The Man Who Didn't Pay Last Year's Rent

It's New Year's Eve, the ultimate celebration night. It is always super busy in the restaurant business. In our restaurants, we referred to it as 'Amateur Night'. If a person only went out one night a year, this was it. They always overindulged and usually made fools of themselves. Celebration always brings up thoughts of Champagne, not sparkling wine but true Champagne from the Champagne region of France. When I think of Champagne, I always think of Claude Taittinger.  

I was in the wine business for a few years. I had a friend who worked for Young's Market, a wholesale wine and liquor distributor in San Francisco. He told me I needed to get in the wine business because it was much easier than the restaurant business. Well, he lied. It wasn't easier. It was different. For the most part you get weekends and holidays off. You get to taste a lot of different wines and liquors, some of the really good stuff. And you get to travel to a lot of interesting places and meet a lot of interesting people. But it's just as difficult, only in a different way.    

After the repeal of Prohibition in the United States, a three-tier system of alcoholic beverage distribution was set up. These three tiers are producers or importers, distributors and retailers. When I started in the wine business, I went to work for Mr. Frank Stone at Empire Distributors in Atlanta. I started as a sales representative. I must tell you that I was always much better at consuming alcoholic beverages than selling them. I was never really a people person. You have to be a people person to be good at selling.

I have been lucky. I have worked in all three tiers of this system at one time or another. I worked for Winebow Inc. which was an importer. Empire which was a distributor and I have held retail liquor licenses in the different restaurants I have owned.

While with Empire Distributors, I advanced into management. I became the on-premise fine wine manager for Atlanta. I worked with Frank Stone, in dealing with the different producers and importers that we represented in the state of Georgia. We set up sales programs, pricing and liaisons with the wine shops and restaurants in our market. 

In addition to Georgia, Empire owned distributor houses in North Carolina, one in Wilmington, one in Raleigh, one in Charlotte and one in Asheville. The North Carolina houses represented a different set of producers and importers than in Georgia. At one point, Empire was having some problems in North Carolina so the owner sent Frank and myself up to solve them. I eventually became the state fine wine manager for North Carolina and traveled between the different houses educating their sales forces on the different fine wines in their portfolios. 

One of these importers was Kobrand Corporation. It is headquartered in a midtown Manhattan townhouse in New York City. It is a privately owned marketer of wines and spirits and serves as the exclusive agent for many fine European wines. Kobrand also owns many of the brands in their portfolio. They also represents brands from outside of Europe. All total, they have a large list of brands that they market in the United States.

Kobrand operated a week-long wine education course out of that townhouse for their different state distributor partners. I was invited to attend the course as the representative from Empire in North Carolina. This was back in 1997. I'm not sure that they still do this. There were about 40 of us from all over the country. We were housed in nearby hotels and classes started promptly at 8:00 in the morning. There was a break for lunch which always included a food and wine pairing, then we had afternoon classes. After class, there was a small break and then dinner out as a group with more food and wine pairings. It was quite intense. 

The classes included a lesson in blind tasting wine and lessons on all the different countries' wine regions. This only included the countries where Kobrand had brands.  Of course, we were also educated on the wineries and distillers Kobrand represented. Kobrand had its own educator and he traveled the country working with the different distributors sales forces on these particular countries and products. He led most of these classes but they also had representatives of different wineries (winemakers,sales managers or owners) conducting some of the classes. 

On the third day, for the afternoon session Mr. Claude Taittinger taught the course on Champagne. He stood at the back of the room and was introduced. As he made his way up to the lectern, he stopped at each person and asked their name and shook their hand. He actually kissed the ladies' hands. He's French. He gave an impressive lecture on the history and particulars of the Champagne region of France. It included the history of his champagne house and a tasting of his different cuvees. I was impressed, as was everyone else. As he left the room, he again shook or kissed everyone's hand and called them by their name. He had remembered everyone's name. I'm sure he had probably met some of these people before, but not all 40. I was astounded. 

Claude Taittinger died in January of 2022 at 94, a few days after New Year's Eve. He was a remarkable man who ran Champagne Taittinger for nearly 50 years. He was the ultimate bon vivant and an astute businessman. He started in the family business at age 22 and was 24 when he came to the United States representing the family to negotiate the distribution partnership with Kobrand.  During his tenure, he increased the number of family owned vineyards to 712 acres, increase production from 85,000 cases to over 410,000 cases per year. He also modernized the marketing of champagne as a luxury product. In addition he managed the other family businesses such as the Concorde Hotels and Baccarat Crystal. He was born into wealth and with his business acumen he greatly increased it. 

Mr. Taittinger was always an ambassador for the Taittinger brand. He was  a gourmand and a patron of the arts. He established the Pierre Taittinger International Culinary Award to recognize talented young chefs. He developed the Taittinger Collection which featured works of art by contemporary artist like Roy Lichtenstein and Andre Masson on bottles of Taittinger.

