by Scott Plath

Where to begin at damned 4 a.m., prematurely awakened yet again by this brain ‘streaming’ ideas and solutions: “Bad brain, no.”

I have slept for just three hours—a thing that happens often these days. I tried counting sheep. I replayed the last nine in my head as the season wanes. (All 52 strokes and the toe wedge). Another fail. Deep breathing; One. Two. Three. Four…  Nope, not happening.

Giving up the fight, I shuffled to the kitchen and pressed “Brew” then into my dark and messy office-closet-guest room while ignoring the whispered allure of the Tylenol PM. “Psst, I’m here for you…”  I took that bait the previous week and felt like “skata” for much of the next day—to borrow the Greek word for, hmm, “Not good.”

It’s a word I learned while growing up in New York as a 13-year-old busboy in a Greek restaurant. It was there that I fortuitously discovered a career while learning many other life skills—from my spirited mentors guiding me along this perilous restaurant path.  Thank you (I think!) Demetrious, Yiannis, Nick, Sophia, Peter and the restaurant’s goddess-like namesake, Aphrodite.

I truly hate waking before dawn. It’s less awful when going fishing or catching the rare stupid-o-clock flight to Aruba! What drives most of my middle-of-the-night nonsense in the 20-20’s is ceaselessly seeking the reestablishment of our three restaurants while protecting our beloved teams.  These never-ending pandemic days of being understaffed, undertrained, unrested and perpetually under fire—while paying more than ever in wages and ever-rising product prices—it’s the gift that keeps giving.

We are suffering the foodservice epitome of a Catch-22—desperately needing more sales yet unable to handle more business, and dear reader, it is borderline demoralizing.  Mix in additional disorder caused by the unempathetic who leave one-star reviews ( “I waited ten minutes…” and “The oysters were smaller than China Buffet…”) and welcome to our world. For some, the grace period of pandemic-tolerance has waned although I guarantee you, our industry-wide challenges most surely have not.

Despite it all, we are incredibly thankful to those guests who remain supportive and gracious. As future columns get written, I may dig deeper into the relentless challnges of my fellow restaurateurs—chicken prices doubled, driver shortages, 1 in 4 applicants show for the interview, etc.  My eldest daughter, a former restaurant professional who “escaped” to get her master’s degree in family therapy recently sighed; “I remember when the restaurant industry was fun.” Amen Aislyn. (I may just be the first on your couch!)

Just look to our friend Michael, owner of Lenzi’s Catering. Mike recently, temporarily, closed his tavern to better staff the function business —”Not enough help.  It’s brutal Scotty.”  Brutal? Ask the Chef-owner of the 10-years successful, Fuse Bistro in downtown Lowell.  I imagine Scott Pelletier would share his pain, following the news of the Westford Fuse closure this summer—his 2nd property—after a five-year run.  They are far from alone.  As estimated 15% of restaurants did not survive due to the pandemic and the crashing halt of our economy, while the struggle continues.

As the morning’s first blue-light began to appear in my window it alighted some sleepily positive feelings, the happy-place where I actually prefer to exist when I am present enough to note the worse situations others endure.  A masseuse-therapist-friend of mine recently said to the back of my aching head and knotted shoulders:  “Gratitude is where the winners circle is.”  Hers is a spiritual message that I must better embrace, finding solace in the good fortune that I have enjoyed.  An impassioned career in an industry I love is a gift, while building a vast restaurant family.  I have been endlessly inspired by our amazing teams, by the hardest working, most passionate and loyal folks and the often-incredible (and batshit-crazy) chefs and of course, the occasionally just as outrageous guests—all who have sustained our businesses since, like, last century. True story, and a million thanks are owed.

I am also appreciative to be contributing to Inside Lowell—and to join other inspired and dedicated folks—committed to this place we call home.  I close by sharing a precious quote and the first advice ever offered me as I relocated to Lowell 35 years ago.  The ‘Irish philosopher’ (and my father-in-law to be), Lowell native James Moynihan aka Mr Mo, said modestly back then;

“Always be kind.”

He proposed this simple gem over a stellar shrimp scampi appetizer at the old Bob White’s Restaurant, as I was planning to propose marriage to his beautiful eldest daughter; having met Kathy at UMASS Amherst five years earlier.

I had previously visited Lowell for the weekend (and fell in love, again!) including stops at the Dubliner, Derby Park, Pollards, the Press Club, the Foxtail Lounge, and Club Diner, in that order. The next morning, it was the iconic Four Sisters Owl Diner, and a vague recollection of Barney’s later that night. Imagine that!  What a fun city I thought back then, unaware that I would end up here for the next three-plus decades doing that same thing. Yikes.

Since then, I’d like to think that I have (mostly) heeded Big Jim’s advice. (I have my moments!). And, in that spirit, allow me please to recommend to all us diners out here that before harshly judging your local eatery when things are “not what they used to be,” please take pause.  It is understandably difficult for most people to imagine the depths that my hospitality family continues to dig out from but trust me; Many of us, and especially those who did not receive restaurant relief funding, are still fiercely strategizing on a daily basis while short a cook, or two, or a server, or two, during any given shift.  Often products we order don’t arrive as our purveyors are short drivers, while seemingly the whole world is short-staffed. The growers, pickers, teachers, nurses, pilots, plumbers; on and on it goes…a bad dream indeed.

While recently waiting too long for drinks at another restaurant, sitting at a too-messy table with no server in sight, I began to get impatient (I’m human!), before quickly and shamefully adjusting my expectations. Instead, I summoned the Caribbean, on a lazy day enjoying “island time.”  Once a server finally appeared, I ordered (double) rum drinks while embracing my good fortune to be eating in a restaurant in the first place, a privilege not to be taken for granted and, what? Life is good mon.

Scott Plath
www.splath.com

Scott Plath and his wife Kathy own the Stones Hospitality Group (Cobblestones, Moonstones and Stones Social in Nashua NH) and Scott was a columnist for 14 years at Merrimack Valley Magazine before they ceased publication this year.