Tag Archives: Lionel Richie

ode to my newborn. (a harried post.)

13 Jun

It was pointed out to me yesterday by a douchey reader/friend of mine that I’m being selfish by not documenting the intricacies and antics involved in opening a restaurant (as that’s what I’m doing today. You? Slacker..). 

But something really interesting about opening a restaurant is that by the time I get done with what I need to do for this opening… oh wait. I’m still not even close to done yet and we crack the doors in 7 hours. So, sorry dudes but you’ll just have to believe me that it requires a lot of the following:

  • arguing
  • crying
  • shopping for a good outfit
  • picking a nail polish color that’s “professional, yet me”
  • wiping up your kid and/or puppy’s urine off the floor because they’re protesting the 70 extra hours you’re putting in a week
  • drinking beer for research
  • convincing your husband to double park on the side of the LIE to pick up 3 kegs of superman beer that maybe MAYBE 1% of your customer base will give a shit about from the back of a truck
  • eating bagels at 2am because you forgot to have breakfast, lunch and dinner
  • being sad about how bloated you are because you keep eating bagels at 2am
  • writing a blog post instead of finishing the cocktail list, kid’s menu, bar menu, dessert menu and programming the computer for all of them
  • tweeting, or as I like to call it “how the fuck to I tweet?”
  • forgetting to make a google place page until just now so basically I’m using this post as a to-do list. 
  • wishing you had time to do the laundry so your spanx were clean (they make man spanx so this applies to all of you except skinny people and you don’t count anyway)
  • making all the cocktail recipes a few hours before you open and consequently being wasted by the time anyone gets there. 

If it weren’t for aforementioned reader/friend whose name I won’t mention until the end of this post, I’d have taken a few moments to relax with my ukulele instead of writing this, but I didn’t, and now I don’t feel centered and I’m going to be a drunk, uncentered business owner off the bat, and SERIOUSLY GOOD LUCK to anyone who shows his or her face tonight to “be supportive” because it will most likely in a violent bar fight involving me, my dad, and some seriously impressive looking beer bottles. 

You can thank Sandy. 


how to be a super professional and totally fabulous restaurant gal.

11 Apr

In case you’re overwhelmingly jealous that I’m in the restaurant business and you’re not, here’s a peak into my completely average day:

  • I arrived at work in normal fashion, greeted by matzo brei with caramelized apples (and Harry).
  • Made a quick phone call to my friend who keeps telling me
  • I froze my ass off in the beer cooler doing inventory and trying to decide what new brews to bring in. All I came up with was this one called Wild Blue which is basically blueberry juice and wine combined and labeled beer. Harry drank 3 on Easter so I figured if we don’t sell them I’ll know of someone who can make use of them. If you have any ideas let me know.
  • A regular customer brought her two young daughters in for lunch, one of whom didn’t remember me. As I spoke to her mom, she looked me straight in the eyes & said “I don’t like Shelby.” She quietly returned to her iPad game. The mother seemed unaffected by this total weirdness so I just smiled and talked to her about her facialist and said hello to the kid’s stuffed kitty cat as she shoved it in my face.
  • I drank 3 gallons of water hoping to lose thirteen pounds by 4pm. Even though I was wearing 2 layers of Spanx I was still feeling super bloated.
  • There were two booths without people occupying them in the dining room – one clean one and one recently vacated dirty one. On the way to the clean booth, the three women I was seating stopped me. “We want to sit at this one.” They sat down at the dirty table and seemed extremely inconvenienced as I cleaned the table around them. One woman turned the napkin upside down while I was trying to put the fork on it. Couldn’t really figure that one out.
  • Four minutes later, a family walked in and sat down at the table that the mom and the kids and the kitty cats had just vacated which was also not wiped or set yet. So not only did I have to clean around them, I also had to clean under the kids’ electronic devices. When I put the menu down the mom said “Oh how fancy! It sure was worth the drive” and turned it upside down. Is there some new trend that I don’t know about?
  • I ran three salads to a group of Jappy women. Seat 2 was getting a Chopped Salad with Pulled Chicken, (no blah blah, extra blah blah blah, allergic to blah, light blah blah) which I stated just to confirm. Seat 3, assuming the plate was headed in her direction leapt up and shouted “NO! THAT IS NOT WHAT I ORDERED” and smacked me in the face so hard that my glasses fell off and landed in some business guy’s lentil soup. I might be exaggerating, but only slightly. Bet she felt like an asshole when her friend accepted the salad with open arms.
  • A gentleman berated me (over the phone at least) for charging his credit card twice. I’d like to state for the record that this was entirely Charlie’s fault. I don’t normally like to exploit my dear friend’s errors, but right now he’s in Vegas getting into the most insane trouble ever, and I just don’t think it’s right that I have to be an adult and he doesn’t have to be, even if I’m like way older than him. So under the bus you go, Charlie!
  • Harry and I discussed what types of cheese we’re going to bring in for a cheese plate special we’re going to start running. I made puppy dog faces and made annoying marital promises so he would agree to put honeycomb on the plate. Then we made a list of every type of breakfast food one might prepare so we make sure not to leave out any staples on the Hashbrown Harry’s menu. It turns out there are quite a few. We made some menu decisions, like Carrot French Toast with a Maple Something Something Icing and perhaps a smoked grapefruit with honey & crystalized sugar.
  • I read recent diner feedback on our OpenTable account, which was almost completely positive except for this one person who gave the food a 1 out of 5, but then wrote about all the things that she loved about her meal. At first I was really upset because my rating really matters to me, but at least she didn’t write about what a bitch I am, because that usually makes me cry.
  • Booked a party for a guy who wanted me to give him a firefighter discount, which I really don’t do. I gave him an extra hour for free, because I started having these visions of my car/house/restaurant burning to the ground and him howling with laughter on the side of the road with a limp hose and a handful of bitter sexy men in uniform.

Kindly note that all of these things happened before 2pm.

During the latter part of the afternoon I plotted how to steal the audience and book deal from this blogger that I’m obsessed with, looked up bloody marys and porridge on pinterest, tried to find appropriate packaging for hash brownies & listened to Harry complain that he can’t get the vanity plate he wants because you’re limited to 6 characters, which he claims wasn’t always the case.

Tomorrow I’ve got big plans in store, such as buying nice pieces of wood on which to serve my cheese and sanding them down so nobody splinters, listening to the new Lionel Richie album on repeat and cleaning out the toilet paper cabinet in the ladies room. I really think it’s time for you to quit your day job and join this uber-glamourous profession, don’t you?