The third night was a free night for all the students of this wine course. There was no planned function. I have always been a fan of Broadway. Any trip to New York, in addition to restaurants has included at least one show. The musical 'Rent' had just opened and had received a lot of press. I was going to forgo a great dining experience for a great theater one. I don't know if the show's themes of love, friendship and artistic expression wasn't appealing to my fellow students. Or if the addressing of the social issues of HIV/AIDS, LGBTQ+ rights and poverty turned them off. For whatever reason I couldn't get anyone else interested in going with me. I have never been afraid to "go it alone" so I did. Everyone else went to clubs and restaurants and I went to the theater. Because of my solo status, the ticket I procured was center orchestra 5 rows back from the stage, a prime seat. 

'Rent' is a rock musical by Jonathan Larson and is loosely based on the 1896 opera 'La Boheme' by Giacomo Puccini. 'Rent' opened one hundred years later in 1996. Jonathan Larson died from an aortic dissection the night before it debuted and several days after New Year's Eve. He was 35. 'La Boheme' written by Puccini, an Italian, is set in Paris. "Rent' written by Mr. Larson, an American, is set in the East Village section of New York City. Both are about impoverished artists. 

  

Music has always been a mind escape for me. It takes me to a different place and time. On my first trip to New York City 25 years before, I had the chance to see a production of 'La Boheme' at Lincoln Center. Although I didn't understand a word of Italian, I was mesmerized by the music and staging. The music, lyrics and staging of 'Rent' had a similar effect on me. I loved it. 'Rent' won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama and the Tony Award for Best Musical. It ran for 12 years on Broadway and grossed over $280 million. It was also made into a movie that starred all but 2 of the original Broadway cast.

Mr. Larson was a remarkable man. It took a lot of talent and hard work to make this show happen. It's sad to think he never got to see it open on Broadway. All the songs carried power and feeling. They had a profound effect on me, especially the Life Support song, "Will I" -

Will I Lose My Dignity?

Will Someone Care?

Will I Wake Tomorrow

From This Nightmare?  

I'm sure Mr. Taittinger saw productions of 'La Boheme'. Champagne and opera seem to go hand in hand. I'm pretty sure that Mr. Taittinger never saw a production of 'Rent' but I could be wrong. There is a line in one of the songs in 'Rent' where the impoverished artists of Alphabet City lament the fact that they will not be able to pay last year's rent, this year's rent or next year's rent. I don't think Mr. Taittinger ever had a problem paying any year's rent. I'm not sure he ever had any rent to pay. But he was a people person. He would have understood their predicament. In my book, Mr. Taittinger's gifts are priceless. So are Mr. Larson's. I'm sad I never had the opportunity to shake Mr. Larson's hand. But I celebrate his words. 

Seasons Of Love

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes

Five hundred, twenty five thousand moments so dear

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets

In midnights, in cups of coffee

In inches, in miles

In laughter, in strife

In five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes

How do you measure a year in a life?

How about love?

How about love?

How about love?

Measuring love

Seasons of love

Seasons of love

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes

Five hundred, twenty five thousand journeys to plan

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes

How can you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned

Or in times that he cried

In bridges he burned

Or the way that she died

It's time now to sing out

Although it's not the end

To celebrate, remember a year in the life of a friend

Remember the love

Remember the love

Remember the love

Measuring the seasons of love

Seasons of love

We Need A Little Christmas Now

 

"Haul Out The Holly

Put Up The Tree Before My Spirit Falls Again

Fill Up The Stocking 

I May Be Rushing Things, But Deck The Halls Again Now...

We Need A Little Christmas Now"

These are the words in a song from the musical 'Mame'. It's a song that isn't sung at Christmas time but "two weeks before the 4th of July". I have never seen the musical 'Mame' and yet I know the words to this song by heart thanks to the folks at the Inn at Sawmill Farm. 

Fifty years ago, the first winter I worked at the Inn at Sawmill Farm, I was exposed to this song a number of times every night. They had an upright player piano in the bar that used paper rolls for reproducing the music and the staff, Williams family members, and Inn guests provided the lyrics. You couldn't help but sing along too.

It is a jaunty song about hope and redemption. When you are twenty-five, you know everything and no one can tell you anything. You are cynical about other people's motives and life in general. There is a line in 'Mame' - "Life is a banquet and most poor bastards are starving to death." That was a perfect description of me. This song made me forget all that. 

"For I've Grown A Little Leaner, Growner A Little Colder

Grown A Little Sadder, Grown A Little Older

And I Need A Little Angel Sitting On My Shoulder

Need A Little Christmas Now"

I like other Christmas songs - White Christmas, Underneath The Tree, All I Want For Christmas Is You and the Hallelujah Chorus from the Messiah. Sally and I heard an unseen boys choir singing Silent Night in The Nave of Saint Peter's Basilica after walking through the Porta Santa. This was at the turn of the millennium and that was truly awe inspiring. No song affects me like "We Need A Little Christmas". I don't know if it was because when I first heard it i was happy skiing in Vermont and working and playing with the great people at the Inn at Sawmill Farm. I'm not sure. I do know it makes me believe in Christmas. It gives me hope. 

