Originally published in the July 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Photo by Brian Kaiser
If an upscale deli sounds like a half-baked idea, you obviously haven’t been to Harvey & Ed’s.
The latest creation from Cameron Mitchell Restaurants combines Jewish comfort food classics with artful execution in a Short North space that evokes the unpretentious ease of an East Coast eatery. Named for best friends and brothers-in-law, Harvey and Ed are the father and uncle of CMR President David Miller, with many of the menu offerings inspired by his childhood and the familiar fare of the family kitchen.
But noshes and nostalgia aren’t enough to build a cohesive brand that carefully couples corned beef with a cocktail bar. That’s why it took a team of talent to craft a dining experience new to Central Ohio, yet still unique among the establishments from which they drew their influence.
“We wanted to do something that felt East Coast,” revealed General Manager Jill Armstrong. She and Executive Chef Jonathan Basch traveled to New York and Philadelphia to find the elusive balance between uptown appeal and downtown authenticity. Both hail from Ohio and started relatively recently with Cameron Mitchell, and in the Short North — Armstrong as a server at The Pearl, and Basch as a prep cook at Marcella’s — affording the first-hand insights necessary to connect with the neighborhood and the clientele.
“We went to Katz’s, which is ‘go-go-go’ and not quite fine dining. We really loved Russ & Daughters and Sadelle’s, which have great vibes,” Armstrong noted. “In Philadelphia, we went to Abe Fisher, which is a high-end, more polished version of what we liked, all the way to Zahav, which is more critically acclaimed with a lot of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern influences.”
“That’s how we wrapped our heads around what Harvey & Ed’s was going to be, the difference between being a delicatessen and deli-inspired, a concept that didn’t really exist in this market, but would fit well in the Short North,” she explained.
The location was already a done deal, though the updated deli counter and dining room bear little resemblance to Rigsby’s Kitchen. Amid construction hassles that abound in the area, foot traffic is brisk, even if parking is still a mess. Despite the newness and faint echoes of the former Italian eatery, the restaurant feels like it’s always been there, or always should have.
“Some people are just excited about the new concept, but we also have people who moved here from New York,” explained Armstrong, noting the table where we were seated served a couple originally from Brooklyn the evening prior. “It’s a mix of adventurous eaters who want to see what we’re all about and transplants to Columbus from the East Coast.”
It’s an easy oversight for ambitious restaurateurs to focus first on atmosphere and aesthetic, and let the menu evolve over time. But Harvey and Ed’s is in many ways new for Columbus — built around a pent-up demand for delicatessen delicacies for some, yet having to essentially introduce ingredients and entire entrees to many. Even I didn’t know Columbus had a dearth of pickled herring until a friend was unwittingly pinched by the TSA trying to bring back a small jar from Russ & Daughters in his carry-on and made him toss it. He still can’t stop kvetching about it.
Though the capital city’s Eastern European roots are represented in the restaurant scene, and with a Jewish community among the largest in the Midwest, some dishes may still require a little deciphering for the uninitiated, offering a new appreciation of why Mrs. Maisel deftly described pot roast as “Methodist for brisket”.
“Not everyone knows what a knish is,” confessed Basch, charged with keeping the menu traditional, approachable, and innovative — which is a tall order for any chef. “We use chicken livers in our chopped liver. Some use beef livers, but there’s a little less iron and they’re sweeter, and we sweat the onions down in schmaltz”.
Bubbe’s Matzo Ball soup is far more familiar, even if it’s the size of a fist, just like Miller remembers them as a kid. Egg Creams are my own long-awaited soda fountain staple, despite the misnomer, containing neither — just Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup, milk, and seltzer in perfect proportion.
“Then we got more creative, from the Knoblewurst, which is beef sausage made at The Butcher & Grocer in Grandview, to the Pomegranate Braised Lamb,” he revealed. “Our brisket is confited. It’s so tender, you can cut it with a spoon.”
Purveyors were thoughtfully curated between authentic brands and local sources, a deliberate mix of homage and in-house. Block’s Bagels were a given, with Matt’s Bakery and Orlando for challah and rye, and Turano potato buns from Chicago rounding out the rolls. But the babka and pastries on the deli side are all baked in the back. After some trial and error, Basch decided his Columbus kitchen could hold its own preparing almost all of the fish you’ll find on the menu, from Kippered Salmon to Gravlax. Detroit’s Sy Ginsberg is synonymous with corned beef, closer than Katz’s, and for my money, just as likely make Meg Ryan writhe in her seat.
More sophisticated tastes won’t feel shorted either, from the Latke Royale (with crème fraîche, cured salmon, caviar, fennel, and green apple) to the Seared Seabass (served with vegetable goulash, spatzle, and cucumber yogurt), or keep more Midwest with a Pastrami Burger (aged Havarti, horseradish pickle, tomato, and brown mustard). They’ll even put a fried egg on it if you ask.
Adding a fried egg isn’t the only nod to Columbus culinary expectations. Their brunch expands the menu even further, while their deceptively simple cocktails are the thread that ties the days, nights, and weekends together.
“We don’t serve cocktails with a giant garnish and ten ingredients. We’re more spirit forward, with three or four high-quality ingredients,” explained Armstrong, with the Boozy Egg Cream served in a milk bottle with a metal straw offered as an example of the more playful, less stuffy, cocktail philosophy. “Our seven-day happy hour also includes wine and beer specials, with half-off craft cocktails and noshes as well. We wanted to be sure we reach the bar crowd and keep that a focal point. It balances the restaurant. We want Columbus to know we’re more than just a deli.” ▩
Harvey & Ed’s is located at 698 N High Street. Reservations at harveyandeds.com.
