Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Oregon Rain

The last fourteen winters I spent in northern New England. Let me say that New England can be beautiful in every season, especially fall. I love it when the fall air turns glossy and liquid on those last final synapses of summer’s energy in the afternoon.

As fall in New England progressed into mid-winter, I learned to appreciate the warmth of a whiskey next to a woodstove at a friends, the gentle scent of woodfires drifting from villages and the crunch of thin ice on trails.

At first, winters in New England were amazing to see. But, now, after the last two brutal winters I endured in New England…

I am so freakin glad to be back where it’s relatively warm and there’s only a few inches of snow in town. I realized this during the snowfall just before Christmas here in Portland. The next morning as I walked Duffy the Border Collie down the back streets of Milwaukie, I realized there was something missing from a white environment. Snowblowers and pickup trucks with plows.

I’ve not posted here since staying with my best friend and business partner Bill in Plymouth NH right before Thanksgiving, getting a whiskey buzz as we fixed the shocks on his SUV late on a bitter cold NH night.. (it’s a good thing he’s good with a Sawzall – somehow one of those and whiskey don’t seem to go together).

I’ve been busying writing and posting on other blogs – you can find what I’ve been up to over at Chalkboarder, the Customer Service Dialogue or Leaf and Berry.

Peace

Hotel Max Seattle

Two weekends ago as I began an almost month long sales trip on the road to New England, I stopped in Seattle for two nights to venture forth about town with Seattle’s top food blogger, Traca Savadago.

Traca writes an excellent blog at Seattle Tall Poppy, has worked with Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations and is a top-notch chef and foodie. Check back later for our gastronomic adventures that weekend.

I need to share my experience at Hotel Max with all of you. First let say that I highly recommend the folks at Hotel Max for guest service and the beds for a very deep comfortable sleep.

image0011

If you ever decide to try Hotel Max, make sure to take advantage of the bell staff’s local knowledge. Jeffrey and Jonathan possess deep knowledge of area nightlife and great restaurants. I spent a lot of time talking with Jeffrey about Seattle and how it’s changed since 1991.

I arrived just after noon, late for a meeting with the folks from Coffee Fest due to Amtrak Cascade having to stop and clean dead leaves from the wheels. If you’re late too, you can always just leave your bags at the desk before checking in at no charge.

image0021

Next door is the restaurant Red Fin. Amazing Sushi and Japanese cuisine with a smattering of American – they stay open late to provide room service and cocktails for the hotel guests.

image0031

After wrapping up with Coffee Fest – I checked in. Here’s the hallway to my room:

image0041

Here’s another hallway. Each door is individually decorated with awesome art photos!

image005

Ok – the most important part. How’s the bed? Freakin’ awesome, I tell ya!

image006

I had a great view from the 9th floor of the skyline and the Space Needle, set against a very black gathering storm for the night. Amenities are excellent, even including sustainably sourced bathing offerings. Shower, anyone?

image007

Entirely smoke free, this hotel rocks. Each room is different – edgy, modern and Euro. Every room has art by different artists and a fully stocked snack and beverage bar. No need to use the business center unless you have to print.. And there’s a well-provided exercise room on the second floor.

Hey Hotel Max – I’ll be back in December!

image008

Hotel Max is located at 620 Stewart Street in downtown Seattle.

www.hotelmaxseattle.com

image009

This past Friday I began a four week sales trip to the East Coast. The first leg, two nights in Seattle, had several objectives:

  • Final negotiations with Coffee Fest to provide social media services for a year.
  • Meet @incrediblechef from Twitter.
  • Hang with Traca Savadago, Seattle’s Top Food Blogger.
  • Meet the owners of Secret Stash Salts.

The negotiations with Coffee Fest were pretty good – we’ll see what they think of the final contract proposal shortly. @incrediblechef and I had a very engaging chat and I have asked her to consider becoming our Pacific NW Regional Sales Director.

I checked into the Hotel Max (www.hotelmaxseattle.com) – an edgy, artsy and modern small hotel in the business district. In the interest of full disclosure, I had negotiated a deep discount in exchange for providing a little social media coverage of my stay with them.

I will state with all verity that the Hotel Max exceeds expectations. My only suggestion to them was perhaps they should iron or press the inner shower curtain for a crisper look. Lunch at Red Fin next door was pretty good, although our server was detached and not as attentive as he should have been. David from Coffee Fest ordered a sushi platter and I ordered (and enjoyed) the Yakisoba. David’s business partner Greg joined us for the discussion and at the end we were choosing booth locations at the three Coffee Fests for Chalkboarder.com to be “Social Media & PR Central” for the shows. Stay tuned on this; if they sign the contract, we’ll be sports-casting the Barista Competitions live onto the web.