At my age, I don't know how many Christmases I have left. A year is a long time and anything can happen. There are a lot of evils in the world. I'm old so I worry about things like that. I have come to the realization that I don't know everything and never did. I see all the inhumane acts man is capable of and become disheartened. When I hear "We Need A Little Christmas", no matter what time of the year, even "two weeks before the 4th of July", I become hopeful. Some people have accused me of being an "old softie". Maybe I am. 

Thank you, "Bo" and the rest of the William's Family. 

"For We Need A Little Music, Need A Little Laughter

Need A Little Singing Ringing Through The Rafters

And We Need A Little Snappy, Happy Ever After

We Need A Little Christmas Now"

 

 

            Time Is Never On Your Side

When I was young and foolish, I thought I would live forever or at least until I was 30 (back then 30 was forever). I am having to reconsider that thought. As I approach 75, I have come to the conclusion that time is never on your side. Time inflicts pain. Once flawlessly working body parts start to hurt or ache or stop working altogether. Vision and hearing start to fade. It starts with that old sports metaphor "he's lost a step", meaning you're not as fast as you once were. Or you're not as strong or as mentally quick. Simple tasks are no longer simple. Perhaps the most tragic pain is the fading of memory that sometimes leads to the worst thing that can happen in old age, dementia, the inability to remember the who, what, when and where of you. This happened to my mother and it was heartbreaking. They say this is just a part of getting old, that getting old isn't for the faint of heart. This is bullshit. I've seen plenty of 90-100 year olds who are spry and still have nimble minds. They might have "lost a step" but they are still in the race. 

Time is a thief. It robs us of family members and friends. Sometimes we do this to ourselves by our actions or our choices. Either way is no less painful. Death is the most tragic characteristic of time. Being in the food and wine business, a lot of my friends who have died were also in the food and wine business - Rodney "Bo" Williams of the Inn at Sawmill Farm, Frank Stone of Empire Distributors, Eddie Ausch of Reisner's Delicatessen, Joe Hoggard of the Ships Cabin, Bayne Williams of Young's Markets, Vittorio Marianecci of Zenato.... The list goes on and on. The longer I live the longer the list gets. I guess this is the price for getting old, outliving your friends. 

Time steals in other ways. We also experience the death of some of our favorite restaurants. The most tragic and sickening has to be the loss of  Windows On The World at the Twin Trade Towers in New York City on September 11, 2001. It was a favorite of mine and all the fond memories are tainted with the memory of what happened; 79 employees died among the 2,753 people that day at the Twin Trade Towers. I am not able to forget that, when I remember "The Most Spectacular Restaurant in the World".

My first trip there was in the early 1980's. Windows On The World opened in April of 1976 and was the creation of Joe Baum the wizard behind The Four Seasons, Quo Vadis, Tavern On The Green, The Forum Of The Twelve Caesars and many more magnificent restaurants. It had received lots of press and was the highest grossing restaurant in the world. Windows On The World was open as a private club at lunch, the best time for a great view. If you paid a small fee you could join for the day and go up. When I say up, I mean up. Windows On The World was on the 107th floor of the North Tower. There was an elevator that only made one stop and that was at the top. It was fast but strangely it didn't seem that way. You were in this dark box and your ears popped as you went up. It was a little disconcerting. No, it was a lot disconcerting. 

When we arrived, the doors opened to a elegant and stylish reception area but your eyes went to the left, to the light. Down a corridor to the 'floor to ceiling' windows with the astounding view. It was one of the most awe inspiring sensations I have ever experienced.

The name Windows On The World was absolutely perfect. We were a bit early for our reservation, so I asked if we could have a seat in the bar while we waited. The hostess took us to the bar and introduced us to Thomas the bartender. We had a seat, ordered a couple of glasses of wine and I talked up our new friend, Thomas. I told him we had a small restaurant in Captiva and how I had read so much about Windows in different food and trade magazines. This was before the internet. Thomas left the bar for a moment, returning with one of the assistant managers. She took us on a tour of the whole complex, all the dining rooms, the kitchen, the Wine Cellar in the Sky and storerooms. She even stood there while I chatted with the chef. After our tour she escorted us to one of the prime tables right by the window. It was a clear sunny day and the view was incredible, almost surreal. 

We sat. She said not to worry about our bar bill. It would be included with our final bill. She left. The table was so close to the window you had a sensation of floating on air outside the glass. It was so disconcerting for my wife that she wanted to move one row back if possible. I was in a quandary. They had given us one of the best tables in the house because they knew we were in the business and would appreciate it. Do I turn that down? It wasn't right for my wife to be uncomfortable, either.

