions as best you know how and hope it turns out in your favor.

Your vision of the preferred future requires leadership. Setting out from where you are now, and getting to where you want to be is not going to happen without learning how to take the helm.

And believe me, it’s a scary reach.

But consider the alternative, and that is to stay stuck in the same old place, nurturing recurrent excuses, justifying them as reasons. When the taste of that place becomes like the smell of durian fruit, that’s the point we can say in the words of one of my favorite pop sources of philosophy, Blue Man Group…

“It’s time to start.”

If you ever wonder what it takes to be a good chef, I would explain my journey like this. I believe the path to great food is not as much a matter of sheer talent as it is being a collector of great ideas.

I am proof that you can open a successful restaurant without experience or culinary training. It was for this reason that I was encouraged by many to take another route. Some suggested getting experience first by working for an established company or starting a smaller operation to see if I could do it or not. While I appreciated the validity of each point of view, they were not true to my original vision, which was inspired by one compelling Idea I held in my mind for over eleven years before ever attempting to do anything with it.

The recent movie you find everyone talking about is Inception, a mind-bending thriller on my same list as The Matrix. In an early explanation of the premise, Leonardo diCaprio’s character asks, “What’s the most dangerous virus in existence?” suggesting that an idea, once formed, has such ruling power that it cannot be rooted out. I found this to be true from personal experience. My idea of creating a place of conversation and reflection through the service of simple food and drink led me to rearrange my entire life, to risk my house, my entire life savings, and my current career path, all because of something I had never physically encountered other than with my own mind’s eye.

Yes, I believe in the power of ideas.

I refer to myself as a person who is Idea Rich and Money Poor. I have more ideas than cash lying around, but better to be this, because an idea provides much better motivation than money. Your work ethic does not improve just because you got a raise. Most likely you got that raise because your performance demanded it. I know that’s how I decide when to boost pay.

Before opening, when I worked those 18 months at my worst job ever, it was the Idea that kept me from getting mired in the clay of a mundane, direction-less existence. In my mind, I had places to go, and I could not stop until those destinations were reached.

Money didn’t take me there. The Idea did.

...but the prettiest fruit does not always translate into the most spectacular dessert.

Let me give you a Farmer's Market tip. Chef's who know what they are doing realize they don't have to buy the perfect specimen. Instead, they know to buy what tastes best. Most farmers end up having imperfect fruit at their stand due to travel, bruising, heat, etc. The problem for them is that it doesn't look appealing to the average customer, so they can't sell it. Find a vendor who will make a deal with you. Tell him you will stop by at the end of the day and buy all his seconds. If you are looking for tomatoes, ask for "canners." The grower wants to make to make a sale, and most likely will be glad to give you a deal on perfectly good fruit, even though it may not look perfect.



As you can see from the photo, this is what that fruit is going to look like once you prepare it for juice, jam, preserves, or other application. I got about 15 lbs of ugly peaches from one of my favorite vendors this morning that will make for a nice Peach Crate cocktail this evening. Here's how we make it:

Peach Crate

1.5 oz peach butter

1.5 oz vodka

1.5 oz simple syrup

Juice ½ lemon

1 egg white

Muddle basil with ice in shaker

Add remaining ingredients

Shake till foamy

Serve in martini glass with basil top

From the archives:

{before construction}

Here's the view of the old building facing south at S street. This is the reason our first bank turned us down for a loan. In their words, "It's too far removed. There is nothing down that way that make it an appealing investment." An entrepreneur must possess vision and belief in the idea, long before anyone else sees what you see

{original interior}

This view faces west inside our space. There were no west facing windows originally.

{original corner view}

Stand in the street now and see a modern patio

{north entrance}

The awning of the previous shop

{after demolition}

Here you see the west wall, now with window openings.

{complete west view}

Here is the same west view after construction.

