In Memory of Travis Hendrick 1928 - 2009, Part II

I remember meeting my father in law, Travis, for the first time around twenty years ago; when I decided I do the chivalrous deed and ask permission and blessing to marry his daughter, Karen. I was living in northern California at the time, and their home in Bakersfield was about a six hour train ride from where I was in San Francisco. With suitcase in sweaty hand, I hopped aboard and ventured off to meet him and Betty.

We had a nice dinner together on their peaceful acreage on the Kern River, and after we finished eating, Betty encouraged us to go play a game of pool while she cleaned up. As I racked the billiards into the triangle frame, Travis asked me in his gregarious way, “So what are we playing for?” I seized this moment to make my intentions known, and abruptly responded with “How about your daughter’s hand in marriage?” I breathed a sigh of relief after his response.

“I guess I better make sure and lose then.”

I knew at that point I would be welcomed into the family. Thus began my story with the man I will remember as Travis Hendrick.

I will always remember hear his voice in my head while in conversation with him, saying something like this:

“Let me tell you a story” or

“Well, the story goes like this.” or

“Did I ever tell you the one about…?”or

“Betty, let me finish the story…”

There were the stories about growing up playing football in West Texas, about the work in the oil fields and about the snotty nosed greenhand supervisor and all the changes in Shell Oil that led to his retirement. Being from Nebraska, he always like to update me on stories when Coach Tom Osborne made the news somewhere in his area, usually because of his work with Fellowship of Christian Athletes.

Then of course there were the shenanigans that he told on himself, and with these we could fill a book, like the time he got stuck in their water holding tank and had to have Betty fill it with water so he could float up to the top and climb out, or even recently when he was complaining of pain around his swollen ankle and we all find our later that the reason it hurt so bad was because of a snake bite that he was unaware of.

I will always remember Travis for the stories he told, like the time Karen and her high school friend Theresa ran cross country together. Since they didn’t like to be competitive with one another, during one race they decided to run across the finish line holding hands and completing the course at the same time. I’ve heard that story countless times in twenty years, and to this day Karen swears that never happened.

But interesting, isn’t’ it, that the way we remember a man of stories is with more stories. It’s because stories are how we remember. They provide us a better way of remembering, far better than a list of simple facts. Over twenty years, some of the facts of Travis’ stories changed here and there, probably due to age, or maybe teller embellishment, but the basic point was the same. The story gave us the essence, the mood, the emotion or the idea, much more so than if we were to just list all the facts and statistics in a family reference manual that we could refer at some point in time.

Big Dad was our storyteller. He gave us something that was unique and that we will miss, but he also gave us something that we will cherish and pass on. He gave us stories, ones that will either fade away and drift from memory, or ones that will continue to live beyond his life,

...if we continue to tell them.

In Memory of Travis Hendrick 1928 - 2009

Just as life does not wait around for a person to decide if he or she will live it fully, neither does death take those plans into consideration when it comes calling. Tuesday morning, as we were leaving for Galway, we received the news that Karen's dad, Travis, had passed away. Grateful we were not already in route, we wheeled around and returned to our quarters where we made plans to change Karen's ticket to fly back to the US a day early.

Once we contacted family and made all the necessary arrangements, we decided to keep our date with Galway and our hosts there, and left on a later train. Albeit short, it was a wonderful day together, seeing the beautiful coast of Western Ireland, savoring more history and Irish music. As I told our family, our Big Dad might be gone, but we have our memories that will not be taken away. This same applies to this trip. The tragedy dealt its disruptive blow, but we still hold on to something tragedy can't touch.

The funeral will be Saturday at 3pm. Karen is in route as I write this, and the kids and I will return to Nebraska on Friday and continue on to Nixa to meet up with the family. We are already a bit travel weary, so needless to say this is an added challenge. Thanks to those of you who have already sent words of condolence and support.

The link connects to Travis' obituary.

Our Family At The Burren

It keeps getting better...

It keeps getting more better as we visited Malehide Castle, home of 30 generations of Talbots. The last surviving family member who lived there passed away only last month. I am struck by how OLD things are in this place. Craftsmanship that was built to last. A chair 500 years old!?! Last month I threw away an office chair I had for about three years.


But the day was topped off by our visit to the Wishing Well, a local pub with a standing engagement of local musicians gathering to play traditonal Irish folk songs. Good friends, a few Guinness, and the tunes of a beautiful land being passed on to the next generation. It was a magical night.



