Greetings from Carrboro,
Clogs were definitely a thing. And, to be clear, not my best look. But I still wore them for a good year or two – maybe more. Though somehow I was able to avoid wearing the equally fashionable chili-pepper-themed cargo pants – the obvious yang to my clogs’ yin. But my fashion sense didn’t save me from donning a rather ridiculous beanie during a sixth month spasm of poor taste that is best forgotten. Luckily, my iPhone pictures don’t go back that far.
A lot of that hubris is the fault of the Food Network. Clearly. But part of me also wants to blame the relentless catalogs that arrived at the restaurant. Hats. Shirts. Aprons. Shoes. You name it. Pictures of beautiful 20-somethings dutifully attired, chatting amicably next to a pile of chopped celery. How could you say no? If you can’t live the dream, you might as well dress like it. At its apex, kitchen garb was more akin to the costumes of Colonial Williamsburg than anything related to cooking. Viva 2000s!
Now, it’s back to crocs and t-shirts. And, yes, the ubiquitous baseball caps and aprons, to be sure. Far fewer people bring their knife bags to work. Or beg me to put poulet rouge on the menu. Basically, more tattoos and less truffle oil. Not that people take their jobs less seriously. Far from it. It’s almost like they are more professional, the kitchen team more settled into the craft – the job – of cooking. Restaurants are still the “island of misfit toys,” don’t get me wrong. If you’ve seen it, “The Bear” can be pretty spot on. Though I’m a tad older than Carmy.
A tad. You see, my youngest daughter, Addison, is turning 21 on Saturday. And they’re slaying it (IYKYK) – despite growing up in the perpetual roller coaster that is the restaurant business. (Of course, it’s the restaurant world that’s unstable. Not me. Surely.) They’re beautiful, smart, kind, a wee bit over-caffeinated, and have expensive taste. Some of you may have been lucky enough to have Addison be your server over the summer. And that wasn’t their first Acme gig. Helping make 100s of biscuits for every Sunday brunch at 10 years old. Hauling all the produce from the farmer’s market at 12. And the hardest part, putting up with me the entire time. Somehow Addison survived it all. Sadly however, all those pictures not recorded on my iPhone are probably seared into their brain. Permanently. Whoops.
I love you, Monk. More than you’ll ever know. And, for once, you can’t say anything back.
Don’t forget Acme’s Monday Funday. Every entrée, every Monday is $15. Isn’t about time that your Monday got an upgrade?
Well, that’s all the news from Carrboro. The staff at Acme look forward to serving you soon.
The Staff at Acme & Whoppy Daddy