Originally published in the April 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
As counterintuitive as it sounds, the greatest challenge any city has breaking into the film business isn’t film anymore—it’s bandwidth.
Motion pictures, as they’re less commonly called these days, are no longer a succession of still images deceiving the eyes at 24 frames per second. They’re a stream of encrypted elections protected like state secrets. The online release of an early edit of X-Men Origins: Wolverine (minus most visual effects) not only hurt the theatrical release, but was a warning shot felt throughout the industry. Hugh Jackman’s cigar-chomping alter ego may be bulletproof, but his box office appeal remains very mortal in the age of file sharing. Television isn’t immune either. A couple of years earlier, one of the best pilots never to make it into production was Global Frequency. Based on the comic book series of the same name, Warner Brothers execs were so perturbed by its leak through then-new torrenting technology, they put a swift end to the show before it even started.
That’s why Ohio Film Group is very particular about their post-production. Their local studios offer unmatched speed and security through their own secret internet of sorts, easily integrating studio quality capabilities into productions often thousands of miles away — all in an instant.
“We’re a hub on Sohonet, which is a private internet media-based company that allows us to move dense, heavy data from our facility all over the world securely and quickly,” explained Leonard Hartman, president of Ohio Film Group. “We can move a feature length film — hundreds of terabytes — to New York, L.A., or Paris as fast as walking it across the hall.”
Ohio State football fans may recognize that name. The former offensive lineman turned educator and coach launched his second act in Los Angeles at the American Film Institute, eventually establishing himself as a screenwriter and producer. But after starting a family, the practical challenges of life in L.A. and frequent trips back to Ohio to visit extended family made moving back here and occasionally flying there a better option. It’s a long commute, but one that keeps getting shorter thanks to technology that helps him to be there, even when he’s not.
“It allows us to stay connected to a community of creatives in a way they trust. It’s best in class, and we’re part of the network,” Hartman explained. “It allows us to stay connected with decision-makers in New York and L.A. in a way we couldn’t even a few years ago. It makes us relevant.”
Ohio Film Group’s start was as cinematic as Field of Dreams. It may have seemed like a crazy idea to build a production facility in Ohio, especially to studio executives who probably presume Columbus isn’t far from that fabled cornfield. “Build it, and they will come” wasn’t their strategy, but that’s exactly what happened. Projects that easily, if not surely, would have gone elsewhere landed here—including Aftermath, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. The speed and security of Ohio Film Group’s “big pipe” made a big difference in the decision to shoot here and stay here.
“We had 20 producers watching the dailies all over the world, watching what was happening here—giving notes, giving feedback—involved in the process from afar,” recalled Hartman. “They could watch the film being made and interact with the team on the ground. That’s just how it’s done now. If you can’t do that, you’re not part of the game.”
That’s not hype or hyperbole. Hollywood has quickly become a shell of its former self, much like the fake city streets and storefront facades that are all plywood and paint, but empty inside. Even those have become ghost towns as actual production has all but left California for tax credits elsewhere. It’s a gold rush in reverse.
“I was at Paramount not too long ago working on a film talking to one of the producers there who said they had a film shooting on the lot for the first time in five years,” noted Hartman. “They’d had a couple TV shows, but they hadn’t shot a movie on the backlot at Paramount for five years? That’s telling. Tax credits are entry-level. If you don’t have them, you’re not in the business. Canada started it years ago, and Georgia has figured it out for sure. Ohio has them, but the way they are structured could use some work.”
The trick with tax credits for film projects is that they are intended to create jobs, but often those jobs don’t last. They tend to be turn-and-burn positions instead of the ongoing ground-level gigs that are the foundation of a persistent film industry.
“If you’re looking at how you develop an entertainment community, it has to be more than productions that fly in for the tax credits, then fly back out. The real advantage is when those productions stay here, when people live here—buy houses, buy cars, buy groceries,” he explained. “Building facilities is how that happens. That’s a much better return on investment for Ohio taxpayers.”
That’s also why would-be film cities set their sights on television instead of just films. Having a TV series creates jobs that stick around long after the blockbusters close up shop. It may not seem as sexy, but it’s steady work.
“Hollywood isn’t just directors and actors. It’s the people who do all of the other stuff. It’s the grips and the carpenters, the set and costume designers—the worker bees. The only way you entice those people to uproot their families and move to Columbus is to have jobs that don’t go away in 30 days,” noted Hartman. “That’s what Atlanta has done; that’s what Vancouver has done—and there are people leaving L.A. everyday because there’s more work in cities that have that permanent creative class.”
Sadly, Columbus is sort of its own secret, and that’s still a challenge. Whether it’s our modest demeanor or Midwestern work ethic, we don’t brag about ourselves often enough. That’s the trouble with branding. You brand yourself, or someone else will.
“When I talk to people in the industry who have never been to Columbus, they don’t get it. They worry about whether they’ll be able to find anywhere to eat, or cows walking down the street. But if we can get them to come here, then they get it,” he explained. “When you show them the city, they’re surprised. They see the development in and around downtown, how we’re a vibrant city, a vital city. They start to see us like they used to see Portland or Austin just a few years ago. We’ve had clients in from Toronto who remark how much Columbus actually reminds them of Toronto.”
That’s why Ohio Film Group is recruiting technical talent from both coasts and abroad back to Columbus from heavy-hitters like Disney, Rhythm and Hues, and Industrial Light & Magic.
“One thing that makes Ohio more attractive is our cost of living is at least 30 percent less than New York, L.A., or even Atlanta. Every day I get a call from someone in one of those markets who says they’d love to come back to Columbus because of the quality of life and the bang they get for their dollar is so much better,” he revealed. “If we’re serious about the creative class and supporting a local film industry, it’s going to take creative thinking. You can buy all of this—the equipment, the fiber runs, all of it—but it still comes down to people. We’re always looking for the right projects, but we’re also looking for the right people.” ▩
For more about the OFG’s team and their projects, visit ofgpost.com.