I’d like to tip my hat to Jeffrey and Jonathan of the Hotel Max staff.. they were both very helpful with my questions about Seattle, ground transportation and … just making conversation.

Wednesday evening, September 16, Chalkboarder.com partly covered the Berkshire Chefs as they prepared and presented multiple courses at the venerable James Beard House in NYC.

Chalkboarder.com presented background information on the team and the menu into Twitter, following with pictures snapped by the official photographer on an iPhone which were emailed to us (we put the pics up on Flickr and then shared them on Twitter).

All in all it was a good exercise in remote management of content into Twitter.  You can view the content stream by visiting Twitter and searching the hashtag #berkshirechef.

Startup Challenges

In 1974-ish, my Dad launched a software startup that was fifteen years ahead of its time. Educational Research, Inc (ERI) was founded on the premise that every school desk ages K-12 would have a computer on them by 1980. The software they began developing was educational software for those ages, particularly in math and language.

As I spent time with my Dad yesterday, hanging out at the Lloyd Center Ice Skating Rink while my stepmom and sister went shopping, Dad related the stories of seeking investment for ERI. We were engaged in a dialogue about the challenges of finding and securing investors for my startup, Chalkboarder.com, today.

In 1974, my Dad was on the verge of closing a deal with Bell & Howell, worth millions. ERI set out to raise $1 million in investment. Several challenges impeded this and they were not able to secure it – not for lack of great idea or interest in their products. The factors that precluded investment included being located in the small town of Helena Montana and the economy at the time. Another significant factor was being very ahead of the curve in what the emergent technology was going to become – many potential investors were deeply wary about how widespread desktop PCs would be.

ERI built it’s software applications using the first computers from Radioshack and the very first IBM PCs. Techies who are old enough, will remember what we called the Trash 180, which used a cassette deck for memory. Memory then was measured in bytes, not gigabytes.

In yesterday’s conversation, my Dad related how the President of Bell & Howell called him five days before the contract was due. The President said – you’re not going to get the investment, are you? My Dad replied that no – he wasn’t. An offer from Bell & Howell emerged – to buy ERI out, retain my Dad as President and keep the operation in Montana as a subsidiary. Two days later, my Dad received a phone call from B&H, cancelling the offer – it turned out that that day Carl Icahn made an aggressive take-over of Bell & Howell and B&H pulled everything in to avoid the takeover.

While Chalkboarder.com is only seeking $20,000 in investment – the lessons from my Dad’s stories are valuable. Be patient – the emergent application of Social Media is not understood by many. Be persistent – being ahead of the game, while an advantage, is also fraught with much greater challenge. Be tenacious – never stop trying. Seek investment locally.

Thanks, Dad. Your story was reassuring.

I’m not sure of the current statistical number counting single/divorced mid-40s men in the USA.  I just know I’m one of them.

During my first year and a half of separation and divorce I was angry. I won’t describe the reasons – just what I was feeling: resentment, rejection, anger, bitterness and relational failure. Let’s just say that “we didn’t see eye to eye” in many things.

Mostly, I was hurt. I felt (and still deeply feel) huge loss of not being in my daughters daily lives. My former wife is a minister and our daughters were growing up in that church that is her employer – I left the church and lost participation in my daughters spiritual home.

The turning point came after reading a book titled “The Co-Parenting Survival Guide”. A chapter there spoke of the addiction to confrontation and it hit home. I realized that I was addicted to years of confrontation and that the addiction was harming my children.

Days later, after intense introspection, I let it all go. It’s been much easier for me to focus forward as a result. Don’t get me wrong – I still feel the loss. But now, when those “triggers” pop up – and they still pop up – I ignore them.

The biggest thing that being divorced has taught me is that I am who I am. Never again will I try to be something I’m not, especially just to stay in or be in relationship. I lost my identity in that marriage – something I should never have allowed to happen.

Now, I’m just forty-five. I’m reasonably in shape and good phsyical/mental health. My attributes of caring for under-privileged, oppressed and down-trodden are stronger than ever. I understand I’ve had an amazing life, blessed by experiencing things not many have been able to experience.

As I look at the future, I’m content to see it singly. By myself. Sure, I want to share experiences with others – what I mean is this – where before I desired to partake of the world in companionship with a woman, nowadays that isn’t important. What’s important to me is being myself, trusting my gut. What’s important is being secure as a person, sharing myself with my daughters as a Dad that is happy and a providor. What’s important is measuring my success by the depth and breadth of my communities and the level of engagement I give to strangers.

