#68 "Make Your Wish" In Color! August 9, 2013

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I am not a writer.
When I started writing these blog posts almost 5 years ago, it was really just to showcase the drawings. I was only posting the drawings on Bookface before posting them here, and in Bookface there was no description of the drawings, how they were conceived, or any information at all except the number of the drawing. We didn't even name them on there, it would just show up one day as "Tim & Jeremy's Mind on Loup #68!!!" Usually with three exclamation points. When number one hundred was posted, I used all caps. No one cared.
As the blog posts seemed to get longer and longer I also started thinking about them differently. Originally, I would make a couple comments about the drawings themselves, but then I started thinking about the restaurant more. Since these drawings are all done in the restaurant, during the operating hours of service, I thought that it would be more fun for my 8 regular readers to get a glimpse of life within the restaurant.
The Loup is, after all, a strange and magical place. It has been at 105 W. 13th St. since 1989, and was conceived a decade earlier in a different location also on 13th St. Since that time, it has become a neighborhood staple. Regulars know they can come in any time for comfort food and strong, delicious martinis. It is a safe haven for artists and celebrities, who know they can show up and dine unmolested by tourists or people looking for autographs. And then there is the literary aspect. When the restaurant was first opened in 1977 by Bruce and Roxanne Bethany, they decided to court the literary community. They decided that if the place was full of writers, the rest of the world would follow. They were right. Writers of all types have haunted, and still haunt the walls of the Cafe Loup. From Salman Rushdie and Christopher Hitchens' wild late nights, to young unknown poets struggling to buy a pint, the restaurant has been a comfort zone and meeting spot to an entire generation (or two) of New York literati.
Of course I had no idea about any of that when I walked through the doors in 2002 and handed someone my resume. For me, it was off a convenient subway line, it was in a cool neighborhood, and it was a on a block with a bunch of other restaurants so it was easy for me to walk up and down the block dropping off resumes. At the time, I had been unemployed for months and so I would go out every day looking for jobs wherever I could. I was cold-calling places, like the Loup; I was going on mass cattle calls that I found in the back section of the Village Voice, and any other method I could think of to get a job; any job. So when I got the call from the Loup, I was just happy to get a call back. I didn't care if it was a Village Institution. I didn't care if it was a Writer's Bar. I was just happy to get a full schedule and the ability to pay my rent. It wasn't until much later that I realized the respect and admiration the people of New York felt for this little restaurant. I was always a little jealous of the regulars because they had this incredible place to go night after night and interact with all these interesting people. Later on I realized that I was not only part of that, I was helping to continue the tradition of making it people's favorite spot. Cafe Loup was my regular bar, and I got paid to be at it. It was a wonderful revelation, and even though I do have some favorite regular places outside of the Loup (aka work), I still consider it my regular place.
I went off on that tangent to let you know about the restaurant a little, although I am sure I have written all of that in some form or another throughout this blog sometime in the past. The original point of this blog post was going to be me going on a self deprecating rant about how I am not a writer, or how I don't describe myself as a writer. I write this blog out of a weird compulsion to continue writing about these drawings in relation to the restaurant that they were created in. It really is compulsory in that I have no motive, I have no goal in mind for the drawings or for the text that accompanies them. Tim and I have talked about making them into a book someday, and maybe some of this text could be included somewhere in there, but that is not the motivating force for me to continue writing. The truth is, I don't know why I keep writing these things. I think it might be a way of processing the work experience and trying to convey it in a clear and concise manner that helps me understand my past 13 years at this establishment. Not that it is important or even very interesting. Maybe I am trying to defend to myself my employment at a place for such a long period of time, even though working at the Loup has given me the freedom that I moved to New York for in the first place. I needed a place that was steady where I could work while pursuing my other interests, which have been incredibly varied in the decade and a half that I have called New York my home.
So, when you read these posts, I hope you enjoy them, but also know that I am almost writing them as a diary that I might look at some day to help me  remember this time and place in my own history. I always say that in an ever-changing world, at least the Cafe Loup stays the same. I sincerely hope that it stays the same forever, but I know that it won't. Some day it will be a Duane-Reade with a Starbucks kiosk in it, and the Cafe Loup name will be in every mall in America as a "New York style French Bistro." Then, you and I will be able to come back and read all of these blog posts and remember a time that was, of people that were, and a special place in the middle of it all. And we can all laugh at all of my typos, run-on sentences, and basic inability to write in the English language. Until then, I'll see you at the Loup!