Our waiter sensed the problem. I don't think my wife was the first to be disturbed by the height factor. He arranged for us to move one row back and we had a beautiful lunch. Everyone was comfortable. While waiting for our appetizers, I went back to the bar and thanked Thomas for arranging everything. I slipped him a twenty. This was back in the day when a twenty was actually worth something. He tried to refuse it but I left it on the bar. All the employees at Windows On The World were sensitive to the needs and desires of their customers. That was the kind of people Windows On The World hired. They made good money but money wasn't their only motivation. They wanted us to be happy.

It would be 3 years before I had a chance to return. By then it was no longer a private club at lunch but still an innovative restaurant concept with the spectacular view. Joe Baum never rested on his laurels. Of my 4 visits, I never went at night, always during the day. I was lucky because every visit was on a clear sunny day. I arrived early again and went into the bar and had a seat. Thomas was there. He looked up, saw me and said: "Hi, Michael. How are things in Captiva? I'll be right with you." I was blown away. How in the world did he remember me after all the people he had served in those 3 years? He is number 1 on my list of professional bartenders. We had another great lunch with a fantastic view, one row back from the window. They remembered that too. 

I made 2 more trips back over the years. Each visit was fantastic. On my last, Thomas wasn't there. His replacement told me that Thomas, with a friend had opened their own restaurant in Connecticut. I was happy for him. 

That means he wasn't there on September 11, 2001. He was one of the lucky ones. As was Michael Lomonaco, the executive chef of Windows On The World on that day. He was due into work but stopped on the ground floor to get his glasses replaced at an optometrist. He ran an errand and his life was spared. He lives with that survivor's guilt of "why them and not me" to this day. Knowing Thomas, he probably feels the same. 

We lose our "old friend" restaurants for various reasons: financial, advanced age of the owners or chef, greed of landlords, greed of "silent" partners, or bad behavior of the owner or chef. None of Time's reasons is more tragic or heartbreaking than what happened to Windows On The World. It was lost to the world's greatest crime, war. Man's inhumanity to his fellow man by use of murder. All brought about by man's inability to tolerate people who are different. It's greed of a different sort. This was the worst kind of war because it didn't involve soldiers but innocent civilians trying to make a living. There were some warriors lost that day; they were the policemen and firemen that ran into harm's way to help while everyone else was running away to escape the devastation and horror. They were the heros that day. It's been over twenty years and the memory still hurts. There were eighteen survivors pulled from the wreckage of the Twin Trade Towers on September 11, 2001. Eighteen out of almost three thousand. Time was not on our side that day. I can never forget that. It is part of my memory of Windows On The World, "The Most Spectacular Restaurant in the World".

               

            

            

 

          A B-52 Is Not Just An Airplane

I just had a 35 year flashback! I glanced up and saw 3 bottles (Kahlua, Baileys Irish Cream, and Grand Marnier) in my liquor cabinet and I was transported back to the late 1980's and Shirley's Spirit of Foolishness, an infamous bar on Captiva Island. Before me was a cork lined bar tray with 25 B52's and they weren't the airplane but the above pictured layered shot. I started to sweat. My body had a slight tremor and I was experiencing a bit of anxiety. No, that's a lie. I was completely trashed and felt nothing. I smiled and reached for the closest one. Yes, just one more (famous last words). 

You are asking yourself, "How did this happen?" At least I hope you are and don't consider this (25 shots on a bar tray) a normal occurrence. It's a complicated story. At this time I, with my wife Sherrill, owned a restaurant on Captiva called The Greenhouse. It was a small 50 seat white tablecloth restaurant serving a limited menu of contemporary American cuisine. Because we were on an island in the Gulf of Mexico, we focused on seafood but we also had lamb, duck, veal and beef. Our menu changed weekly. I was the Chef and Sherrill ran the "front of the house". We had a small hard working crew and at the end of season, Sherrill and I liked to reward them with a special treat. This year, we rented a stretch limousine and took everyone to Ft. Meyers for a food and wine extravaganza. It was to be a progressive dinner. There were about 8 of us. No drunk driving for this crew. We hit several spots and tried to consume all their champagne, not sparkling wine but true champagne. We accomplished this in a couple of the spots.

The first was a wings establishment for appetizers. They advertised the "Ultimate Wings" which was 20 wings and a bottle of Dom Perignon for $100. I think it was a Hooters but I'm not sure. My memory is a bit fuzzy. I don't know if it's because of age or the amount of alcohol consumption that night. We managed to exhaust their supply of champagne after 3 orders. 

This is where, things get sort of real fuzzy for me, because we had consumed a few bottles of wine (red, white, and Champagne) on the trip into Ft. Meyers. I know we continued to a few other restaurants eating and drinking our way through their menus. I remember ending up in a comedy club. After we drank all their Champagne (Which was only 2 bottles), we made the decision to switch from Champagne to B52 shots, a big mistake but not considered so at the time.      

