June 2006 Archives

Something we've been thinking about for the last two years: Rolling a weber up to our sidewalk and grilling hot dogs on a random summer afternoon. Now that we have a beer license, about 60 (give or take) smoked sausages left over from the croquet tournment, and the best weather of the year, it would be a crime not to turn tomorrow, Friday June 30th, into Friday Fest.

Come by anytime tomorrow from noon until supplies dwindle. We will have smoked sausages from Edelweiss (giant, taut, juicy dogs) and Smart Dogs until supplies run out. We'll also have coleslaw and selected condiments, for just $5. And don't forget a the ice cold High Life! Oh! And half of our beer cozies are in! I'll do a proper post when the other two colors arrive. See you tomorrow!

Summer has just begun but sadly, in my mind, it's already over. Saturday was the 3rd Annual Mt Tabor Croquet Invitational, a tournament Jeff and I have hosted at our house for the last...3 years. We set the date in early March and the anticipation had been steadily mounting for months so that when the day finally arrived, it felt perfectly anticlimactic and a little disappointing, although by anyone's standards it was a success. One big chunk of summer over. We will cater a wedding in another three weeks, so until then there's a perpetual to-do list scrolling through my head. Another two weeks after the wedding, Jeff and I leave for a trip back to the East Coast, resulting in another to-do ticker. We haven't even decided whether to close and 'remodel' (unlikely, as we have no plans drawn at this point) or entrust the kids to run the show. Oh and then there's the matter of Brian, our latest hire, giving his not-quite-two-weeks notice last week, which means the hiring and training of at least one new person, possibly two. (Brian, by the way, got job offer in NYC which for some insane reason he feels compelled to take. Whatever!) Hiring and training is one of the hardest things about business management. No matter how many times you do it, you always feel like you could be doing a better job--I fantasize about a multimedia "Half & Half Training Package" I would create if I had the time, complete with charts of sandwich cross-sections, a guide to how much ice goes in different iced drink orders, a flawless pricing guide. Meanwhile, the longer you do something, the worse you are at demonstrating it, so training somehow becomes harder the more I do it.

So, by the time we have returned from The East (where we have tentative plans to hook up with Brian in New York. I can't wait to watch him cry and beg us to take him back to Portland), it will be mid-august, which means I need to start booking art shows for 2007 and getting ready for the holidays. So in my mind, Christmas is like, next week. Which is why it makes sense that we started getting excited about the Croquet Tournament in early March, it was practically the height of summer.

June has, historically, meant a slow down at Half & Half. This year has not been the case. In fact, the week of the Rose Festival was one of our busiest. I certainly can't complain, but I can bitch that I am pissed at myself for being a poor manager, for never getting everything I need from a trip to Cash & Carry, and for being unprepared for the onslaught of Gay Pride Weekend. Amanda is in California and Jeff is taking the week off while his mother visits from South Dakota. Today, Sunday, was my only day off for the week and before we drove out to the coast I stopped by H&H to pick up my cellphone I had forgotten yesterday. I wished I hadn't stopped in, because Jacque was alone, drowning in coffee and food orders, and Brian was another hour from starting his shift. Oh hey, here's my friend Sean whom I never see, standing in line, but I can't talk to him because I'm not supposed to be here anyway, and if I am here, I should be working, not visiting. It's hard to walk in there when it's that busy, because even if I can jump over the counter and quell the line and help my staff, I am still disturbed by the chaos. I hate that inefficiency is winning the battle, and I have to fight my way back to order. And in today's case, I'm not even able to fight--I have to relinquish all control and get in a car and drive to Canon Beach. I cannot let go that I should have scheduled myself to work.

I wonder if our extra business this weekend had anything to do with the ad we placed in The Portland Mercury this week--A dancing unicorn exclaims, "We Are So Gay"

In other news: starting on Tuesday I will be running buttermilk pie for the rest of the week. I brought one in on Saturday and the first slice went to a kid from Buffalo Exchange, a native Texan and buttermilk pie aficionado. He was so excited about seeing it I was instantly hesitant to serve it to him, in case it was a poor rendering of his beloved dessert. He told me, ahem, it was as good as his mother's. It warmed me so, I almost want to revisit the "Pie Shop Idea."