My future looks good. While I suffer from hyperactive entrepreneurial disorder (not a bad thing), I’ve got a lot of sally-forthing to do in the second half of life. There’s a fair amount of stuff I shelved in the past decade. All those ideas and attributes have been taken down and dusted off, examined for usefulness and either regained or discarded. I’ve spent the last year repairing and rebuilding me. Perhaps this post is the act of throwing up the garage bay door and rolling out a restored and rebuilt vehicle, ready to hit the road in a big way.

I’m pretty damn excited about the future and what it holds. If you’re reading this, maybe we’ll see each other sometime on a dusty backroad in Central America, under the Big Sky of Montana or in a cafe in Boston.

A Wandering Chef

I’ve long been into food.

I blame it on my maternal grandmother – Gogo. Gogo alternated her working life as a school lunch cook, a leather craftsman and as Camp Cook for the youth basketball camp run by the pro-basketball team – Portland (OR) Trailblazers.

Some of my earliest food memories as a young boy are of miles of pancakes on a camp griddle, catching crayfish (crawdads) in the stream for a boil, catching Oregon Dungeness crab, “Bush-Up-The-Street Blackerry Pie” and misty Oregon weather punctuated with strong dark coffee whilst playing pirates at her home on the Oregon coast.

My evolution as a foodie continued with direct parental influence. My dad, a pretty damn good cook and avid gourmand, exposed us to great restaurants all over the West. I’ve wondered since if he found some of these through his career as an IRS auditor. My mom continued the legacy of her family, focusing on the influences from a family history relocating in the 1920s from a butcher shop in Meriden CT to the gastronomic abundance of Oregon. Together, with three other couples in my hometown of Helena Montana, they founded a supper club that was the envy of the state capitol – acronymed H.O.G.S. – the Helena Obese Gastronomic Society.

It was years later, after treating college romantic adventures to the culinary scene in San Francisco, that I chose professional cooking as a career. It all started with muffins at the U.S. Army Quatermaster Foodservice School in Fort Lee, VA. Perhaps I was an early Alton Brown.. I was simply amazed that putting slop into an oven could transform into such succulent beings, full of complex structure, aroma and taste. That was the beginning – an epiphicanical gastronomic event.

My culinary training began at the hand of chef and restauranteur rockstars in Portland Oregon (just today lauded in an article in New York Magazine Column Grub Street, by Michael Nagrant, calling PDX “the goddamned Fertile Crescent”) during the late 1980s and early 90s.

The first (and later) influencer and mentor was Riccardo Spaccarelli, Chef/Owner of Riccardo’s Ristorante in Lake Oswego. At the time Riccardo’s was a small 50 seat Northern Italian neighborhood joint – but even from the beginning, Richard was not ordinary. He cared about his crew and product, focusing on good people and the gastronomy of northern Italy. Richard sourced his ingredients locally, long before it was a craze popular across the country. His liquid dairy products and meats were sourced in the late 1980s from within the bounty of the region. One of my fondest memories is sharing the cap of solid cream from the glass jars with Richard.

My second influence was at the merciless hands of Chef David Strouts. Dave was imposing – six foot five tall and over 350 lbs wide. With the toque blanc donned – THAT was a Chef. While I apprenticed under Dave, he competed for the first time at the International Culinary Olympics in Frankfurt GER, bringing back a couple of medals. My specific memory of assisting Chef with that effort, was carving 250 perfectly round (measured with a micronometer) half-inch carrot balls, so that he could select 50 to take, stored in dry ice with all the other ingredients and accoutrements, to the competition – and use sixteen of them. Dave taught me well on sourcing food, the elemental knowledges of culinary history/art/flavor/tenchinques, and what it meant to be Chef in community. Dave went on to become the President of the Chefs de Cuisine Society of Oregon. Back then, Portland was experiencing the beginnings of an intense gourmet scene.

A brief stint in the Seattle area – mostly shucking oysters at a bar and shooting pool until closing time, was followed by my first Head Chef position. I returned to Riccardo’s in Lake Oswego (now with a complete renovation and addition of a 100 seat courtyard) and a year later was named Chef. It was during this time that Richard was awarded “Organic Restaurant of the Year 1993″ by Oregon Tilth (the first organic coop in the USA). Working for Richard and his lovely wife Georgette has remained in my “top” experiences as a chef. We changed twenty percent of the menu nightly, using either locally grown or authentic northern Italian ingredients. Richard focused on small, high-end wineries from northern Italy, building a reputation over twenty years as the restaurant to drink that particular type of wine.