Originally published in the Spring 2018 issue of 614 HOME
Photo by J.R. McMillan
Buy cheap, do-it-yourself, and make more money in a few weeks than you’d otherwise make all year. There are entire networks of flippers and fixer-uppers pushing the premise like televangelists — the new prophets of profit.
Don’t let those episodes that finish everything in an hour fool you. Rehabbing a house isn’t quick, cheap, or easy — it’s slow, expensive, and painful. And yet, we decided to do it anyway.
We weren’t idealistic urban pioneers determined to reclaim a small square of the city. Suburbia had simply lost its allure amid busybodies, constant construction, and a well-heeled school district that suddenly hit the skids and started slashing programs affecting our kids.
After enumerable open houses that never panned out, we kept coming back to the same dilapidated home on a double lot that was clearly vacant, but never for sale. A real estate agent in the neighborhood tracked down the out-of-town owners and found the right person, on the right day, in the right mood to consider a cold offer.
We already knew it needed a lot of work. Here’s what we didn’t know about Rehab Hell: Everything will cost more and take longer.
Unlike the typical flip, we actually planned to live there — maybe forever. So we didn’t mind spending a little more to make it what we wanted instead of what it was.
But moving a sink and knocking out a wall to connect your kitchen and living room is a lot less complicated on paper than it is once permits and engineers are involved. Add the AC unit, electrical wiring, and copper plumbing that had been pillaged before we bought it and it adds up fast.
What was supposed to be a 12-month rehab is approaching two years, which included months with two mortgages, plus rent and storage. We eventually had to realign the “fix list” to just the minimum number of projects to make the house habitable, then leave the rest for later. It’s a strategy that would have saved both time and money had we started there instead.
Referrals are important, but imperfect.
The place had been home to a fair number of felines during the two years it was empty. We literally bought a cathouse. Every window was broken or wouldn’t open. (Never mind the smell. If there were a fire, everyone would die.)
After combing through lots of online ratings, we selected a local window company we hoped would replace the fire hazard and foul odor with some fresh air. The sales guy was as slick as their receptionist was sweet. But that all changed once they had our money. Months of excuses turned to silence. Calls and emails were ignored. Only after threatening to come to their office and throw a rock through the front window just to see if anyone would show up to fix it did they finally schedule the installation. With the wisdom of hindsight, some of those swelling reviews now seem highly suspect.
It’s okay to be thrifty, just not foolish.
There are actually plenty of repairs the average homeowner can handle with the right tools and YouTube. I don’t mind admitting I’m slow and sloppy at just about every task I’ve taken on, or that I essentially learned to tile floors and shower walls by watching The Vanilla Ice Project.
But sometimes you bring in a pro just to keep your new home from blowing up or burning down. I can sweat pipes and swap light fixtures just fine, but when it comes to breaker boxes and things that go boom, better to be safe than dead.
We asked around and found a quasi-retired electrician to make sense of our mess, and a former plumber who still likes to get his hands wet and runs gas lines on the side. They were both willing to supervise my work or assist for far less than an ordinary contractor.
Always work from the inside out.
Every instinct suggests fixing ugly first, but resist the urge. We started down the wrong road by lining up exterior improvements, when we should have stayed focused on the less sexy projects inside. I should have pulled off the aluminum siding earlier to discover solid cedar underneath before wasting time shopping for new siding only to end up restoring what we had. We should have replaced the water heater and finished the bathroom first, not last.
Fortunately we found a guy who was able to repair and refinish the floors and feather in new wood so well a hummingbird couldn’t tell the difference. But it would have been much easier to tackle the plaster and painting first. Ideally it should have been windows, plaster and paint, then floors. Now we’re doing it in reverse, having to cover up the floors to keep from screwing them up.
Know your neighborhood and your neighbors.
I still joke that I went out for a beer and came back with a house, but that’s not far from the truth. We were already looking for a new place to live. But while writing a story about a group of Westgate homebrewers who get together every few months in someone’s backyard or living room to share and compare, I realized what I’d overlooked entirely in our search — genuine community.
That’s the real reason why after months of frustration with few prospects we decided to make an offer on a rare pre-war ranch, despite its many faults, even though it wasn’t for sale.
Since then, this gathering of former strangers has eagerly offered their tools, time, and talents to make this long-neglected house a home. The guy around the corner is redoing the roof, a dude on the other side of the park helped hang the kitchen cabinets, and those floors were saved by someone from down the block.
This is the most important advice, and probably the only thing we did right from the start. You’re not just buying a house, whether you’re flipping it or moving in. You’re buying a neighborhood and the people who live there are the real investment, and what ultimately determines whether it’s all worth it. ▩
Originally published in the March 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Aftermath, 2017. Photo By Brian Douglas/Courtesy Lionsgate Premiere
It’s no surprise action heroes are Hollywood’s single greatest export.
Amid wildfires, mudslides, drought, and rolling blackouts, it’s a wonder the filmmaking capital of the world has survived any better than its on-screen alter ego, regularly ravaged by everything from earthquakes to alien invasions. The cost of living is untenable, the traffic is intolerable, even the most groundbreaking feature film of last year was titled simply Get Out — and like most movies and television series these days, it wasn’t filmed there either.
California has in many ways become the star of its own disaster film. How can you tell? After years of economic malaise and mismanagement, the voters there actually asked Arnold Schwarzenegger to save them, and maybe we in Columbus should too.
This year marks the 30th anniversary of the Arnold Sports Festival, held the first weekend of this month. What started three decades ago as the Arnold Classic, the former bodybuilding championship has ballooned into a four-day health and fitness expo celebrating more than 75 established and obscure sports, from fencing to axe throwing.
