Another One Bites The Dust (The closing of Cumberland Restaurant)

cumberland

From The Potsink Diaries

Cumberland Restaurant was more than just a job to me it was my Mecca, a culinary cathedral where I was transformed from just another punk kid to an integral cast member of a gastronomic theater. I was important there and having put in many hours of work in the kitchen from scrubbing floors to stuffing mushrooms to making and plating deserts I had become an equal. We were all the same in terms of importance, all pieces of a whole. I adore my time with the staff we even hung out sometimes after work. I had seniority over the weekend warriors, the kids from high school who were mere part timers. Hordes of classmates had come through those doors searching for restaurant enlightenment but few achieve it. To me Cumberland was the Taj Majal, my place of worship. I had earned my position of cooks assistant and head suds buster at Cumberland having dominion over all the kids that came to work were to be trained by the master, the holy soapsud king. It gave me a sense of purpose, the staff was my family without the blood relation drama. Alone we were circus sideshows, totally misunderstood, but when the Cumberland family was together we were a unit, a force to be reckoned with. I was looking forward to going to work on this warm spring evening if only to get away from the chaos that cluttered my daily life. Being a central figure in the restaurant absorbed my inner spirit projecting me to another world.
I had learned so much at Cumberland, not just about cooking but about life. Jimmy had taken me under his wing though he’d never admit it, and I alone was privy to his paternal side. He had become my sensei, my benefactor of chefdom. Even Andre had begun teaching me things although I suspected his motives were more about getting me to do his work for him. Either way I had become the kitchen protégé in line to one day have dominion of my very own kitchen. All the basics plus some tricks of the trade on soups and sauces. The more he taught the more I absorbed. I had became a gastronomic sponge soaking up everything they offered. Plus I was earning as I was learning.
The second I walked up to the back door of the kitchen finding it locked I sensed something amiss. I peered through the grease smeared window but it appeared all the lights were off. I double checked my watch then looked to the parking lot. Jimmy’s car was parked in front with a few other cars so I walked around. Fuck man I hope Jense isn’t gonna yell at me again for using the front door but what else could I do? I could just hear him in his condescending European accent, “Chay Dee! Vat do joo tink dis iss here? Zhew tink we air r-r-rrunning a pup-you larraty conest? Deese eess a r-r-r-r-r-eeeerrrrestarant!“ I opened the front door staring at the scene perplexed. Across the dining room at the bar sat Jimmy, Andre, Didier, and Rod the bus boy with John behind the bar. I walked up and noticed an almost deathly glumness on their collective faces. “Hey guys, what’s up? The back doors locked.”
Jimmy broke the ominous silence and said “Zeet down JD. We gots some bad news today. Johnny, give JD a beer.” My happiness was rapidly sneaking out the door allowing concern to take its place as John poured me a cold beer. It was Didier who spoke up next. “ Vucking Jense und Laura have run off with all zee restaurant money. Zey broke into zeee safe, took alla da cash.Tooka zee cash fromma registers und dezzappeared.” My face turned a whiter shade of pale. “WHAT?” If I told you I was stunned I would have been doing the emotion a terrible injustice. More accurately I was stunned, shocked, astounded, flabbergasted and blown away. My entire world and every world within a hundred light years had been rocked to Hell! I looked intensely from face to face hoping one of them would reveal the fact that they had played a fabulous joke on me but none offered a scintilla of a smile. “Jeeeeesus fucking shit! When did what, how did they, fuck man did anyone call the cops?” While Didier explained everything the news slowly seeped into my cerebellum aided by the cold beer. He came to work this morning and found the front door open and the alarm shut off. The cash register was open and empty, there was an empty bottle of Dom Perignon Champagne on the bar with two empty glasses. He ran to the office which was also wide open as was the safe door. He called the cops first, then Jense. Jenses wife said he left for work early and should be there by now. Didier started doing the arithmetic and called Laura whom he had expected of having an affair with Jense. The cops came and took away the champagne bottle and glasses but it was pretty obvious what has happened. “I put all zee numbers togezzer, und she come out four.”
Man this was a lot to digest. So many things raced through my mind. Classic restaurant scandal, Maitre d’ and head waitress give each other head then rip off the restaurant running off together. “Wait-What?! Laura and that fucking airhead asshole Jense did it? The bastards took all the money? They took ALL the money? Wait, what does that mean?” I turned to my mentor, “It means JD my boy that we ain’t got no more restaurant. No mas trabajo amigo.” I looked at Jimmy with an empty confused stare. So that was it man. No more job. No more Laura. No more money coming in. No more Cumberland. It was painful. Didier explained that the restaurant would have to withhold my paycheck until the investigation was over. The six of us sat at the bar and drank for hours until it was time for everyone to leave. We said good bye to each other, Jimmy and I talked at his car for another 30 minutes where he assured me when he found another job he would call me. A nice gesture but I knew this was the last time I would ever see of Jimmy again. Or any of the other people who had become such an integral part of my life. Now they would all just be in my rear view mirror, a speck of dust in my memory bank. Feeling sad and somewhat broken I walked home. Actually I sort of stumbled home having consumed more than my share of the free flowing beer. The summer was barely beginning and Cumberland days were over already! I stopped off on the way at Kens to score some ludes to ease the pain.
When I got to Kens room he was flying high and slurring even worse than me. “Hey bro, what’s the matter? You look like you been crying or something. Here man take these, they‘ll cure anything.” Ken had handed me two white tablets that looked like huge aspirins. “Jesus shit man, what the fuck are these monsters?” I trusted Ken to the end so I downed the tabs without waiting for a reply but still I was curious. “Morph tabs bro, gonna kick your ass six ways to Sunday. So what’s eating you bro?” I pulled a joint from my cigarette pack, “Oh man, fuckin’ Cumberland closed down man, like forever. That chick Laura ran away with the dickhead Maitre d’ and took all the fuckin’ money. They even downed a bottle of Dom Perignon before running off. Now I ain’t got no job. Sucks man!” Ken seemed shocked but was so stoned he had a hard time convincing his face to respond. Almost vacant. “Whoa! Holy Jesus fuck man! That does suck. Hey man, I hear Munson is hiring, you can mow lawns right?” Ken’s eyes were tiny slits and he was nodding. “Dude how many of them morphs did you take?” ken held up four fingers and accepted the joint from me which we puffed halfway down. In the middle of talking Ken fell out so I laid him comfortable in his bed. “Maybe you’re right Buddy, maybe I need a break from restaurants. Tomorrow I’ll go check out Munson’s Landscaping.”