{welcome to bread&cup}

{finishing touches}

I remember vividly what it felt like this week three years ago, trying to get all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed in order to get that final approval from the Health Department before we could open. There was nervous tension, but balanced by anticipated excitement. The folks in the building could smell the aroma of bread baking, but we could host no customers quite yet. We were assembling our fledgling staff, trying to present an air of confidence to them while deep inside fending off the butterflies that fluttered from the thought that we had never done this before, and hoping it doesn’t show.

I began writing a blog so I could have a record of the progress, and in my moments of reflection, I went back to read what was going on that first week. Here’s a quote I wrote three days in:

“The last few days have felt like those last miles of the marathon. I knew in my mind that it would be like this, but even so, feet and legs are reminding me of their innocence. Touching the soles of my feet at the end of the day are like pressing on the carotid artery on my neck. I can feel my pulse just as easily from the increased blood flow.

Like the race, there will come the time to stop and sit down. I’ve run enough to know this, and it is this memory that I call on in times like these. The joy of finishing the race is greater than the relief of dropping out, regardless how long it takes to cross that line.

So if I look a little bleary eyed, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

And while in no way do I feel like we have crossed the finish line, there is a sense that something has been completed, something amazing, that demands a bit of revelry.

Looking back from here, my feet don’t curse me with the same profanity and hopefully my eyes don’t look so tired. I don’t have to get up at 4am everyday. I have staff that now lightens the load, and do a better job at it that I would. In 2007, we started with 16 employees. In three years, we’ve doubled that number as I wrote 32 checks last payroll.

I get the occasional, inevitable question from friends asking, “What’s next?” To that I reply that I am using this three year marker to introduce some new changes that I hope will create an even better bread&cup experience for you to enjoy. Here’s what you will notice.

A fresh look.

Three years takes its toll on a physical space, so as a staff we are spending Sunday cleaning, painting and introducing a bit of new décor.Nothing drastic, and everything in keeping with the ‘simple food and drink” theme, which includes reducing visual clutter and use fatigue.

A separate Lunch and Dinner menu

We are attempting to create a different mood in the evening than what we have at noon.Most folks who come in for lunch are looking for a simple meal and need to get back to the office within the hour.We will continue to feature our sandwiches, soups and salads from 11am to 5:30pm, and will transition at that point to our new Dinner menu, which will not include our sandwiches.This will probably upset some of our regulars, but let me explain my rationale.

Everything we serve, we make in house, from scratch, on a daily basis. To do this requires a significant amount of planning and prep work. To an average customer, it may seem like no big deal to slap a sandwich together, but rather it’s the assembly before hand of all those ingredients that takes the most time. If we bought buckets of pre-made pesto and already roasted pork, it might not be such a big deal.

Since we have a small work space and a limited number of hours in the day, we must pare down our options if we are going to present simple, memorable food on a consistent basis.

Better Value

Believe it or not, we are lowering the prices of some of our items. We are doing so because we can, now that we have a better idea of actual food costs and portion sizes. You will notice it with breakfast, salad, and dessert. Cheap is not equivalent to quality, but we want to provide a better sense of value for the kind of food we offer to you our customer.

We kick everything off next Monday the 2nd with $3 Breakfast Specials all week, plus a $3 Happy Hour from 4pm – close. Wednesday is Local Grower Appreciation Day, where you can meet some of the good folk who grow some of your food. Thursday is Local Brewer Appreciation Day, where we’ve invited some of the brewers who created the locally crafted beers we will be serving.

You can also buy a bread&cup logo glass for $3 and fill it with $3 pints of beer from Empyrean, Thunderhead, Spilker Ales, Lucky Bucket and Modern Monks. We’ll have other logo gear available for purchase.

Thanks for helping us succeed, for telling and bringing in your friends, and for being patient with our learning curve. Here’s to three, and many more.

Summer means memories of heat, bailing hay and sweet corn. I shucked a dozen dozen of the yellow kerneled cobs yesterday. Despite the sticky hands and feathery silks all over my clothes, I still find it an enjoyable task. I hope you get to try some of the dishes we are creating with it.