We moved on to a dancing spot and engaged in more B52 consumption. This whole time our driver was perfect. It was like he was psychic. He had the car waiting right outside the front door at every spot we went to, right as we exited. He knew the location of the next spot as soon as one of us mentioned it and got us there quickly, dropping us off right at the front door. He was amazing.

The dancing spot was at Punta Rassa and it was approaching midnight. We had been drinking for about six hours. After a bit, someone decided it was time to go home, most probably Sherrill. She was the only sane one at this juncture. Our driver quickly had us on our way. We dropped some of our crew off along the way to our house on Captiva. We still ended up with about five people at our house. The driver helped us out of the car and even walked the dog because no one was in any condition to do it. I paid him in cash and grossly over-tipped him as drunk people always do. After someone suggested we resume our drinking at Shirley's Spirit of Foolishness, he offered to drive us free of charge and wait for us. I thanked him but told him that wouldn't be necessary. It was only a couple blocks and this was a small island, so they were small blocks. He left and some of us stumbled on down to Shirley's. Sherrill wisely chose to go to bed. I should have. 

During the course of our B52 escapade, one of us instituted a hand gesture to indicate our desire for another B52. It consisted of using the left hand to show five fingers and the right to indicate two, a 5 and a 2. Simple, right? In our inebriated state, it was much more effective than slurring the words. We all adopted it. When we arrived at Shirley's, John, my stepson and cooking accomplice, asked what we wanted to drink. Of course, I replied with a rapid succession of fives and twos. They were so rapid that they got to be a bit confusing. Two of us managed to start a mangled game of 8 ball. The next thing I know, I look up and there is John with that tray of 25 B52's. 

This being Shirley's, they were in plastic sauce cups not the glass shot conveyors we had previously been using. I will give them credit though, they were perfectly layered. There were four of our crew left drinking but I'm sure we didn't drink all 25. I'm sure we gave away the majority of them, at least I think we did. This goes back to the fuzzy part of my memory. I do know for sure that we didn't leave until that tray was empty. 

The next morning (actually later that same morning), I miraculously awoke in my own bed. As I moved about, I found bodies in unusual places. Luckily everyone was still alive, in pain but alive. We moved quickly to Capt'n Al's at South Seas Plantation for some breakfast (Brunch?) and their famous life saving Bloody Marys. 

Nowadays, I get that aforementioned feeling (I started to sweat. My body had a slight tremor and I was experiencing a bit of anxiety) every time I see a B52. I wonder why? 

3/4 Ounce Kahlua

3/4 Ounce Bailey's Irish Cream

3/4 Ounce Grand Marnier 

• Add the Kahlua to a glass or shot glass. Slowly add Irish cream by pouring it over the back of a spoon. Slowly add the Grand Marnier over the back of spoon, allowing it to layer on top. 

        

      Old Customers Are The Best Kind

My first restaurant was called the Iron Gate House. It was on the corner of 36th Street and Atlantic Avenue in Virginia Beach, Virginia. That was half a lifetime ago so my memory of it might be suspect.

A month ago I received an email from Mr. Ken Rhodes. He was an old customer and had visited us several times back in the day. He mentioned several other small fine dining spots of that time but he wanted to know about the history of the Iron Gate House in particular as it was his favorite. His email ended up in my spam folder but I check that folder every now and then just in case something legitimate ends up in there. You can't be too careful these days with all the scams and crazies out there. After a little research, it appeared that Mr. Rhodes was the real deal. This is my reply to him. 

Ken,

From your email, I understand you want to know about the history of the opening of Iron Gate House. It’s a complicated story and one I wrote a semi-autographical novel about. It’s 240 pages so I will give you a shorter more truthful account (in a novel you can’t let the truth get in the way of a good story).

I went to college at East Carolina University in Greenville NC in the late 60’s and early 70’s. There I worked at a restaurant waiting tables and bartending. I came from a poor family and needed money to live while pursuing my higher education. I got out in 1971 and went to live with a fraternity brother in Virginia Beach. There I secured a job waiting tables at the Copper Kettle Restaurant at the Hilton. In 1972 I met Mel “Rat” Cliborne who was also working at the Copper Kettle. He had just returned from a winter in Aspen CO and was enamored with skiing. He talked it up and we decided to go to Vermont. The restaurant business at the Beach slowed drastically during the winter. In essence we became beach bums in the summer and ski bums in the winter. We did this for 3 years. At Mt. Snow in Vermont, we worked waiting tables. Rat worked at Snow Lake Lodge, and I worked at the Inn at Sawmill Farm. At the Sawmill, I was hired to take people’s day off, one day I was the bartender, one day I was the host, and three days I was a waiter. At the Sawmill, we also had to work breakfast, so they wouldn’t let us work more than 5 days a week. It was a small family run inn. With the winter weather situation, occasionally a cook wouldn’t show up so I would pitch in and help. I found out I was pretty good at it and really enjoyed the "back of the house" work. That summer instead of going back to Virginia Beach, we worked the summer in New Hope PA at the Golden Pheasant Inn, another small operation. There too, occasionally cooks wouldn’t show up and we pitched in.

