10.14.25 | I'll Call You Back
“I'm in the kitchen
I'm cooking and mixing
And fixing the sauces
And I'll call you back”
There's always the pressure to keep moving, keep striving to be better, to do better, make more money, make a better living, better better, better, more, more, more. Our customers want more hours and more options, our employees want more hours, more money, and more knowledge. Becca and I want to strive, we want to always do better and make money and do all the little improvements we want to see at the restaurant, and despite this sounding like a complaint, most of the time the challenges are enjoyable. It's what we enjoy doing. I love a little pressure. I have a bad case of the “try hards.” I want to learn more and do more, cook more, provide better service, experiment with flavor combinations and cooking techniques. But it's good to remember to buck that system sometimes and take some days for ourselves and our loved ones. It's easy to forget the beauty of the forest while worrying about all the trees falling on you all the time.
So with that in mind, Becca and I brushed the weights of the restaurant off our shoulders, closed a few days, and headed to the eastern shore of Maryland to visit brackish waters, Canadian geese, and, of course, Becca's parents. They have a tranquil home right on the edge of the water surrounded by pine trees and tributaries. You can hear the bass jumping and the woodpeckers pecking. Jellybean had hungry eyes out for rabbits, squirrels, and any other fast-moving bushy-tailed rodents that make for a good chase and a good treat. Teddy, Becca's parents' dog, has been lax on his rodent and deer prevention, so Jellybean is happy to take up the slack.
While there we were cooking, eating, and getting eaten by mosquitoes. I may not have a drop of blood left by the time we get back, but what I lack in delicious blood I make up for in a full stomach. Up there I had a couple of jobs: cooking and turning in some old license plates to the MVA (Maryland Vehicle Assholes Association).
Day One: I prepare some ingredients ahead of time and Becca and I hit the road. You may all know Becca to be a sweet lady in the restaurant, but she really lets the devil out on the 495 beltway. I cower in the passenger seat while she cusses, yells, throws up gang signals, and flips off the cops until we turn off onto Route 50. Then she returns to normal sweet Becca, stops spitting up pea soup, and we cruise down the road towards her folks. We arrive, say our hellos, open a bottle of wine, and I start preparing lasagna with extra veggies. Becca makes a salad, I roast the lasagna and it's time for dinner, then ice cream, then bed.
Day Two: I wake up late, grab the last cup of coffee, and head out to the wood line to hammer and chisel some license plates off an old blue Chevy. How old? Let’s just say it's got a cassette tape player in the dash. I am pretty sure squirrels have taken on the registration, but the MVA has decided to start charging Becca's parents $7 a day until the tags are turned in, and they started doing this back in July. So with bent, jagged, tetanus-y plates in hand, I head to the MVA. I wait in line for an hour. When I get called up, the lady asks me why I am turning in plates, and I explain because they are charging my in-laws exorbitant amounts of money for a truck that hasn't been driven in years, and that unless I want them to continue stealing from my in-laws I have had to drive five hours, hammer plates off the truck, and bring them here. That is pretty much the end of the conversation. The rest of the transaction goes on in silence, but I got a receipt. I will be requesting a refund and reaching out to the MD state rep.
That done, feeling in a bit of a huff, I decide to treat myself to lunch at a little BBQ place for a BBQ sandwich and a National Bohemian Beer. While there, I see one of the employees hand another employee a pupusa. A pupusa, if you don't know, is like a round, flat tamale. Originating in El Salvador, they are pan fried and usually stuffed with beans and cheese. I tell the employee he’s lucky and that I love pupusas. The lady comes around the corner and asks if I wanted one and the conversation goes something like this:
“Oh no, I couldn't, that's too kind, I couldn't possible, no, please, don't go through any trouble … yes, yes of course I want one.”
So she brings me one, hot off the skillet, and It. Is. Awesome. She has made the curtido and the salsa rojo and sends that with the pupusa. Remember, I’ve already devoured a full pulled pork sandwich. But the conversation my stomach has with me goes something like this:
“Oh no, I couldn't, that's too much, I just ate. Well, I don't want to be rude, okay, yes of course I am going to eat this whole thing.”
And I did.
It really hits the spot. After dealing with the predatory MVA, a small gesture of kindness that goes straight into my stomach is exactly what the heart needs.
Alejandrìa, thank you, you're a queen.
On the way back home I stop by the seafood market and pick up some fresh Maryland blue crab. Best in the world! I also pick up some potatoes and cabbage. Tonight's dinner is going to be crab cakes with garden green beans, roasted potatoes, and coleslaw.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When on the Eastern Shore, eat crab cakes.
I know it's important to run a good business, to make hay while the sun shines, to work hard and all that stuff, but it's also important to stop and take a breath and see family and sit by the shore and eat crab cakes. So I am sorry if we missed you over the last few days, but we'll be back soon with a little more sun on our faces, pine needles in our shoe tread, bellies full of blue crab.
—Matt