First, let me issue the disclaimer that Hall & Oates did not come into the Half & Half while they were here in Portland. But they were here over the weekend, playing at The Schnitz, and that in itself is note-worthy because I am a huge fan of Hall & Oates, and Hall in particular. Jeff will tolerate a little Hall & Oates because he knows it will put me in a good mood. None of our employees could identify their music and just the other day when we were listening to Chicago, Brian asked "is this Hall & Oates?"

My love for Hall & Oates does not stem back to early childhood but rather my early 20's and the influence of my older brother, Ken (aka "fuckin' Hall & Oates Ken", a story for another day.) In a nutshell, he got turned on to the "White Philly Soul" by some unnamed source. Never liking them much as a kid, I didn't believe they had any relevence to me except as a joke, but he started peppering mix tapes with a little Sarah Smile, a little Private Eyes, and before you knew it, Hall & Oates were my favorite band, EVER. The reality is, I only like a handful of songs, and most of them are before the apex of 1982's H20. But the vocal stylings of Daryl Hall are nothing to laugh about. And the man can dance! Over the last 10 years I've had pleasure of seeing them live twice, and though there's few weirder, or whiter, experiences than being part of a Hall & Oates audience, I am always blown away by Hall's moves.

Two months ago I learned they would be here June 10. After weighing it for a few days I decided not to spend $50 on a bad seat and I would just try my luck winning the tickets on the radio. I never win anything, and the one time they were giving away tickets while I was listening, I was driving and my phone was at home on the bedstand.

So, by Friday it became evident that I wasn't going to see Hall & Oates. A fantasy, much like the one I created in 6th grade about Duran Duran's tour bus breaking down in front of my house, began to evolve. I would be working. It would just happen that I would be playing a little H&O, and they would just happen to walk in. "Hey!" they would exclaim, "Cool Place! Great Music!" They would be so flattered that someone so young, lovely and intelligent as I would be listening to their music. They would ask if I was going to the show, I would stammer and say something about not getting tickets in time, and they would insist I come as their guest, with backstage passes. In fact, we would dine together before the concert, and after the show we'd hug and exchange email addresses.

This did not happen. I managed to get Hall & Oates out of my mind for most of the weekend, except for one moment at a barbeque on Saturday, when it occured to me that less than 2 miles away, they were probably singing "Rich Girl." Why didn't I just spend the $50?

This morning when I came into work, Amanda left me notes from the weekend. We were out of tempeh and tomatoes, and she couldn't unscrew the screen from the right portafilter on the espresso machine. At the bottom of the page, she'd written "Hall was at Counter Media today and he bought a bunch of dirty books!!!!" Hall of course being Daryl and Counter Media being our beloved smut-peddling neighbor and dirty books being dirty books. While Daryl was shopping, the Counter Media employee ran over to see if I was working. Had I been, I'm not sure what I would have done. Stalked him in the Adult Anime section? Beckoned him next door with a latte and a dance routine to "Private Eyes?" It blows my mind a little bit, and as much as I would have loved to meet the Real Daryl Hall (there's not much use for Oates, is there?), I wouldn't be able to do anything but laugh hysterically and imagine what an amazing blog post this would make.

This is Gary, a real Half & Half customer. Gary is in the construction industry and has a very important job, so important, we never understand what he does except that it involves budgets, plans, delays a lot of travelling. Gary does not actually live in Portland, but he's been working "on a job" over at the AT&T building for nearly a year. He likes grilled ham and cheese, deviled eggs and chocolate chip cookies. When he's not working, Gary is at home in Eastern Washington, outside of Spokane, working on his land.

Gary is wearing out classic Half & Half shirt, designed by local art wizard and UHO team member Corey Lunn. A new batch printed on American Apparel shirts has just arrived. Gary wears brown/white and we have a myriad of colors at the moment, including navy, coral, aqua, light blue, and gold. We also have blue, green and red ringer shirts. T-shirts are $18, and unlike the beer cozies, they're available today. I am working on the beer cozies, though, I promise.

Once again, it's that special time in Portland where the city fills with sailors, carnies, parade-chasers and tourists--The Rose Festival! I believe it's every Portland transplants rite of passage to get stoned and go down to the fun center at least one time in their lives, but other than that, coming downtown during the month of June should generally be avoided. Downtown businesses, as I have observed, are either for or against the Rose Festival, without much middle ground. Rocco's Pizza, for instance, makes a killing during the Festival kickoff, The Starlight Parade, and from there it's just a walk in the park. For us, things start going south when the ships arrive, and the day of the Rose Parade is a lesson in futility. Having accepted the reality of a slow time during the beginning of June after the second year, I generally try to make the most of the weird business by focusing on cleaning projects, or this year, blogging.

