I generally don’t mind being left out. I hesitate to say that, mostly because it points glaringly at the hermit crab shell I like to sink into every now and then, and because socially, that’s weird, right? I don’t know, sometimes I really don’t mind being the third wheel, or whatever it is that they call it. Tricycles are cooler anyway. If I can drift off into some dream world of my own, I’m usually ok. Better than ok, actually.
But since I’m the weird one, and you, readers, are presumably the ones without hermit crab shells, and by that I mean not socially awkward, you’re probably feeling pretty left out by now. I don’t know if it’s because I've been too busy to notice or I’m missing some kind of cordial gene or what, but I’ve been carrying on about my restaurant, all this time, and I’ve never once formally introduced you to it and all of it’s lovely people. I’ve been a bad host.
So, then, in the spirit of not being left out, I’d like to introduce you to where I work, or more accurately, the place that has had dibs on me every Saturday date-night since high school. Let’s call it a meet and greet, long overdue.
Readers, kindly meet the Still River Café:
If you want to see more pictures of the interior, which you should because the barn is really quite something, take a look here. I took these at the end of service yesterday, and was experiencing the routine back-and-feet-ache ailments of serving, and well, didn’t quite have the patience for my camera.
I suppose this meet and greet will be slightly incomplete, because I didn’t corner each of the servers and snap photos of them, mug-shot style. I tried to be as discreet as possible, which meant that for today, you only get to meet the kitchen. But that’s ok, because this is where most of the magic happens anyway.
Readers, meet the kitchen:
That's Brandon, all the way to the right. He can usually be found at his station, singing a mean rendition of an 80s rock song, in case you wanted to know. Laurent is to the left, manning the stove, and is the frenchman that taught me to dice with the best of them. Also, that the the unused tops and leftover sides of red peppers shouldn't be thrown away because, in his words, zey are moneey.
And here's Joe-of-all-trades, who is apparently a muscle man, who usually serves with us but can also work in the kitchen, if needed.
Our dishwasher James may require a post of his own. In short, he's the man to go to if you're wondering how long it will take to translate, backwards, a Greek novel to English in your spare time. Or if you're short red wine glasses. Meet James:
I know you still haven't met the servers, or the owners who mostly function as second parents for me, but at least now you'll feel a little less left out. Stay tuned for hummus, independent study writing, and perhaps some pork buns (!!!).