My Brush With Racism

Movie-review-Malibu-s-Most-Wanted

It was the early 70’s and race relations were better than they had been in the 60’s yet still a bit strained. I was a hippie, which back then was code for stoner, and having grown up on Long Island I was a Jets fan. The area in which I lived was semi integrated at best with certain area’s known as “black” hangouts and others “white” hangouts. Emerson Boozer was a fullback for the New York Jets and had opened a bar in the next town over and Named it Em Boozers 32, which was his number. Having past it many time I was always curious if the man himself hung out at the pub like I don‘t know, maybe tosing the football around or something cool like that. One evening I decided to find out with the faint of possibly even seeing Broadway Joe Namath chilling there too.
The drinking age was 18 and so was I so I could legally go into a bar and get a cold beer which were my exact intentions on that moonless dark night. I pulled into the parking lot and could hear a boisterous crowd partying inside from all the way were I was. Friggen awesome man, my kind of place, lots of partying and music, slightly rowdy crowd, what could possibly go wrong? Of course it was what could bet be described as a little “seedy” and while I didn’t like stems and seeds, seedy was not a stranger to this hippie so off I ventured into Em Boozers 32 for an ice cold Budweiser.
As I opened the front door the decibel of revelry increased dramatically being driven by loud laughter, but as soon as I entered the bar became silent. Not a peaceful and serene happy calm silence, but a menacing pin dropping what the fuck kind of silence. Even the jukebox stared quietly in disbelief. I looked around and noticed that I was the only Caucasian in the entire pub. Instant paranoia shot up my spine and began dancing on my slightly weed numbed brain. What to do? Every single open eye was focused directly on me. That’s me in the mirror, that’s me in the spot -light, losing my composure.
I was shaking like tall skinny snowflake with vertigo but it was too late my legs had already made the decision to head to the bar and all I could do was follow. As I passed there were people sitting at tables, some dudes playing pool, and at the bar was an extremely large intimidating barkeep. With my optic nerves shivering wildly it was hard to focus clearly but it could’ve been Emerson himself, he was certainly big enough.
The silence morphed into whispering and not to sound narcissistic or anything but I was relatively certain the hushed conversations were all about me. But it was too late, my instincts had taken control which in retrospect was a good thing because if I just turned and ran I have no idea what may have occurred. So I walked up and with all the strength and determination I could muster up I walked directly to the imposing barkeep and in my most weak and pathetic voice stuttered , “B-B-Bud please” The barkeep glared at me, reached own under the bar and to my delight it was not a baseball bat or a shotgun but an ice cold bottle of Budweiser in his hand which he promptly placed in front of me asking, “You ant a glass with that….sir?” Noting a touch of sarcasm in his voice I defiantly mumbled in the same weak voice as before, “Um ,no thank you.”
I was beginning to regain my composure a bit and boldly I showed no fear or sign of uncomfortableness, looked directly at the imposing figure behind the bar and said “Cheers”. I lifted the bottle to my relatively steady lips and guzzled that beer like I was at a frat party with my fellow pledges urging me to swallow in a single gulp. I placed the now empty bottle on the bar, wiped my mouth with my sleeve and noticed the noise level had picked up from a whisper to a low murmur and now only about half of the open eyes were on me with many getting back to their own conversations. I turned toward the door and bravely and evenly walked slowly and methodically determined to make it look as though it had been my plan all along and I knew where I was. The second the door opened up I began to get a feeling of massive relief heading at warp speed to my car. As I turned the key I heard the noise level of the bar go back to what it was before except with an added amount of laughter which, perhaps egotistically, I’m guessing again was about yours truly.
I’m relatively certain they had much more of a laugh of it than I did and I imagined guys going home saying to their wives, “You shoulda seen the face on that white boy, he looked about ready to hit his pants. I never seen anyone drink a beer so damn fast. The boy sure could drink but what in the Hell was he thinking?” What the hell indeed, it just hadn’t occurred to me that I would feel unwelcome, and in the long run it wasn’t so much that I was unwelcome as it was unexpected. In the years since I have maintained my deep rooted belief in equality and stand by those convictions for everyone regaurle of looks or beliefs. In addition I spent more toime in those “black hangouts” and forged many great relationships based not on our differences but our commonalities (not the least of which was a love for good quality weed) But I have yet to meet anyone who claims to be at that bar on that dark moonless night I had my brush with racism and I’m sure anyone who was enjoying their evening at Em Boozers 32 that evening will never forget the time they were entertained for 45 seconds from shivering snowflake….PEACE