In 1974, we returned to Virginia Beach and worked at the newly opened Orion’s Roof at the New Cavalier Hotel. It was a lot larger than the small inns I had been working in and had a lot of tableside service. Rat and I knew tableside service from the other places we had worked so we fit right in. It was here that I met Sherrill, my first wife. We started dating and found we had a lot in common. In the fall, I went to Vermont to work Foliage Season, I invited Sherrill up for a week, she ended up staying two. We fell in love in the colorful windswept mountains and started living together. We returned to Virginia Beach that summer. I heard that Orion’s Roof was looking for a manager, so I applied for the job. I got it. Sherrill and I ran the "front of the house" that summer. In the fall, the management of the hotel decided to close the restaurant for the winter, so I moved next door to the Ocean’s Club as assistant manager. I was hired by Mr. Willard Ashburn, a member of the Ocean’s Club. He also hired Peggy Powell as manager and David Cherry as chef. I’m not sure of how long the club had been around but it was fairly new to the complex of the Oceans Condominium Project. It had a lot of North End and Bay Colony residents as members. One in particular was Mr. David Danzinger. He taught me how to make crabcakes. The condominium had gone through a couple of different owners during construction and the initial sales campaign. At that time, it was being overseen by Mr. Wally Davies of Mortgage Investors of Washington. Wally had hired Jake Steele, who owned and operated an interior design and furniture company to furnish interior design options for the prospective owners. He had staged several of the condos as examples of different possibilities. Sherrill had been in sales (Real Estate) in Lynchburg prior to moving to the Beach after a divorce. She could sell ice to Eskimos. She went to work for Jake. All these people would play a pivotal role in the birth of The Iron Gate House.

There was a covered walkway that went from the condominium across Atlantic Avenue to the Club property. The club consisted of a small 50-seat dining room and offices on this upper level, a 75-seat bar area downstairs with a dance floor, a 200-seat dining room, Olympic size swimming pool, swim-up bar, sundeck, and cabanas, all right on the Ocean. The membership was quite a mix and several interesting situations occurred but that is a different story.

I worked at the Oceans from the fall of 1975 into 1976. On St. Patrick’s Day of 1976, Sherrill and I were married in Vermont at the small church in West Dover. Our marriage license was signed by a county clerk with the last name of Angel. Is anything sappier than that? We both continued to work at our jobs. During the summer Peggy Powell went to work at the Princess Anne CC and I became manager of the Oceans. Mr. Ashburn was a member of the Princess Ann as well and had arranged that. I should have known something was afoot. It appears that, as the sales of the condo units went up and new owners increased in numbers, the need for the club as an amenity just for the unit owners was going to be a necessity. Mortgage Investors of Washington forced the issue, and the club was kicked out as of January 1st 1977. The club had booked a number of holiday parties. Mr. Ashburn set it up that if David Cherry and I would stay and work them we could split the profits derived from them. During this same period, my old friend Rat had gone into business with a college buddy, Bob Venner, at the Captain’s Table Restaurant in the Schooner Hotel. This got me to thinking about doing the same thing. For most of the summer, since Friday nights were our slowest night, I gave David Cherry the night off. In the small dining room upstairs, I cooked themed 5 course dinners. I had garnered a following. For a long time, I had dreamed of owning my own restaurant. I was tired of watching owners make mistakes I would never make. I was 27 and arrogant. It was time to make a dream come true.

I had been driving past an old beach house that had been converted to retail on the corner of 36th Street and Atlantic Avenue for a few years. I noticed a for sale sign in front of the food shop there. I stopped by one day to investigate. The shop fit the bill for a small 50-seat restaurant (I needed at least 50 seats to get a liquor license). The owner was 82-year-old Sarah Wilson, and she lived in the house next door. I went to talk to her. I explained my dream to open a small restaurant serving a prix fixe 5-course dinner of classic dishes. In her younger days she had owned a guest house with a tearoom. This was back at a time when it was very rare for a woman to do this. For some reason she liked me and wanted to help. She made me a very reasonable deal on the rent, and we were off and running.

What we did in 1977, you could never do today. Now there is too much government involvement. Back then we flew by the seat of our pants. We didn’t pull any building permits. We did most of the work ourselves. The food shop was an already approved food facility, although in no way adequate for a real restaurant. They had a home stove and exhaust system which was perfect for the cookies, cakes, sauces and candies they prepared. That wasn’t going to work for a real restaurant. Sarah sensed we were going to need more space, so she provided us in addition to the food shop an additional bedroom, bathroom, and small porch area that she was leasing out on the first floor. This became our cold appetizer / salad / dessert prep area and small service bar area (the wait staff made their own drinks; we didn’t have a bartender). It also provided us with a men’s bathroom.