Today, a family of four came into the Half & Half. They were not typical Half & Half customers, by which I am not trying to say that we have a specific type. In my mind, customers/potential customers are split into two categories: Those who come in delighted/intrigued, and those who flee in fear or confusion. Just today a woman in her 70's visiting from Denver came in twice for pie and will be coming back tomorrow for soup. Plenty of 'cool looking' people come in and turn their heels before you can even ask how their day is going. So back to my atypical family of four. First, the mother and 5-6 year old daughter come in (oh, and I forgot to mention the presence of "billy", a slightly unhinged character that sporadically spends too much time with us. The family came in at the precise moment that I had had absolutely my fill of "Billy" for the day.) Mom orders a latte. I make it, and as I serve it to her she decides to ask her husband what he wants. Annoying. Eight year old son comes in, and starts whining that he wants coffee. This gets the girl whining, and suddenly there's a cacophony of "I want coffee! can I have coffee, Mom?" I am shocked to hear Mom relent and order a second latte for her children to share. (Cultural Disclaimer--the family appeared Middle Eastern, and that perhaps indicates tolerance for underage coffee drinking?) While I am making the second latte, several more customers form a line behind the mom & kids. Dad has entered just to sit down at a table. I serve the second latte. As the mom is picking out doughnuts and cookies, the kids are demanding whipped cream for their lattes. And fighting with each other. And whining to their parents. By now I have four people waiting to order various foods and beverages, and mom asks, "what kinds of sandwiches do you have?" which is the most loathed question asked of me, ever. Look around. Do you see sandwiches in the case? Do they have descriptions in front of them? Do you see a printed menu? Does it not too, have sandwich descriptions? Why the fuck are you asking me what kind of sandwiches I have????? I hold my palm to my forehead, take a deep breath and say, "Well, our turkey sandwich today has granny smith apples, red onion, swiss cheese and dijon." That is enough to convince her to forget the sandwich and get another apple fritter. After the transaction is completed, the children each come back to the counter to get more whipped cream. They don't say please or thank you. I tell myself if they ask again, I am not going to give them any more, but lucky for them they don't press their luck. They leave a trail of doughnut crumbs and latte puddles in their wake. But at least they have left.

I don't know I'm really able to capture the chaos that this family brought with them. I'm sure they're not bad people (though certainly ill mannered, which is almost a qualifier.) But tourists, man. I see this all the time, parents bring their children to a public place and they absolve themselves of any responsibility or consideration to the people with whom they share space. And in a 400 square foot room occupied by 12 people, it's particularly unnerving. Then in my disgust I remember (what I haven't blocked out) what outings and vacations were like in my family. Whining. Pinches. Tears. Severe fights between all members. Ten times worse than the latte family. And it makes me ask, does anyone enjoy a family vacation? Can they exist without negative impact? Do I hate children? (I don't think so...) This event has aroused a small existential crisis, which will not doubt be revisited again and again until the Grand Floral Parade.

One month from this day, doughnuts as we've known them at Half & Half will disappear. Among the things we thought to sell when we conceived Half & Half, doughnuts were about the top of the list. We wanted to be a "cup of coffee and doughnut" kind of place. Enough cafes serve scones the size and weight of doorstops or muffins that taste like play dough. Our pastry selection was to be nutrient-free doughnuts and a small array of vegan pastries for the health-conscious. Before Krispy Kreme and Voodoo came to represent the two doughnut extremes in Portland, a handful of locally owned shops around town were quietly frying up classic renditions of the American Doughnut. Not surprisingly, most of these places including Annie's and Sesame Donuts, are owned by Asian Americans. Among my favorite (oh, and not to mention the most easily available wholesale) were those of "The Donut Queen".

Perhaps you've seen the sign for the Donut Queen, on East Burnside at 59th. It's a small white island in a sea of blacktop, with a sign in the window that reads "open" even when they aren't. A larger, exterior sign in bright pink with a lovely 50's script reads "Donut Queen Bakery." Below that, in a larger and less elegant font, "& Pizza." The sign has been there for at least six years although pizza has never been available. There isn't much to look at, or sit on, inside Donut Queen. There is a case full of doughnuts, a counter with a cash register, a coffee maker and a sliding-glass refrigerator full of milk. Behind the counter, the doughnut production area is in full view, but since the doughnuts are made in the middle of the night, you're just looking at speed-racks and fryers and mixers, lacquered in doughnut batter and sugar glaze.