Here is one of those moments we must embrace as sustained chefs; letting the operation run according to plan.

I’ve been at it for four hours now. I have all my market shopping done. The menu is set, printed and posted. The folks down at the booth have everything they need. My chefs are stocked and churning out food that customers have already stopped to tell me how much they enjoyed their meal. So here I am with a few moments to myself to sit calmly in the eye of the vortex and watch it all develop.

{kitchen}

It is remarkable to witness this progression in three years. All those months of 4am baking sessions are now behind me. Daniel, my capable baker, loves his craft and his bread shows it; uniform in size, delicate in flavor. Yes, I miss baking, but a sustained chef understands the importance of concentration of energy and effort toward important matters, and has the ability to discern what those are.

{Daniel's ciabatta}

This is why I chose to sit at the corner of my bar with a nice cup of coffee this morning and write a few words in this respite. Reflection is a means of recreation for me, especially if you take the word at its core meaning. Recreation often implies activity without thought, which is better described as amusement. To muse is to think; to a-muse is just the opposite; to go without thoughtful engagement.

{10:05 Saturday morning}

The sustained chef takes time to re-create, to re-build that which has been worn down from everyday use. Writing helps me recognize those places that need attention. My friend told me a few days ago that he can tell in our conversations that I am back playing offense again instead of defense. I think what he saw was the fruit of re-creating.

August 6th marks our 3rd anniversary and to celebrate, we have a week of specials planned for you to enjoy. We are re-creating the menu and elements of the décor, using simple food and drink as our guiding parameters. We’ve morphed and changed much in these three short years, at the same time enjoying the fruit of those adaptations. But if these are not anchored to the vision, the business will be in charge of me, and not vice versa.

{how do I look?}

Karen had her second treatment on Monday and the side effects followed suit with the first week. Nausea and achy, but still in her words, manageable. Still hard for me to be an onlooker with nothing more to do than wait.

Chemo is all about waiting. For each treatment, it’s about a six hour process, with most of that time spent waiting. Waiting on the doctor, waiting on the blood work, waiting on the IV to drip. Seems like I have been in this position many times before.

I remember the process of beginning to plan our restaurant five years ago. Sure there was a lot of work to be done, but there felt an inordinate amount of waiting as well. There was my list of tasks to accomplish, but many times along the way, it was in someone else’s hands. The most dominate memory involved the build out, when construction was delayed several times due to unforeseen setbacks in building code requirements. Nothing to do but wait.

Even further back, to when Karen and I were dating 22 yrs ago. We decided to postpone marriage for a year and a half in order for me to finish school and for her to complete a job commitment. This meant we would be separated by a couple thousand miles for that period of time. Long before email and cheap long distance phone service, we had to arrange our calls before 7am or after 11pm, when the rates adjusted to their inexpensive level. At the time I remember how hard that felt, yet now, it was just a flash on a past horizon.

But the older I get and the more complicated my life becomes; I learn to welcome these moments of waiting a little easier. As a young man, I wanted to hurry up and get on with my life. Now, at my midpoint, I’m not so impatient. The view of the future from my vantage point as a 47 year old man looks different now than when I was young, brash and 18 and eager to grow up to gain all the benefits of being an adult. Unbeknownst to me at the time, those benefits carry a price tag.

The strength of a young man is in his arms and legs, but the strength of a mature man is in his mind, because later in life, this is where most of his battles are fought.

Every small business owner knows that the key to great production is great people. As our business has evolved and improved, the demand for new staff has become evident. Let me introduce you to one of our new chefs.

Allison comes to us from Augusta, ME, which is, not quite, but just about as far away from Nebraska as you can get and still be in the US. The connection is not entirely random, however. I hired her two years ago while she was living in Lincoln, but circumstances required her to move back to Maine. We stayed in touch via Facebook and I kept her on the payroll, with the hope that if she ever did move back here, I might have a spot open. Funny how things like that work out.

