Daily Grist: We have always heard that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and here’s why. If you aren’t home by then, you are in a heap of trouble. JD Rhynes
As I write this month welcome column it costs is close to 1030 in the evening and it is raining pitchforks and hammer handles here on the mountain tonight. You can hear the rain pounding on the roof and it is trying to lull me to sleep, which is what I plan on doing soon as I get through writing for you folks this evening. There is a nice fire crackling in the fireplace, and the bluegrass channel on the satellite dish is turned down to where I can just barely make out Russell Moore and third time out singing a beautiful ballad. In other words, a perfect night for writing without all the interruptions that one experiences during the daytime. A perfect night for writing a spine chilling mystery, but not tonight maybe another time given the same conditions.
I have to start about a week before my monthly column is due to think of a subject to write about. I have found that I have to write things down when I think of a subject worth writing about, or I will totally forget it when it is time to write about it. I keep a list of subjects in my desk drawer to prompt me what to write about. This month though I did not have the resort to my list thankfully. This time of the year always reminds me of the super grass festivals the CBA produced for two years in Bakersfield. The upcoming super bowl reminded me of the fact that we had the festival two years in a row on Super Bowl weekend. Dumbest thing we ever did because we took a financial drubbing for both festivals, but that’s another story for another time.
If I remember right, on Thursday night prior to the festival, 25 to 30 of us motored over to the wool growers inn for supper that night. It is a typical Basque restaurant served family style, and did they ever put on a feast for us that night. One of the finest meals I’ve ever had in my life ! Soup, salad, sliced tomatoes and onions peppers, cold cuts, pinto beans, French fried potatoes, fried chicken, sliced roast beef, wine, beer, coffee, fresh French bread, etc. etc. I am sure I left something out that this is all I can remember at this time. Not only was the meal superb, the wait staff was exceptional with their service. Also, the price per person was very affordable, all in all a most memorable wonderful evening. I was still writing my column,”JDs Bluegrass Kitchen” at the time and I made a point to meet the matriarch of the family that owns the wool growers inn, and I told her I would love to write a restaurant review in our monthly newsletter, to which she readily agreed. Soooo, the following month I made a point to mail her six copies of the bluegrass breakdown with my review of the restaurant in it.
Fast forward to October 2006 about a year and nine months later. Here is where the “who you know part”comes into play. I have been a drag racing fan all my life and in October of 2006 I attended the hot rod reunion in Bakersfield, one of the largest nostalgia racing events on the West Coast that attracts at least 10 to 15,000 fans every year. Several of my old friends were professional racers back in the 50s and 60s and 70s, and I built high-performance exhaust systems for several of them, a couple of them held world records for top speed, but that too is another story for another time. Sure was good to see all them old boys that have survived up to that time.
Friday evening after the races were over for the day, we headed for the hotel to freshen up and have supper. I told my pard Don Potter that I knew a wonderful Basque restaurant that serves the finest Picon Punch ( the national cocktail of the Basque people) and the best food on the West Coast, so off to Wool Growers we go. When we got there the place was packed to the rafters, with an hour and a half waiting list. My buddy Don wanted to leave, but I wouldn’t have it . I told him go to the bar and order a couple of Picon’s and I would be there in 10 min. I asked the hostess to tell the matriarch of the family that JD was there, and she disappeared in the crowd, and about 2 min. later , here they came. The matriarch gave me a great big hug and thanked me profusely for the review of the restaurant in our newsletter. I told her that my buddy and I were there for dinner, and she says to me; go to the bar and have a cocktail and your table should be ready in 10 or 15 min. So I rejoined my buddy in the bar and looks at me and says; well? Not to worry mon pere, you’re about to witness what “chooch” I have around here. Sure enough, we had just finished our cocktail and ordered another one when the loudspeaker said; Mr. JD, party of two ! My buddy Potter says, man Reno ( my nickname he gave me back in 1962. Another story for another time ) you weren’t joking ! To which I replied;NEVER doubt the power of the pen !
The next morning we met about a dozen of our friendshim for breakfast in the hotel, and they were all complaining about having to wait an hour or more to have supper the previous evening. A couple of them waited over two hours. They asked Don and I how long of a wait we had to suffer through in order to get supper? Don replied; are you kidding? My man Reno here has got “chooch” you don’t even know about, we barely had time to drink one “Picon” and we got called for our table. They all wanted to know how I did it, or who I knew? I never answered a word, I just gave them all that big old country boy grin . That was 12 years ago and every once in a while one of them will ask me how I did it? I just give them the old country boy grin ! Eats their lunch every time !