There is no actual Donut Queen, but like the Great and Powerful Oz, a lesser man fills her shoes. This man is Viet, and he has been known simply as "Donut Man" since Half & Half's inception. Donut man is in his mid 40's. He came to this country about 20 years ago, and Donut Queen is the first business he has owned. He put in some years at the old Winchell's in Hollywood before buying the property on which his house and business sits. His wife and his father-in-law, both of whom speak very little English, run the shop while Donut Man is delivering or sleeping.

Donut Man arrives at Half & Half between 7:45 and 8:10, monday through saturday. He has been delivering to us since we opened, almost 6 years ago. Sometimes, if there are already a few customers in the shop or if he is in a rush, he'll come in and say, "Good Morning, Ro-bin...very busy...see you tomorrow" drops off a tray of doughnuts and leaves. Most mornings, though, Donut man likes to visit. He'll linger for a little while, inviting a conversation by simply and unfailingly saying, "So. What new." Usually I say "Not too much, how about you?" and I let him guide the conversation. Often he'll just begin by telling me he's very tired, and then ask me about something that happened in the news.

I'll usually end up talking with Donut Man for 5-10 minutes, about four mornings a week. By a rough estimation, I have spent the equivalent of 5 full days, or 120 hours, chatting with Donut Man. You can learn a lot about someone in 120 hours. In the beginning, when we were just getting to know each other, the topics would be cultural. He would tell me about where he was from in Vietnam, I would try to explain to the concept of "Connecticut:" not in another country, not part of New York. A state, like Oregon. Pretty soon, though, while the world unfolded into the chaos of the new Millennium and we were both struggling to stay afloat, we found a lot to talk about.

I have come to learn a lot about Donut Man. He has three children, a girl and two boys. His family in the U.S. is spread out between Portland and Seattle. Recently, he asked me who I thought he should speak with about purchasing the Portland Trailblazers. He thought that his family could come up with enough capital to make a down-payment on a loan (100 members at $10,000 a share.) He is a devout Catholic and Republican and he spends an average of $10 a day on lottery tickets. He doesn't sleep well and can't understand why he can't fall asleep without taking Tylenol PM. When his stomach is upset he eats beef, and he can't recommend a good Vietnamese restaurant for me because he claims they're all "very dirty." His favorite foods are pizza and hamburgers but for large family gatherings they will often slaughter a goat. After one particular morning, I now know more than I ever wanted to about his sex life. He sometimes discloses more than is appropriate.

Over the years, we have exchanged interpretations of our American lives. He doesn't approve of my godless lifestyle, nor does he understand why I am not married, having children and running a house, but he's willing to listen to my mumbo-jumbo about being an autonomous individual, or against the Bush Administration, or for gay rights. And I'm sure my radical liberal beliefs are as amusing to him as his understanding of outer space is to me. At the end of the day, we are two people with nothing in common, who have cultivated a steady friendship.

Donut Man's business has been in decline for 2 years. He can't articulate why, other than "people, they don't want to buy doughnuts no more." We've tried talking about improving his retail space, serving better coffee, delivering on Sundays, but he no longer believes in doughnuts. Early on, I asked him why he has "& Pizza" in his sign. He told me he was going to add pizza at one point, but it was too expensive. Now he's decided to end doughnut production altogether, and re-open as a take & bake pizza place later this summer.

Needless to say, I am very sad about this decision. Sure, we'll find other doughnuts to sell, but I'm not looking forward to the change. Mostly I am worried about the success of Donut Man as Pizza Man. Vietnamese doughnuts are one thing, but pizza? He's not exactly about the 'quality', and with so many crappy pizzas already out there... Even the name--"Pizza Queen?" No. "Pizza Man?" No. "Papa Joe's." What???? So, my friends, June is the last month to support Donut Man, either at Half & Half or at Donut Queen HQ. I urge everyone to enjoy a doughnut, say good-bye to an era and wish Donut Man good luck with his future venture. Who knows, maybe Pizza is his ticket.