It’s here that I must thank Richard and Georgette for three incredible experiences – all that changed my life.

Richard and Georgette encouraged me to participate as Chef in three different happenings:

  • the 1993 signing of the Chef’s Collaborative Charter Statement of Principles on the Willamette Waterfront
  • participation over several years in Share Our Strength’s Taste Of The Nation
  • and the 1994 annual conference of Chef’s Collaborative at Fetzer Vineyards in northern California.

In the fall of 1994, they took me to northern Italy for ten days. We visited five wineries a day, learning the vintners and the wines, immersing ourselves deeply in the culture, traditions and gastronomy of the region. I have to say, that if that sounds like fun, it is. It’s also very hard to stay sober by the end of the day. On a personal note to Richard – I’m soo glad I was not busted by the USDA for smuggling a $1000 worth of truffles back into the States.

It’s from this point that my traveling adventures in food began. I spent fourteen years in New England learning it’s cuisine, traveled to the mid-Atlantic and Southwest states, visited with Chefs John Besh, Susan Spicer, Floyd Cardoz and Mary Sue Milliken in New Orleans after Katrina (a Share Our Strength adventure) and spent ten days in Nicaragua (tasting the cuisine and coffee while helping a small rural village build a community kitchen).

After nine experiences as Head or Executive Chef, I’ve retired the toque blanc – only for health reasons – I love food, cooking, agriculture and the people too much to leave the industry.

My ambition and goal with Savant Culinaire is simple – to travel with new friends on gastronomic adventures around the world. Please join me – we’ll have a fantastic time together!

[cross-posted on Kitchen Dances blog]

Judy

Judy, my prayers are with you.

Judith was standing on the corner of SE 39th and Powell this morning. Petite and maybe sixty-five of age, she held a cardboard sign:

HOMELESS

Need sleeping bag and food

God Bless You

A few belongings were arranged behind her feet as she stood there. The streetlight had turned red as I approached and I found myself right next to her.

Our eyes met briefly. Slightly sad, older eyes, pale blue. Her white hair was neatly brushed back and she told me in the look she wasn’t beaten.

The light changed and I went down the block and circled back. The day before I’d been in Fred Meyer’s with my sister – aisle 14. Another older lady brushed her cart past us, muttering fervently. After she passed me a very small tremulous wail escaped her and I turned around. She was shaking, obviously frustrated. I walked back and asked her if everything was all right – she’d lost her purse with her license, credit cards and a hundred bucks. She was on the edge of complete panic.

I got my sisters attention and sent her quickly to customer service while I stayed with that lady, telling her my name and that I had been an Army sergeant. Within a few minutes, as she tried to maintain stability, store management arrived to take over. I never got her name.

I walked back up to Judy on the corner and pressed a few dollars into her hand, asking what her name was. I learned Judith was from California, but had moved to Oregon four years ago to take care of her sister. Last fall Judith had had a stroke – slipping into a coma for four weeks. While she was in a coma, she said she heard the doctor saying to let her go; it’ll be a blessing for the poor soul. She walked out of the hospital a few weeks later with a four-wheel walker.

As we talked I kept my eyes direct with hers. I wanted her to know my humanity. I wanted her to feel connected. She was necessarily doing something no woman should have to do on this Earth – beg. The personal sacrifice she took, the humiliation of standing on a street corner with a cardboard sign asking for quarters at sixty-five – did not lessen her self-esteem. She told me that her first job was as a waitress making seventy cents an hour; then asked what I did. I told her I’d been a chef for a long time – but that I’d lost a marriage partly to never having nights, weekends and holidays; that I wasn’t doing it anymore. She asked what I was doing and I told her – I’m starting a business.

Judy – while I don’t share the same theological belief.. my prayers are with you, too. Thank you for blessing me today. Thank you for telling me how strong you are. I hope we meet again. I want to buy you a bourbon the next time we talk. Love, Jeff

My love for trains began before I really knew my ancestral history.

When I was about sixteen, living in Helena Montana, I caught a freight train for a three hour ride.


My good friend Matt Marsolek and I were up helping his Dad pull six-foot logs out of the forest one early summer day. Matt and I had met in junior high choir, singing under Mr. Tuckerman’s directing with J.V. Bennett III, Joe Cislo and Mike Marsolek. A couple years later Mr. Tuckerman and I would smoke filterless Chesterfields onstage at Grand Street Theater as gangsters in Grease.