We are off to the western coast to the town of Galway tomorrow. I have a feeling it will get even more Irish as we travel to a place where folk speak Irish as their native language.

Day 3

We had some nice food and drink highlights today, starting with Guiness Storehouse. They are celebrating their 250^th anniversary of making the world-renown stout, with 8750 years to go on their 9000 year lease signed by Arthur Guiness. As a business owner, I am fascinated at how the commitment to excellence and social values of one man are continually carried out this many years later. At one point, Guiness had to choose whether or not to stop making other ales and simplify his focus by making the dark beer. That choice proved to be the right one, and that commitment to doing one thing well has lasted longer than my country.



One trouble with being in a new place is knowing who to trust to tell you where to eat. And since we only have only a few opportunities to eat, we wanted to see if we could find good, local fish and chips. A shop attendant directed us to Burdocks, which is supposedly well known in Dublin, a place with a Wall of Fame, on which the top of the list reads the band members of U2. It was ok, but then again maybe we were there on an off day.



We did hit a home run with our dinner choice at Purty Kitchen, a pub built in 1728 and a well-known night spot in Dublin. If bread&cup were in Ireland, this is the vibe I would want it to have. Lively, energetic, with locally influenced food, it was the taste of Ireland we were looking for.

It’s still hard to believe we are away, after such a long season of daily immersion in the restaurant life. Yet I can already feel the results of the necessity of the trip, bringing new ideas, diverting my mind from depletion of labor. Rest is better understood on the other side of the experience. We may mentally ascend to the idea that rest is good, but how few of us really take it seriously. Maybe if we did, our work would be better for it.

We have an Irish President?

{Liffey River}
After a good night’s sleep, we ventured into the City Centre to get a sense of the city and see some of the sights. Here we are at the Liffey River, along the Temple Bar area.

This area is full of street performers, most of which were excellent at their craft. These two men played some of the best, rhythmic, Django Reinhart-esque themes I have heard. What made them more entertaining was the enthusiasm with which they played. These guys obviously loved the music, and that energy drew people in to listen.

After a quick lunch at Eamon Doran pub, we found the street and park that were locations for the film, Once. Again, more entertainers of amazing skill kept our attention, and made us look twice. It gave me a new appreciation for this venue.

As we left the train to return to our quarters, the streets were eerily empty, the reason being the Six-Nations rugby match between Ireland and Wales which was due to start. We decided to stop into a pub to see if we could catch a taste of this national sport. We found a noisy spot that reminded me of a bunch of Huskers, only dressed in green and white. It wouldn’t be complete without a Guiness or two as we watched in awe of the physical demands of this sport.

Certain rules were easy to decipher, but others required a question or two from a local in the know. Looks were traded as one player left the with a bleeding head injury, which the announcer referred to as a “blood sub.” Ouch.

One oddity we have found is the Obamania that is here. This t-shirt with Obama’s picture caught my attention. Would it work if I started a line of Gordon Brown wear? Maybe it could read, “What could Brown do for you?” I’m not sure Americans would get it.

Made It Here

Of course Karen will kill me when she sees I put this picture of us online, but we are staying awake all day to try and get adjusted quickly to the time, so who cares if we don't look the best. I, of course, feel used to this sleep-deprived state and just imagine myself getting ready to bake, and I am in the right mindset to go for several more hours.

I was pleasantly surprise to stumble across such a delightful array of fresh breads right away at a local market. This large display of soda bread made me think I should consider taking inspiration from this commonly found staple here. I see now why so many of our well traveled customers and European guests respond to our breads. It's much like what they experience here. Fresh, handmade and baked daily.

A hike, a pub lunch and a chance to settle in makes a great first day.

I have never gotten over the fascination with the process of seeing a seed turn into food. As a young boy, I learned how to start tomato plants from seed and watch them grow into enormous fruit bearing plants. My dad once told me that he assumed the avocado was inedible, with its only use being science projects. He said he thought the only useful part of the fruit was the pit, since I had sprouted a number of them in a water glass sitting on the window sill. I actually got one to grow into a small tree.