#65 "Happy Campers" June 27, 2013

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The Weeds

The phone won't stop ringing. It's on the fourth ring when I get up from Table 33 and sprint across the dining room to grab the phone from behind the bar. As soon as I pick it up, I hear the dial tone and see Ardes has come from in the coat room and has already picked up the phone, taking another reservation. At this point, I have been interrupted too many times to rejoin Staff Meal, and decide I should get dressed and ready to be on the floor. After all, Tim has a nearly full bar, two Marbletops, and it's not even 5:30. I change and as I am coming out of the coat room tying my apron, a four top walks in "just for drinks." I put them on Table 15 and go to the waiter's station to get them water and to make myself a cup of coffee. Usually, I have some time in between Staff Meal and Service in which I can relax a little and have a cup of coffee while preparing for the evening. I can tell that this is not one of those nights. Tonight I am already in The Weeds.

I get Table 15 started with some water and two Beefeater manhattans straight up, one with olives the other with a twist and olives on the side, a pint of Anchor Steam and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. I take over Table 5 and Table 6 from Tim. Table 6 is Barbara and a friend of hers, so that's good. She's a regular and always has the same thing, but even she pulls me aside and asks for an order of frites. I put that order in, and on my way out of the kitchen I see I have two more tables. I put some sugar in my coffee and set up 4 waters for Table 10 and 12 and as I am doing that, Karen sits down on 11. So, I pour her water and her wine and put all of the waters and wine on the tray and pass them out. Table 10 tells me they are going to the theater and in a hurry and are ready to order, so I stand there with the rest of the waters and Karens wine still on the tray and listen to them order a beet salad with the sauce on the side followed by the chicken but with frites instead of potatoes and just a soup for the lady. Oh, and also two Manhattans, one dry, one regular, both up and made with Canadian Club. I make a mental note and hand Karen her water and wine, dropping the remaining waters on Table 12. I write out the order for 10 since we don't have a computer POS system and put it in the kitchen, because when you're in The Weeds, the last thing you want to do is forget to order food. I go straight to the bar and get 15's drinks and grab menus for 11 and 12 (even though I don't think Karen really needs one) and drop the drinks on 15. At this point they tell me that they think that maybe they'll order some "small bites" so I drop the menus for them and rush back to the menu stand to get another 4 menus. At this point, Table One is being sat with another 4 Top and Liz and her friend have snuck into Table 2B. So, now I pick up another 4 menus to make 8 for 4 different tables and drop them on 12, 11, (one extra on 15) and 1. While I was doing that, I got the drink order from 12, a bottle of Cotes Du Rhone, and then go get Liz's Extra Sour Gray Goose Gimlet and her friends Pinot Grigio order and tell Table 1 that I will be right back to get their drink orders. I forgot about Barbara's frites so I race back into the kitchen and pick them up, wondering where the heck everyone else is, and being a little sad that our runner doesn't show up for another hour, and Table 10's soup and beets salad is also ready, so I pick up all three things and distribute them to Barbara first, and then soup and beets to Table 10. I stop to say "hi" to Karen and explain that I am already in The Weeds, so that I might be a little slow when the guy on position one at Table 15 actually grabs the back of my apron and tugs on it. I turn around to him as he says, "I think we're ready to order." My blood boils a bit when the girls at the table say something along the lines of, "Oh, we are? I haven't even looked yet!" and the tugger says something like, "I'll just order some small bites for the table." At which point he essentially lists off all of the items on the appetizer menu and takes a vote at the table until they have ordered 2 appetizers and an order of frites. During this time, Table 3, 4 and 16 have all been sat, and so I have a full section and it's barely 6:00.

Flash forward to a half an hour later. The runner has finally showed up, although my section is full and then rest of the restaurant is filling up fast. It's just one of those nights where The Weeds poke through the pavement at an extraordinary rate and there is nothing you can do to stop them. I knew it was going to happen as soon as I walked into the restaurant a little after 4:30. The book was packed and the phone just wouldn't quit. That's how you know. You can feel it from the frantic energy in an empty restaurant. Now here I am, two hours later without time to even drink my coffee which sits untouched on the waiter's station, cold and stale. I see it and down it in one gulp, picking up drinks at the same time and racing over to Table 6 to get Barbara her bill. At this point I pick up Barbara's Gold Card and run it through our credit card machine. American Express has extra security so I take the extra time that it takes to process the order to process my section. I start from the front:

Table 1: Ordered food, waiting for apps, have drinks

Table 2A: Still looking at wine list although most definitely ready to order

Table 2B: Liz and friend on Round 2 of drinks. Probably ready for more. And frites

Table 3: Having drinks and looking at menus

Table 4: Drinking (light weights) very slowly

Table 5: Still here from about 5 and essentially taking up space. "Camping"

Table 6: Waiting for me to give her this credit card which is processing extra slow

Table 10: Eating entrees, going to be early for the theater

Table 11: Karen, ordered burger with half a bun rare-medium rare with frites sauce

Table 12: Eating appetizers, drinking Cotes Du Rhone

Table 15: Waiting for more frites after the first order wasn't enough, need more drinks

Table 16: Pleasent enough people. Waiting for apps....

And with that, the credit card machine whirrs to life: 

"Transaction Failed."

To Be Continued...