I told her the first day that her job description was to "dispel the myth that there is no place to eat breakfast in downtown Lincoln." Judging from dozens of eggs she blew through last Saturday, I would say she is well on her way to achieving that goal.

The line from the movie has become cliche, but I do believe the first hurdle is to build it, and then they will come. Marketing is worthless without a dynamic product. Give careful attention to what you intend to sell, and the sales will follow suit. Below is an example of her work.

Come try Allison's new breakfast creations, M-F 7am - 10:30am and Sat 7am - 1:30pm.

{outdoor office}

This is my office in the warm weather month, and gladly so on a beautifully mild July morning. It has all my creature comforts, such as Internet access, outdoor sound system and a cot. The surroundings I love, its the work I don't thrive on.

I've been able to hire two new chefs this summer. They have already shown me why I need them on staff. The bigger our business grows, the more focused I need to be, which is to pay more attention to the restaurant as a whole, and not just on the food coming out of the kitchen. My title is Executive Chef. I love and understand the chef part of the role. It's the executive part that needs more attention.

If you are an aspiring chef, keep in mind that being an Executive Chef is more than just having free reign over what and how you cook. If all you can do is cook, you may not be cut out for this role.

Being an Executive Chef means you must know how to execute your entire operation. You must be adept at more than flavor composition. You must lead, motivate, organize, coordinate, and manage. You need to observe trends and adapt to them. You have to recognize the source and nature of complaints. You need social skills and possess a level of self-understanding if you are going build a successful destination.

Cooking is only part of the equation. I remember meeting guys in graduate school who believed they were intended to be a pastor, all the while I'm thinking you can't even speak with proper grammar, let alone the fact that you have bad personal hygiene and gastly B.O. Aspiration doesn't supercede the necessity of having some type of skill already in place.

I've been at the spreadsheet more than the stove this week, but if I'm going to keep cooking great food, I've got to keep the books from getting cooked.

The eyes expect to see it in some of the normal places, like the sink, the tub drain or brush, but when it shows up in places where it shouldn’t, the brain takes note that something is not as it should be.

On the nightstand, on the ground by the car, on the kitchen counter, in the laundry room; random, subtle reminders that something not so subtle lurks nearby.

It began suddenly, on mark with the doctor’s assessment, on Monday.

This cancer is an odd disease, something akin to the bully on the playground. At times he’s just a pesky twit, and others he is truly, severely abusive.

As I am talking now with other cancer survivors, I find that cancer can be just that; survivable. A killer, yes, but also a treatable disease. My good friend with MS told me yesterday that he would trade his ailment for cancer if he could. At least then he might have a chance to beat it. Even with the advancements in research, MS doesn’t get better or go away.

In every case, there is always the perspective of another that changes your own point of view.

Despite this next challenge, Karen has already been at work trying out stylish scarves and hats, and one friend reminded me that if anyone can pull it off and make it look cute, it would be my wife.

The ugliness of cancer can always be usurped by the beauty of the human spirit. Quoting Mumford & Sons, “…it might steal your innocence, but it will not steal your substance.”

On a small sheet of paper in my kitchen cabinet is written this quote:

"I’d come to know three outstanding American chefs, each one of whom had been cooking his entire adult life and had made people happy doing it. In fact all three of these chefs had stated that a main reason, if not the reason, they cooked was that simple; to make people happy. If they failed in this, the work was for nothing. Didn’t matter how good the technique was, how artful the food, or the personal standards they’d brought to bear on it."

It’s from a book by Michael Ruhlman, The Soul of a Chef, which I read a few years prior to opening my restaurant. This simple text articulated for me what I was not able to express on my own. Indeed, this is why I love to cook; to make people happy. To hear you say, “That was incredible” makes the labor worthwhile.

But here in recent days I find myself in need of a similar discovery. When I receive a complimentary comment about an entry I have posted, I receive it with gratitude, but unlike my cooking, I’m not sure of my motivation for expressing my thoughts.