But Schwarzenegger’s ties to Central Ohio run much deeper than just a long weekend once a year.
Back in 1970, Worthington Mayor Jim Lorimer invited a 23-year-old Austrian bodybuilder to the World Weightlifting Championship’s new Mr. World competition in Columbus to vie for the title and a cash prize of $500.
Arnold passed. The three-time consecutive winner of the Mr. Universe competition was already scheduled to defend his title in London, but Lorimer wasn’t taking no for an answer. He offered to fly Schwarzenegger back from London to Columbus immediately after the event there so he could compete.
Outside the then close-knit bodybuilding community, Arnold was just some guy who struggled to shop off the rack. That was all about to change. He won both Mr. Universe and Mr. World in the same weekend, a feat that was featured on ABC’s wildly popular Wide World of Sports, introducing him to his largest audience to date.
Schwarzenegger confided in Lorimer his dream of sponsoring his own tournament after he retired from the sport, and a seed was planted. After hosting several successful Mr. Olympia competitions here in the ’70s, and a brief acting hiatus in the early ’80s, Arnold ultimately launched his own competition in Columbus 30 years ago this month.
So what does that have to do with our fledgling film industry? More than you think.
Arnold has become an ambassador for Columbus for more than just sports. His annual health and fitness expo celebrates the city as much as the events and athletes. His own celebrity doesn’t just rub off on us; he’s helped introduce us to new audiences, just like we did for him with that first Mr. World competition.
He could have talked his action hero buddies Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis into opening Planet Movies anywhere on Earth, the motion picture rival to Hard Rock Café that coupled a Planet Hollywood restaurant with an upscale movie theater complex. But he chose Easton Town Center, and even though the concept was short-lived, the investment and effort shouldn’t be forgotten.
Action heroes also have a reputation for formulaic personas from one film to the next. Schwarzenegger is the exception, never afraid to try something unexpected or face the critics if an endeavor falls flat.
Yes, he’s been a barbarian, a commando, a spy, a hitman, and a killer cyborg from the future. But he’s also been a kindergarten teacher, Danny DeVito’s genetic better half, and even pregnant. His blockbuster appeal hasn’t stopped him from making fun of his own typecasting or being cast against type. Recent performances in Maggie as the protective father of girl slowly succumbing to a global pandemic that turns victims into zombies, and in Aftermath as an anguished survivor determined to avenge his family’s death from a mid-air collision, show an unexpected range and depth.
As soon as you think you know Arnold, he’s going to do something to prove you wrong.
How did your experience with the Arnold Classic influence the decision to shoot the film Aftermath here? What makes Columbus ideal as an emerging film city?
Columbus is a fantastic place for anything and everything. I’ve spent time in Columbus for 48 years through our bodybuilding championship, that then developed into the world championships in many different sports through our sport and fitness festival. It’s a perfect place that I use as an example, where the private sector and public sector work really well together. They’re very well coordinated. There’s no “we” against “them.” It’s always “us,” and it’s always what is best for the community. It doesn’t matter if it’s Republicans or Democrats in office, they all know they ultimately have to serve in a way to bring more businesses here. I have seen the great growth of the Arnold Classic and how dedicated the city officials are, and also the people at the state level. They’ve helped us every step of the way to make the Arnold Classic Sports and Fitness Festival successful. This is how it became the biggest in the world. This year we have 20,000 participants from 80 different nations. It’s gigantic, and we wouldn’t be able to do it anywhere else than Columbus.
When I did the movie Aftermath, I told the production company when there was a debate about should we go to Atlanta, or New Mexico, or Cleveland, I said to them, “Look, let me explain to you a little about Columbus…”. I told them basically what I told you. It’s an extraordinary place, and that I’ve talked to the mayor many times, the governor many times, and they all said if you come here with a production, we will help you because we want to establish ourselves as a city where you should go to shoot movies. Big movies, small movies, documentaries, whatever you want to do. So I took the risk. I said, “I’m not going to do the movie unless we shoot it in Columbus.” They decided to investigate, to check into it, and this is why after looking around, talking to the film commission, they realized this is a very friendly place where they are opening up their arms to productions. So we shot the movie here and the producers walked away absolutely delighted with one of the best experiences they’ve ever had.
My idea was that this would be the opening, and those production people would go to Hollywood and tell others about it. That’s exactly what happened.
This is why I think it’s a great place. Because people work together, they work tirelessly. People are talented here — the stage crew, the people who build sets — they’re energetic, they’re passionate. This is something you cannot buy. It’s not just tax credits. I made this clear, Columbus maybe doesn’t have the best tax credits, but you will get your money’s worth in many other ways, and it paid off.
Why is it important to take risks in film? Why do actors need to take risks, why do filmmakers need to take risks? Why is it important to get out of your box?
I don’t think there’s a difference from one field to another. One cannot say, why do you need to take risks in movies, why do you need to take risks in the parts that you play, what genre of movies you make? There are people who love to take risks, and there are people who like to play it safe. I think I’ve always been a person who thrives on risk. When I started in bodybuilding back in Austria they said, “You’ll never be a bodybuilder. Austrians are known for soccer and skiing. But bodybuilding? Forget it.” But I took the risk. It’s no different than taking the risk of running for governor. In movies, you have to take risks. Hollywood is a place that loves to put you in a box. You’re the action guy. You’re going to make action movies, and you’re going to do one script after the next — which I did, and that was very successful during the ’80s and ’90s. But there’s a time when I’ve done enough of that, after I’ve satisfied the studios’ needs, to show that I can do other things, that there’s a different Arnold in there than most people know. So I take the risk.