The whole building consisted of the food shop, that first floor apartment, 2 upstairs apartments and Sarah’s basement antique shop. We eventually took over half of her antique shop for our downstairs dining room and late-night spot. The food shop consisted of the original living room, dining room, bathroom, kitchen, storage room and the large side porch. We cut holes in walls, rewired, replumbed, plastered and painted (the walls were the old lathe and plaster with true 2x4 studs). The restaurant business sometimes requires an owner to be a bit more talented than just having food, service, and financial skills.

We had a very limited budget. It consisted of Sherrill’s and my meager savings account, the money from the holiday parties, the money we acquired from the sale of Sherrill’s 450 SL convertible and the kindness of friends and sometimes strangers.

Carlton Smart was a huge asset. He was a foodservice supplies and equipment salesman. I knew him from purchasing equipment at Orion’s Roof and the Oceans Club. Carlton obtained our flatware from the Oceana Officers Club; they were switching over from silverplate to stainless steel. We had no burnishing machine, we polished it all by hand, but we got it at no cost. He also personally cleaned and repaired a used 6-burner commercial stove which he provided at no cost. He also provided all our other supplies and equipment at a reasonable price, either new or slightly used. He got us in contact with the metal wizard who crafted our 10ft. stainless steel hood, the single most expensive piece of equipment we needed. It was at a reasonable price, but we joked that it was Sherrill’s 450 SL hanging up there in our kitchen. He provided the 3-compartment s/s sink and grease trap in the kitchen storeroom that became our dishwashing room. A room that had a view onto Atlantic Avenue and the beach. Initially, we couldn’t afford a dishwashing machine. We washed everything by hand.

Wally allowed us to borrow Royal Doulton dishware from the Oceans Club surplus stock. Sarah let us use some items from her antique shop. Jake Steele helped us get into auctions that provided us with our dining room chairs and sideboards. One of my customers from the Friday night dinners provided us with a sage bit of advice, “Don’t borrow money for a restaurant. Banks love to foreclose”. Rat was a bit of a green thumb and provided us with some plants for the porch area. He also turned us on to some of the suppliers he was using. Restaurant ownership is a fraternity often with more friendship than competitiveness. Our friends helped out with free labor, and we couldn’t have opened without them.

We accomplished this in 3 months and opened on St. Patrick’s Day 1977, on our wedding anniversary. Sherrill and I moved into an apartment overtop the restaurant. We were mentally and physically exhausted, but we had done it. Sherrill handled the front of the house, and I managed the back. I was the chef. Now you are asking yourself when and how did you learn to cook?

Rat and I both had a passion for cooking. Our passion for cooking started with our dinner parties. We found out women liked it when a man cooked for them. My first night at the beach, my fraternity brother showed me how to make mayonnaise. It was a simple egg yolk, lemon juice and vegetable oil emulsion. I was amazed how easily it went together. I think that was the seed for me. I didn’t go to a cooking school. In the 1970’s culinary schools were in their infancy in the United States. Besides, I couldn’t afford the time away from earning a living to go to school. I was poor.

I learned from cookbooks. I started with the Joy of Cooking and progressed through Julia Child, Jacques Pépin, James Beard and others. I had a book titled, The Great Chefs of France, I loved. The Joy of Cooking and it were the most worn. In the end I had a couple hundred cookbooks.

I learned from cooking magazines, Gourmet in particular. Caroline Bates wrote reviews of California restaurants. I liked her. Unlike some reviewers who delight in ripping a restaurant apart, she and her East Coast cohort Jay Jacobs only reviewed restaurants that were good. They would point out flaws but for the most part they wrote why these restaurants were good. I would plan trips to California and New York around these reviews. Of course, that was after I made some money.

I learned technique from chefs and cooks where I worked and where I ate. In Italy there is an old saying about cooking. "Watch, then steal with your eyes". That’s what I did. When I went out to eat, I always ended up in the kitchen talking with the chef or a cook. This would exasperate some of my companions, but they would soon learn this was me. It was a compulsion for me. I collected recipes. My eyes stole recipes from the cooks at the places I worked. I got some from family and friends. I got some from my cookbooks and the food magazines. I ended up with quite a few.

I realized early on I needed a foundation. I found it in ‘The Complete Guide to the Art of Modern Cookery’ by Escoffier and the CIA’s ‘The Professional Chef’. At the time, most of the upscale restaurants in America were French based, either actually being French or founded on French technique. I liked the intensity of flavor I got from using stocks, ripe produce, and quality ingredients.

While in my father’s boot camp (he was a Major in the Marine Corps), I spent four years on a farm. My father had a small garden behind the house and a four-acre plot in a field on the way to the creek. He raised a lot of different fruits and vegetables. They were never picked unless they were ripe. I learned early on what a ripe tomato should taste like. It was the same with corn, peas, green beans, onions, melons, rhubarb, and a host of other things. I especially like the early spring wild asparagus my dad found in the fence row that led to the back pasture. They were small and there never was an abundance of them, but they were tasty. I built a sensory memory of what these foods should taste like. At the time I didn’t realize that. They were just dinner.