Counting down five days to Ireland now. This is our first chance to take some time off since opening the restaurant. I haven’t figured out what it is about the Irish culture that captures my interest, but when I read about their history (see How the Irish Saved Civilization) or when I hear a painful song like the Magdalene Laundries or watch a movie like The Wind that Shakes the Barley, I observe a heritage that is full of longing. Desire is the birth of all things. One has nothing without first wanting something and it always appears to me that the Irish are a people never lacking passion.

I hope to keep a few thoughts posted about our trip, but I am not promising anything. I have told myself that if technology gets in the way of my being fully engaged in the brief moments we have in country, I will do better to shut it off and tuck it way in the briefcase. I prefer to rule my own inner life than to have a piece of equipment trying to make suggestions.

Stop in Tuesday for our St Patricks Day specials. We’ll do our own corned beef and a few other Irish inspired offerings.

We’ll set the table; you bring the conversation.

15 hours

I don’t know how many people get to experience the kind of joy I am feeling right now.

Tonight was the kind of moment I had hoped bread&cup would be. We have partnered with some fellas who call themselves the Modern Monks, guys who love the simple pleasure of brewing beer and sharing it with their friends. We unleashed their St Meinrad tonight, a strong, dark, Belgian Quadruppel ale. Malty, fruity and full of spirit and strength, it was an easy beer with which to pair our food. I was surprised how many took me up on the Crispy Bone Marrow, but a beer with such a high ABV needed something as rich as this dish.

Nights like this, I think, are why people want to go into the restaurant business. It’s an incredible feeling to watch people enjoy the food and environment you created. What most don’t realize is the work that it takes to get to this point. It would be nice it one could enjoy the fruit without all the labor, but when you invest the time and effort that we have, the reaping of the benefits makes it all so worthwhile.

Thank you for making bread&cup a dream come true.

Modern Monks St Meinrad Belgian Quadruppel

I just finished pulling the bone marrow for the evening meal. The duck legs are resting in their fat and I just sampled the beer with the flabread and believe we made a good match. I'm looking forward to the evening.

Tonight the Modern Monks release their St. Meinrad Belgian Quadruppel. Named after St. Meinrad the patron saint of hospitality, this beer is sustenance for guests and friends and is nourishment for the soul. It is a wonderfully fruity, malty Belgian Dark Strong beer.

A high gravity beer like this needs some hefty food alongside. This gives us a chance to expand our options a bit and offer something you may not necessarily take the risk to order. Come early and savor the complex flavor of simple food and drink.

We’ll set the table: you bring the conversation.

========

Menu:

Confit Duck Legs $7

Crispy Bone Marrow $8

Roasted Chicken Wings $6

-spicy peanut

-sweet sesame

Flatbread with Serrano Ham, Manchego & Quince $8

Jobs I Never Want To Do

There are a couple of positions I never want to hold in life.

One is a Parking Enforcement Officer. I’m amazed at people who can do this job. Think about it this way; your work involves carrying out a duty that pisses people off. No one ever wants to see you, and when you do show up, you cause people to panic, beg perfect strangers for loose change, or just simply flee your presence. This would have to create paranoia in an otherwise normal person. Last week, I got to my truck just as the meter maid was finishing up my parking violation, and when she handed me the orange envelope, she said, “Have a nice day.”

Have a nice day!?!

You just hand me a ticket and want me to have a nice day? Do they teach this in Parking Enforcement School, or do you come by it naturally?

Another job title I want to avoid is Expert. Unlike a Parking Enforcement Officer, an expert is sought after. Experts get called when problems need solving, or advice is sought, and this can make the expert feel really good. But the downside of being an expert is the pressure this creates for you.

If you aspire to the Office of Expert, your attention is placed on dispensing what you know rather than expanding your learning. This creates a demand on the ego of the Expert, who always feels like he must have an answer for everything in his field. I don’t know about you, but I don’t need that added burden.

Instead, I like the title of Student. I worked with university students for 18 years before opening the restaurant. What I love about the student culture is that they are the ones who still believe they can change their world. They don’t know enough yet to be hardened by cynicism and doubt. They will protest, speak out, campaign and believe they can do something about an issue that commands attention.

This is partly why I am shy about owning the title Chef. There is so much I do not know about all things culinary. I have no formal training. Most of what I operate out of is self-taught. In many ways I feel like I am playing catch up, trying to gain more and more understanding about this new path on which I have embarked.

I prefer the safety of this vantage point, however, because it forces me to learn, to ask questions, and to realize that I don’t know it all, and never will.