When I did Twins, I said to the studio, I know you don’t want to put much money behind this like an action movie. They said they wanted to make a minimum amount, and I said, “Then, don’t pay me? I’ll take the risk. It’s my first comedy. Why don’t you not pay me or the director or Danny DeVito, and just give us the back end?” We took that risk and it was my most successful movie at that time in my life, and I had a backend of 20 percent.
You couldn’t ever get that deal today. It was all about being able to take that risk.
When you get to be more mature, with age you’re much more believable to play a father in Aftermath or in Maggie, with more acting than action. When you’re younger and an action star, they won’t write material like this for you. They write scenes with great action, but they won’t write scenes with great dialogue and great character building. That’s just the way it is. For me, it was great to take those risks whether it’s Aftermath and Maggie, or Twins and Kindergarten Cop and Junior. I wanted to branch out because there is a side of me that is also like that. So I think taking risks in which parts you take and which productions you choose is absolutely essential.
Typecasting is tough to escape, with studios and with audiences. Is there a role or genre of film that you haven’t done and would like to?
We’re putting together a western. I’ve never really done one, and I’ve always wanted to do a western. It’s being developed with Amazon and it’s going to be eight segments, like a miniseries. It’s a terrific project — very intense, action-packed, great characters. We’ll most likely start shooting next year. It’s being written right now. This year, I’m going to be shooting Terminator in Spain, and Budapest, Hungary. We’re finalizing the script for Triplets, which will be a sequel to Twins with Eddie Murphy as the third twin brother.
The industry and audiences are still divided over the use of computer generated versions of real actors and actresses. As someone who has starred opposite a CGI version of his younger self twice, what’s your opinion on the use and future of computer generated actors?
I want to see movies that are thoroughly entertaining. I don’t look at it as whether it’s computer generated or not. Wise directors like James Cameron who use visual effects will make sure those things he can do in real life, he will shoot in real life. I think if it is well done, it’s okay to use the technology because that’s why it was developed in the first place, to be able to entertain people better. If the script says the Terminator looks exactly the same as he did in 1984, the reality is that my body doesn’t look the same as it did in 1984. So whether you computer generate it, or use someone else’s body, or they enhance your body, or use someone else’s body and put your face on it, depending on what the script says, it may be the only way you can do it. In Conan the Barbarian, I had to fight a giant snake. You could tell that it was mechanically operated, and people didn’t mind because it was the only technology available then. Computer generated technology has a very important part in movie making. I don’t mind it at all if I get enhanced one way or another to look younger — like if my character is supposed to be 50, instead of 70 — any help I can get, I’ll take it.
Speaking of reboots,I’d be remiss not to ask if King Conan rumors are true. Is there another Conan installment we can look forward to with an elder Conan?
That is correct. Those movies were really big hits way back when. It’s a theme in Hollywood, to come back to titles that are well-known. Independent companies take risks with production titles no one has ever heard of or that are new. But studios like recognizable names. That’s why Twins is becoming Triplets, it’s why they’re now writing King Conan, which is why there’s a Terminator 6 — which is all good for me, to keep those franchises alive.
Some parents push their kids into their own profession. Others push them away. The upcoming release of Midnight Sun is your son Patrick’s first starring role. How do you feel about him getting into the family business?
I never discouraged him from going into the movie business. I think it’s a great business to be in. But I also make it clear to all of my kids — no matter which field they get into — they have to be smart with business, and they have to be smart with money. My son is very serious about acting, but he’s also very serious as a businessman. He’s always been entrepreneurial. While I’m proud of him and his work in the movies, I’m also proud of him and his work outside the movies — so that he never ends up being vulnerable. It’s important to have a passion for acting, but it’s also important to be financially independent — not having to sell out and take a role just because they offer good money. He’s really serious about acting, but he’s also really smart about it. I was so proud when I saw his movie, and I think people are going to be surprised by his performance.
As a Midwestern city, Columbus can pretend to be anywhere on film, but many filmmakers don’t realize it. How practical is it to shoot here instead of more familiar film cities?
Columbus has so many different sides to it. When we shot Aftermath, we had no problem finding any backdrops whatsoever. The plane crash site was done a little bit outside of Columbus, we shot in a jail and had free reign over that location. You can find government buildings and high-rises, dangerous looking alleys. If it’s a modern looking shopping mall, there’s Easton Town Center. If you want to find a nice Spielbergian kind of community like you see in many of his movies, you have that in Columbus. You literally have everything that you need. I don’t think there is anything anyone would say you don’t have. If you’re shooting a movie that takes place in New York, I would highly recommend you shoot 95 percent of the movie in Columbus. Five percent of the movie — all of the exteriors, walking on 42nd Street or Broadway, or Central Park or aerial shots of the city — you go to New York to shoot that. But the rest it? You can shoot it all in Columbus. ▩
The 30th annual Arnold Classic will take place March 1 – 4. Aftermath is available for rent on iTunes, Amazon and YouTube.
Originally published in the January 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
The line to get in the city’s newest hot spot already stretched down the sidewalk, so I discreetly slipped in the side door. Down some stairs and through the commotion of the kitchen, I was politely ushered into the heart of the restaurant where the owner eagerly waited to greet me with a firm handshake and the best table in the house.
It wasn’t quite the Copacabana scene from Goodfellas, but it was damn close.
Even from across a room, Jeff Ruby is larger than life. With an unmistakable swagger and swirl of smoke, he conducted an orchestra of carpenters and electricians like woodwinds and brass, using his cigar as a baton to maintain the brisk tempo.
Less than a month from opening, his latest signature steakhouse in downtown Columbus was far from finished. It was a symphony of chaos.