In short, why do I write?

When we first found out that Karen had cancer, I felt compelled to write about it. Compulsion is the best word I have to describe the urge to communicate what we had just discovered. The words came easy, my thoughts seemed focused. And it left me wondering why? What inner need was being met by writing?

For me, writing is a recent discovery, a late in life realization that I can put a thought down on paper and make it somewhat clear and concise. It’s why I could probably never write a book. My ideas are only about a page or two long, and you need a couple hundred of them to bind together and I don’t think my well is that deep.

My theory is this; I am in possession of a story, one that contains elements that I wish were not in it. I can’t change these facts, nor can I remove them from the story. But as a writer, at least I can tell the story in my own words and not feel that it is being told for me. In this way I can be an active observer as well as a participant

It all comes back down to control.

As a chef, my job is all about control; controlling the heat, the seasoning, the flavor, the ingredients, the chaos, the knife, the cost of food, the labor, etc. I understand why the French developed a military style hierarchy in the kitchen. The end game of creating outstanding food is constantly being threatened by all the fragile means that are required to produce it.

And now as a writer, I’m not comfortable with a passive position, either.

I can’t change the past, and I cannot predict the future, but maybe I can interpret them as I observe them. I can look them both in the eye and remind them, that regardless of what they have to offer, I have nothing to fear.

Chemo Day 12

Normal is certainly a relative term.

When Karen and I were first married, normal for her was to turn on the television first thing in the morning. It didn’t take long for her to realize that for me, this was not normal. Instead, I preferred to be awakened by the quiet of the house than by the chatter of voices. Her normal was not my normal, but over the years, we have learned to create a new routine, one that we both accept without having to think or compromise.

Such is the case with cancer. Now that we know it affects us personally, we both have to make adjustments to include it in our daily lives. Five weeks ago, it was not a factor. Today, we work around it. We have to contend with a disease that we never wanted, nor even imagined would have.

Last week, a friend of mine had found tickets to attend an opening round of the College World Series. But since it coincided with her first day of treatment, I declined the offer without telling Karen. Later in the evening, when she realized I was not planning to go, she got upset. “We are not going to bow down to this and let this invade our lives. I want you to go. I’ll be upset if you don’t”

This is normal coming from the woman I married.

A friend posted a reply to my last entry titled, “How am I supposed to feel?” His simple response said, “There is to ‘supposed to.’” I accept that there is no normal other than what we create in response.

Compare this morning to ten days ago and they will be like night and day. Karen seems as healthy as she has always been. She has a regular day planned. And at times like these I gratefully lose sight of the disease.

Normal now is like riding a newly designed roller coaster; the highs get higher and the lows get lower, and the distance between the two can feel short and instantaneous.

But we are both more fully alive and the evidence of this is that we feel the effects of this thrill ride. The days like this morning are more precious and the nights like last week are more terrifying. This kind of up and down movement is our new normal.

I know that new challenges lie ahead. The loss of hair is imminent. I am told this can be one of the most difficult, because this is the first drastic sign of cancer. It is a visual reminder of the brutality of the disease. A woman’s hair is part of her glory, and the treatment is no respecter of person. The drug’s one mission is to destroy cancer, and it’s too bad that the fast growing hair follicles get caught in the friendly fire. These kinds of sacrifices also become normal.

Normal doesn’t imply easy. It just means that it’s what I learned to face on a regular basis. Watch me stick these little round pieces of blue tinted plastic into my eyes every morning and you with 20/20 vision might cringe at the act. But it sure beats wearing Coke-bottle lenses that are heavy and cumbersome in order to see clearly.

Sometimes the end justifies the means, even if it is painful. This is our hope with the treatment of this disease. I look back on the early days of opening my restaurant and I don’t know how I did it. All the long hours, the multi-tasking of being baker/cook/accountant/janitor/maintenance man/husband/dad/and more were necessary to get us to this point of success. But that season has now passed, and I can enjoy the fruits of my labor more fully.