It was hot – sweaty – and hard work pulling the timber down, rolling it up side logs into the back of his Dad’s pickup. That afternoon, loaded up and suspension leafs squeaking, we headed back to town.

As we turned onto Highway 12 in Avon (2000 US Census population of 124 – who knows back in 1980), a dusty stretch of about 50 homes, a log yard and a couple stores, Matt’s Dad noticed a long freight train standing still on the side track. He turned to us and asked if we wanted to ride the train back to town. Of course, we turned him down [snark]!

Three Burlington Northern GP9 engines, in classic green/white coloration, were parked outside the Avon Cafe. We pulled up and went inside. His Dad started talking as we sat with the two engineers while they finished their coffee. An aside: I’ve always loved dusty town diner counters with a sassy waitress, a tv at the end, and a couple ranchers talking shop and politics.

We were pretty surprised when the engineers agreed to let us ride! “Don’t touch a f…ing thing!” one of them said as they put us in the second engine. Hence begat my love affair with the power of massive diesel locomotives.

The noise in a freight engine is immense. The vibration would over-stimulate Gaia. The smell of grease and smoke sharp, acrid on the back of the throat. We rolled back and hitched up, then started out a very slow climb into the mountains.


This segment of track isn’t hardly used today except to park empty rail cars. Back then it was a short haul link up towards Great Falls and the Highline. The length from Avon to Helena took about three hours. Matt and I spent time in the cab.. and then stepped out onto the decking. Going about 40 mph, we were suddenly whisked into a tunnel – a very long-assed tunnel. If we had leaned against the rail and put our arm out we could have touched the rock blowing by.

The noise and exhaust were unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Thunderous, constant blasting of laboring mighty engines. Trapped diesel exhaust smoking us like pigs. Bursting out at 40 mph onto a hundred foot tall trestle in the late afternoon – shooting from the tunnel like spray from a firehose – spooking and scattering a herd of elk in the back country.

Later, as we rolled into Helena, the engineer slowed just before meeting Montana Avenue, to have us jump off. Years later, when I first lived in Portland OR, I would go down late at night to the freight yards with an airline bottle of whiskey and touch the slow moving freights as they shuffled out onto the main lines.


Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad poster for lands in southwest Kansas A circular of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad promotes land sales and settlement in southeast Kansas. The advertisement states the climate of southeast Kansas is ideal for farming and ranching. The illustration contrasts prairie versus woodland settlements, and cites the extraordinary growth of cottonwood trees on Polk Street in Topeka. The German language reference indicates the railroad’s intent to appeal to European emigrants. The circular demonstrates the important role railroad companies performed as promoters of the settlement and agricultural development of the west.


Kingman Arizona is named after my great great uncle, Lewis Kingman. Lewis was one of four surveyors of the Santa Fe Railroad. He was primarily responsible for surveying along the Atlantic and Pacific right of way between Needles and Albuquerque. Lewis Kingman supervised the building of the railroad from Winslow to Beale’s Springs, which is near the present location of the city of Kingman. There is an account of the Santa Fe getting bogged down in a six month shooting war in southern Colorado with the Great Northern. Eventually the US Cavalry was sent in to put a stop to the bloodshed.


Lewis ran track gangs like this above, fought Bat Masterson, Pancho Villa and the Native Americans to build this line. About fifteen years ago we had a family reunion down in New Mexico. At the little museum in Cimmaron, I found photos of Lewis drinking whiskey in the local hotel saloon with Bat Masterson (I guess back then after you fought – you drank, or maybe it’s the other way around).

There’s a great history on the Santa Fe RR at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atchison,_Topeka_and_Santa_Fe_Railway

There’s a wonderful history of the Burlington Northern at http://www.trainweb.org/screamingeagle/gallery/cbq.html

Millimeter Skin

Curiously strange
In middle black of night
Faint luminescence

The barest touch of your leg on mine

Shallow breath rise and fall
Rise and fall through
Known sweet taste of pink lips

The barest touch of a millimeter skin

What is being now
In the deep dark of this morning?

Curiously strange place
In our wild forest of together
Finding in the maelstrom ashes of consuming wildfire

Startlingly new
The nameless touching us new

Barest molecules of millimeter skin caress
One knowing, the other…

Dark night air currents touch
Body sensations complete electric
Unrestrainable, and yet, in check

Some tantric form of sleep?
Being now in moment

Curiously strange wonder of you

Copyright 2007 Jeffrey Kingman

Older Posts »