“Columbus is a city we’ve had our eyes on for a long time,” said Ruby, whose ominous silhouette and brash persona may seem at odds with the requisites of a restaurateur. He’s more of a midwestern wiseguy. But it’s that stubborn, straight-shooting style that is surely behind his acclaim, not an impediment. “It’s close to our headquarters so we can pay close attention to it. We don’t like to go far from home. That’s when quality suffers.”
Plans to open at Easton were scuttled by Smith & Wollensky, and efforts to move into the empty Morton’s location also fell through. But that closing, and the western migration of Hollywood Casino’s Final Cut left a void for a downtown steakhouse Ruby was ready to fill.
“People from Columbus have been supporting our restaurants in Cincinnati for decades. They’ve been telling us for years to open in Columbus,” Ruby noted. “They don’t come to our restaurants because they’re hungry. They can go to the refrigerator. There is a sense of experience here.”
That “experience,” even in a city like Columbus with a booming restaurant scene, isn’t always enough. Generational and economic trends are conspiring against institutions and cultural rituals that used to define our social interactions. Uber Eats, Door Dash, and a dozen similar services are becoming to the restaurants business what Netflix and Redbox have to movie theaters. Both industries are struggling just to get people off the couch.
The motion picture metaphor doesn’t escape Ruby.
“The restaurant business, in my view, is living theater. Everyday a curtain goes up and you have a new audience. I named my company Jeff Ruby Culinary Entertainment because we’re in the entertainment business,” he said. “When we open a new restaurant, we have a casting call. We audition our employees. Everyone has a role. I tell a story with every restaurant.”
That story certainly didn’t spare any expense in the props department or set dressing either. Even those familiar with the space wouldn’t recognize it. The former 89 Fish & Grill, Michael O’Toole’s Restaurant & Bar, and a Damon’s Grill before that, all seem as sparsely appointed as a college dorm room by comparison.
“Our audience digests the ambiance with every sip of wine and every bite of food,” Ruby chided. “I had an unlimited budget, and I exceeded it.”
A grand statement for certain, but no less grand than the tin ceilings and tufted seats with old wood charm and old world touches on every surface. Walking through the still incomplete dining space, Ruby was eager and easily able to tell the backstory of every fixture and finish. From the stained glass windows to the wall sconces, Ruby’s a bit of an auction enthusiast, with some pieces purchased years ago and squirreled away in a warehouse waiting for just the right spot in the just the right restaurant.
If you want to know when and where the chandelier over your table was procured, the name of the Vermont electrician who rewired it, and the tiny Chicago company that restored the crystal to its original luster, just ask Jeff — he can probably tell you off the top of his head.
Lights may dim as they grow older, but Ruby has not.
For those unfamiliar with Ruby, he’s kind of a big deal. So much so, it’s hard to know exactly how big. He says he’s the first to put a sushi bar in a steakhouse in the 1980s, a point of pride illustrated as he was interrupted to personally decide the exact sequence of the tiles behind the sushi bar in the middle of our conversation. He also claims he coined the term “servers assistants” for busboys as well, now industry standard jargon for fine dining establishments.
Whether or not he used to have the pull to get players traded from the Cincinnati Reds, or is personally responsible for getting the band Survivor played on the radio (both assertions from his autobiography) remains unclear. But in an industry of imitators, there is no denying Ruby is an original without equal.
“Ballplayers, babes, businessmen, barflies, blue bloods, and blue hairs,” is how he described the diverse clientele of his earlier restaurants, where guests wearing blue jeans would pull up in a Rolls Royce because the atmosphere defied the stuffy conventions of other fine dining restaurants. “We dry-aged our own steaks on the premises, other steakhouses dry-aged their waiters.”
Serving French fare, seafood, sushi, and comfort food classics all on the same menu made each restaurant surprisingly approachable. They were never, as Ruby put it, “steak it, or leave it” — they were familiar, but with fanfare.
“Our macaroni and cheese has five imported cheeses, and was named the best mac and cheese in America by Food Network,” Ruby revealed. “We worked five years on the recipe.”
That reputation for unapologetic precision is why thousands of applications were winnowed down to roughly 80 positions at the new Columbus location. Ruby insists on the best steaks and the best staff, with training taking them to Cincinnati to ensure the people are as well prepared as the dishes themselves.
“The culinary staff — the entire staff — is the best we’ve put together in any city where we’ve opened,” Ruby boasted, and he would know. As we toured the various dining rooms, upstairs and downstairs, he called every tradesman and employee by name, though everyone simply addressed him as “Mr. Ruby.” By the time we reached the kitchen, still in the midst of construction, a handful of staff were wrapping up an order of subs for lunch. Ruby joined in and offered to pick up the bill — but made it clear the place better get his order right, or else. He’s still a Jersey boy at heart, never shying away from an Italian sub or a knuckle sandwich.
The timing of the Columbus expansion also offers some serendipity. The aging but active Ruby — or as his family calls him, J.R. — is facing the same challenge as any small family restaurant. That’s why his kids are stepping in while they still have the opportunity to learn from their father and preserve the legacy of the family business.
“I never knew my father,” he explained. “My mother was married four times. I called them my ‘four fathers,’ but none were my biological father. I didn’t know who he was until I was a senior in high school.”
After opening the Waterfront, Ruby made what was likely his most unexpected business move amid overwhelming success: he stopped opening restaurants.
“I wanted to see my kids grow before I saw my company grow,” he said. “I wanted to be a father. I wanted to wait for them to grow up.”
“It’s too bad I don’t have as many brothers as we have restaurants,” laughed Britney Ruby Miller, daughter and now president of Jeff Ruby Culinary Entertainment. Though she admits sometimes their conversations tend to revolve around work, everyone makes extra efforts to ensure they do more than just talk shop. “It’s very easy to get so consumed with work that we forget about what’s most important — our relationships.”