My mother was a typical housewife of the 50’s and 60’s. She didn’t cook complicated dishes. Things were simple. We had sliced tomatoes with only salt and pepper, fried pork chops, sliced cucumber and onion topped with vinegar, fried chicken, pot roast and mashed potatoes with gravy. The most complicated dish she made was pork chops in Spanish rice. It was a sensory memory for me. It would come back as diced pork loin in sofrito and rice as the basis of a paella dish ten years later. Some cooks see things other cooks don’t. Does that make them better? No, it makes them different. I like different. I’m not alone.

Food and wine are connected. I learned about wine while I worked in different restaurants. I learned the most from a customer. Eddie and Erica Ausch owned a deli and wine shop (Reisner’s Delicatessen) back off the beach. It had the best wine selection in the area. This was before the internet. I spent hours walking up and down those aisles looking at bottles and reading the labels. Eddie worked those aisles too, but he was selling. I wasn’t buying anything. I bought from the same wholesalers he did. Eddie noticed this but he also noticed the interest I had in wine.

Malcolm Forbes said, “You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him.” Eddie was like that. After talking with Eddie for two minutes I realized I knew nothing at all about wine. Eddie didn’t accept that and took me under his wing. Eddie believed there is only one way to learn about wine. You have to taste it. He believed tasting it included tasting the good stuff, the really good stuff. He was like that really good tennis player you want to play against because it will improve your game. You have to realize that it does absolutely nothing for his game. So, why did he do it? He did it for the love of the game.

We visited each other’s restaurants. We always pulled a few corks. We always shared. One trip to Eddie’s involved a corned beef sandwich and a bottle of 1966 Chateau Haut Brion. It would turn out to be my favorite wine. It had a particular depth and earthy quality that no other wine possessed. It was a favorite of Eddie’s too. We tasted a lot of different wines. Some were expensive. Some were good buys. Some were not to our taste. They all taught me something. They were just like people.

When I left the beach, I lost touch with Eddie. Over the years I heard that Eddie and Erica’s families were Holocaust refugees. She and her family got out of Austria in 1938 when they were sponsored by a cousin in Norfolk. She was 3. Eddie’s family got out of Vienna in 1939 for New York when he was 8. When I knew them in Virginia Beach, they never spoke of this past. They were too busy living the present.

Poor people eat what they can grow, shoot, or catch. They don’t waste anything. Wealthy people eat whatever they want. Waste is not a consideration for them. I worked in upscale restaurants that catered to the wealthy. I would cater to them too. My menus consisted of luxury items, beef tenderloin, rack of lamb, veal, duck, lobster, crab, and fresh fish. I made everything from scratch. I didn’t use shortcuts.

I was in the first wave of truly American cooks. I was a Francophile who dared to believe American food could be as good as French. I was young and arrogant. I was excited. I didn’t have wealthy parents or a trust fund. I knew if I failed, I wouldn’t get another chance. I worked long hours to prevent that from happening. I joined a different brotherhood. Here cuts and burns designated your membership far more readily that a secret handshake or motto. The cooking line involves things that can hurt you; sharp knives, finger severing cleavers, arm searing grills, vats of boiling water, caldrons of bubbling oil and a slew of bone crushing machines.

This was the birth of the Iron Gate House. We were constantly changing, upgrading, and evolving our equipment, food, and taste. We were constantly learning. You never know everything. Along the way, I got to meet Jacques Pépin and a lot of other famous chefs and restaurant people. I am a lucky man. I have gotten pretty much everything I have ever wanted.

And to go back to the kind of person Sarah Wilson was, on our second day we were open for lunch (we did lunch the first year). Sarah brought in a group of ladies for lunch and insisted on paying when we tried to comp her bill. She found out from her waiter that we didn’t have a lunchtime dishwasher and I was back there washing dishes and cooking. The 82-year-old lady got up, bid farewell to her guest and marched back to our kitchen. I looked up from preparing some lunches and she had grabbed an apron, rolled up her sleaves and was washing dishes. This brought tears to my eyes.

This is probably way more information than you wanted but once I got started it was hard to stop. Sherrill and I ran The Iron Gate House for 6 years and sold it to 4 of our employees, 2 from the kitchen, 2 from the front. It was time for us to move on and that is another story. Over the years they, “paved over paradise and put up a parking lot”. The Iron Gate House no longer exists, a parking garage sits in its place, Sarah Wilson died, and Sherrill and I are divorced. (It happens even to good people.)

I’ve included a couple of pictures in case you have forgotten what the place looked like or just need a little refresher.

Regards,

Michael

I haven't heard back from Mr. Rhodes. With the uncertainty of time, any number of things could have happened. A couple of them I don't wish to think about. No matter what, it was nice of him to remember the Iron Gate House. Old customers are the best kind because they help you to remember too. Thank you, Mr. Rhodes.