I hang onto this hope that this, too, shall pass.

{mr toad, 10th & howard}

I love surprises, and for my 47th birthday yesterday, Karen planned an overnight in Omaha, and it was just what the doctor ordered.

We ended the day at one of my favorite places in the world for live music. Mr. Toad’s is a small, corner bar in the Old Market with a small jazz combo that performs every Sunday night, and has done so for years. A few cats abide here (and I use that term respectfully, as that is how they refer to themselves) that are as faithful as a church lady, and last night was no different, so I pulled up a chair next to LeRoy, who seems to know everything I wish I knew about jazz. He me gave the back-story on the new guys sitting in with the group this session.

After being engulfed in the busy set, my head came up for air as the band took a break, and that’s when it dawned on me that there were eleven people in the audience. For a band this good, why were there no more than 22 ears to enjoy it? I wanted to feel bad for the musicians, but then I caught myself and realized that would not be necessary.

The guys played for each other as much as they did for us, and as they were packing it up at the end of the gig, one long standing member said thanks to the guest saxophonist, who replied, “thanks for the chance, man, I love it.”

Yes, he did. That much was evident.

I’m drawn to jazz because of the energy it emits. Much of the genre is meant to be enjoyed in the moment, because that is how it is created. A good session is one that simmers with a blend of that energy released together in concert with the other musicians in the mix. The more skilled the release, the hotter the music becomes. If you notice a similarity to creating good food beginning to form, the comparison is not stretch.

As a wannabe musician, I picture myself being able to release that energy via an instrument. But as a chef, I have that same opportunity to affect the outcome of my food. It takes the same coordination and communication between the line cook, the sous chef and the garde manger as it does between the brass and the rhythm section. The back and front of the house must be playing off the same charts; else cacophony is all the customer hears.

In both food and music, how you perform today is no guarantee of how it’s going to taste and sound tomorrow. Leftover bread and leftover songs don’t sell well.

I think we all have within us a level of energy that needs to be released. Energy found in the form of anger, grief, anxiety or creativity will eventually find an exit point. The question is; will it be intentional or accidental? Will it be constructive, or will it leave collateral damage. The oil spewing in the Gulf is a case in point. Properly contained, it can power a whole region. Mishandled and it becomes a pollutant of equal magnitude.

My restaurant has been an intentional effort to release my creative energy in a productive way. It is my canvas upon which I paint with simple food and drink. People who ask me how or why I work so hard and I say it’s only because there is still energy fueling it. If that fire fades from a lack of fuel, so will my cooking. This is another reason to maintain a sustainable life.

Like the musicians last night, if their main reason for playing is the approval of an audience, that’s a little like trying to heat the stove with kindling. It just won’t last. There has to be a pleasure in the act itself.

Granted, I admit that I cook to make people happy, but the x-factor in the equation is the number of people I need in order to feel like I’ve done my job well. Will I cook with the same commitment knowing that it might only be for eleven people, or do I need a house of a hundred to give me incentive to do my best? I don’t always have control over how many covers I serve, but I can dictate to my hands to work and play hard, regardless.

3:52pm

Feeling good about tonight's dinner service. The pork roast is falling apart as it should. The brisket will enjoy the extra time in the low heat. Black raspberry Ice Cream is starting to set. The bartender will be here in a few minutes to go over the new cocktail, The Chinese Bloody Mary, that I've been waiting to unveil. It's a tad spicy, but with the number of people who still order soup on a 95 degree day, this one should go over just fine.

I'm glad to see basil back in season. The aroma is so prevalent in the kitchen. It is sanguine at best, and demands attention like a colicky infant. It and a little tomato and olive oil are sufficient food on their own.

These are the days I enjoy, heat and all. It's because like the smell of basil, heat triggers a memory of childhood, of yearning for a simpler day of cooling off in the muddy farm pond, and taking a drink out of the hose.

Hope you enjoy your evening, and that it includes a meal with us