Son Brandon, now corporate director of training has seen this on the menu for years.
“From the time I was able to even recall, I wanted to be a restaurateur like my father. I even wrote it down on a list of questions in first or second grade, but did not spell restaurateur correctly — nor was I close,” he said.
Dillon, the youngest of the three who ended up taking over at the Nashville location after the general manager didn’t work out, is excited to see how something new plays out in Columbus.
“Because we’re opening a steakhouse that is so completely different than what anyone in this town has ever seen before, that’s a huge risk. The fact that we took the risk and see it paying off with all the success we have had in the past year is definitely a pleasant surprise.”
Now, with the Ruby clan all grown up, Jeff got to have his steak and eat it, too. He’s maintained a great relationship with his kids — and now, they’re the core of his team professionally.
“I waited for my kids to grow up before expanding the business,” he said. “Now they aren’t just the reason I want to expand. They are the reason we can expand.” ▩
The new Jeff Ruby Steakhouse is open at 89 E Nationwide Blvd. For more, visit jeffruby.com
Originally published in the August 2017 issue of (614) Magazine
A mentor of mine once said that the worst place to open a coffee shop was in the same spot where another had gone out of business. Sure, you could probably quantify the failure of foot traffic or demographics. But ultimately, the place is still cursed.
With Ray Ray’s there is no scorched earth — only burnt ends.
After all the market analysis that could go into finding the right balance of random and regular clientele, there are really only two kinds of barbecue — you want it, or you don’t.
“I can’t fail here. It didn’t
even cross my mind,” explained a defiant James Anderson, owner of Ray
Ray’s Hog Pit whose reclusive and recursive alter-ego opened a surprise
second location in Westerville in the same space that used to be The
Barbeque Shack. “Now if it was a new market like Cleveland or
Cincinnati, I’d be nervous. But I know Columbus, and people know me.”
Despite personally knowing Anderson and his demanding attention to detail for nearly two decades, the stakes are higher than they may seem. So much so, I found myself struggling to sleep the night before — still staring at the ceiling well past midnight amid the anxious anticipation of impossible expectations. (Jiro dreams of sushi. I dream of barbecue.)
With
his wiry white beard and unmistakable attire, he’s practically become
the Santa Claus of smoked meat, working throughout the night to bring
barbecue to good boys and girls at a massive scale with magical
precision. Like all legendary reputations, it was hard to earn and
remains challenging to maintain.
“We turned down all growth opportunities for the past five years to focus on the brand. We wanted to do it slowly, to make sure our processes were in place, that our purveyors were doing their jobs well,” Anderson said with assurance. “But when this spot became available, the whole package was too good to turn down.”
The new spot isn’t entirely obvious for an undercover
barbecue pit. Situated in the middle of a shopping plaza on the
northeast corner of Maxtown Road and Route 3, it seems like an unlikely
spot compared to the perfect food truck parking lot they’ve called home
beside Ace of Cups.
But look closer. It’s more than just a failed drive-thru espresso bar and a patch of grass at the far end of the Home Depot parking lot. That’s essentially the local hardware store — and there’s a bank, a grocery, a pharmacy, even a factory right across the road. What looks like suburbia almost perfectly mimics the mix of businesses found in any old small-town square — and Ray Ray’s is right in the middle of it.
There’s really no bad place to sell barbecue — save maybe outside a petting zoo. Though there are certainly better places, and Anderson decided this one had all the right ingredients.
“Barbecue should be served outdoors,” he noted. “I’m
lost in this little corporate world, and they’re starving for
independents up here.”Anderson is anything but corporate, but his
gut instincts are tempered by informed intuition. The original location
has been the unlikely launch pad for various culinary collaborations
that seem to be everywhere you turn. From a signature pie at Mikey’s
Late Night Slice and the spin-off success of the Hungarian Butcher, to a
Franklinton barbecue throwdown, and a one-off event last month at
Land-Grant, the best innovators are collaborators and Anderson’s orbit
has already reached well beyond Clintonville.
“There are some
culinary things I’d like to do that I can’t do with Ray Ray’s. But there
will be a time to get those things out,” he hinted coyly, and
cautiously. “I don’t want to bring that here. We’re still keeping this
street level.”
Anderson knows his brand, and anyone who thinks barbecue is just swine, Cheerwine, and a bunch of picnic tables oversimplifies the cultural complexity that comes with any expansion of a beloved business.
“We have a lot of room for growth, that’s why
we put in two smokers. We can do catering here, and now we have that
capacity. But we don’t want to spread ourselves too thin by doing things
we don’t do,” he noted with a nod to the empty stage that used to host
bands under the former owner. “We’re not a live music venue, we’re not a
bar. If you do all of those other things, your quality suffers. Simple
works. I think our customers respect that.”
Westerville patrons
may recognize some familiar faces. To ensure the new Ray Ray’s matched
more than just the menu, Anderson split his existing team in half, then
hired at both locations.
“Barbecue is an art that you’re constantly teaching someone else. So whatever they do also represents me,” he explained.
Though
training new staff at both locations sounds inherently risky, it’s
certainly not the craziest idea, and he’s heard his share over the
years.
“Franchising… I’ve been getting that offer once a week for
years. We have a grocery store that’s been hounding us to put pre-made,
wrapped Ray Ray’s sandwiches in their stores. That’s f*cking crazy,” he
said, shaking his head at the prospect of taking something hot and fresh
and making it old and cold. “I would lose all of my credibility.”
Columbus is a city built on reputations, which is why Anderson isn’t concerned about eating into his own customer base by opening a second location. Folks already come from Michigan and Kentucky to stand in line. That isn’t likely to change. Connoisseurs, farther still — like one renowned barbecue critic who recently traveled from Texas to see what all the fuss was about.
“The national critics will often give you a
heads-up, but sometimes they want to sneak in and get the real deal,” he
explained. “We recognized him and talked for a couple of hours. Then he
flew back a week later and came to the farm to see my Mangalitsa-Red
Wattle cross, and I did a hog roast just for him.”
Even with
expectations that epic, there’s no accounting for the weather. Ray Ray’s
had their share of rain opening week, but it didn’t seem to dampen
business or deter his faithful following. The extra hours of operation
also helped to smooth things out.
“Now that we’re in a building, we should follow different rules. We’re open six days here instead of four, and an hour earlier,” Anderson noted. “We almost doubled our projection for the first week. Even with the rain, we still killed it. But we have to keep that momentum. If our month two and month three sales are the same or better than our first month, then we’ll know it’s the right spot. ▩
For more on Ray Ray’s Hog Pit, current hours and specials, follow them on Facebook and Instagram, and visit rayrayshogpit.com
Originally published in the July 2017 issue of (614) Magazine
It seems counterintuitive in the competitive Columbus culinary scene for a restaurant to willfully remain below the radar. Even neighborhood joints advertise a little, if only through carryout coupons or flimsy flyers.
But some places survive and thrive on reputation alone. That’s why sometimes you go out for groceries and stumble into an undiscovered restaurant waiting within. Saraga International Market on Morse Road is host to Momo Ghar, whose handmade dumplings have turned the former Toys R’ Us into a hot spot for Himalayan home-cooking. The much beloved Westgate Import Market once disguised one of the best Thai take-outs in town. Both pulled in patrons from well beyond their backyards. They epitomize destination dining for adventurous eaters willing to take a chance on a place that isn’t worried about whether their scant ambiance will earn them four stars or a nod from Fodor’s.
Sadly, Westgate’s Pad Thai street cred has faded slightly since the import market’s counter closed for good, much to the lament of the locals. But you can still find your fix just a few blocks west on Sullivant at Luc’s Asian Market.
Don’t let the “Groceries & Gifts” sign out front fool you. Though mostly Vietnamese and Cambodian, the menu of more than a dozen dishes features the same influences and ingredients that line the aisles. With only a smattering of seats, it would be easy to grab a bánh mì to go. But made-to-order appetizers and entrees are worth the wait. Though commonly considered a Thai standard, spicy beef salad is a bit of a regional dish originating from Northeast Thailand, right where its borders with Vietnam and Cambodia converge. Savory strips of beef served with a pungent punch of red onion, cilantro, and ginger-lime dressing are the refreshing, grilled summer favorite you didn’t know you were missing. Early kitchen hours also mean bánh khot might make a great late breakfast — fluffy rice flour, turmeric, and coconut milk pancake puffs with a sweet sauce on the side are reason enough to be a little late for work.
Around the corner, across from the casino, is La Plaza Tapatia, a supermercado of sorts that anchors the Westside’s booming Latino community. Once the only Mexican buffet in town, the focus has shifted toward servers and tables, which are ample — except on the weekends when families gather and mariachis move throughout the town square inspired interior. If not for the music to lure you in, you might miss the modest entrance entirely on your way to the grocery.
Though there are plenty of dishes Americans have come to expect from an increasingly familiar menu, be sure to explore the less common ones as well. Nopalitos are an easy and interesting departure for the uninitiated. The formerly thorny cactus has a taste and texture a little like okra, with a hint of stuffed green pepper. Their molcajete may be unmatched anywhere in Columbus.
The matte black volcanic vessel is huge and piled high with a mixed grill of beef, chicken, pork, shrimp, and chorizo complemented by peppers, onions, and an endless supply of fresh-pressed corn tortillas. Even if you share it, expect to leave with leftovers.
A little farther north, tucked away on Trabue between Rome-Hilliard and 270 is a Midwest seafood market that mimics the memories of my youth. When you grow up near the Chesapeake Bay, blue crabs are as ordinary as macaroni and cheese. But when you move inland, you realize you rarely find that fresh-off-the-boat flavor anymore.
So when you go out for seafood at one of Central Ohio’s better restaurants, you can probably thank Frank.
That would be owner Frank Gonzalez of Frank’s Fish and Seafood Market, whose commercial enterprise also supplies restaurants in Dayton, Cincinnati, and Northern Kentucky with the best catch. After nearly three decades, the same wide smile and firm handshake that greets wholesale and retail patrons alike still beams with pride over his latest endeavor.
Now a few years in, the tiny take-out hiding inside is still unknown to many — and it’s truly their loss. Almost all of the square footage supplied by the former offices and conference room went into the kitchen, with only enough space remaining for a two-top, a four-top, four stools and a counter.
Ten seats, that’s it. A football team could fill the place and still leave the quarterback standing.
But that’s a metaphor for the entire operation. Frank’s unlikely expansion from commercial to retail, and then to a restaurant all seemed to lack enough space. But somehow he made it work — with patio seating that pushes the dining capacity closer to 70 during better weather, a curated wine room that should be the envy of any sommelier, and an unrivaled selection of hundreds of fresh, frozen, and smoked fish, seafood, and chef-quality meats — all under one roof.
Whether you crave a working-class fried oyster po’ boy and peel-and-eat shrimp by the bucket, or your tastes lean more toward a “pick-your-catch” sandwich (of perch, catfish, or cod) and salmon cakes with corn, tomato, and black bean chutney, there is something for every appetite and palette. Even the kid’s menu has grilled shrimp on it.
But don’t mistake Frank’s diminutive diner for just a summertime stop. Hearty clam chowder and glorious gumbo so thick with Andouille, shrimp, crab, and crawfish you can stand up a spoon in it, both served with creole seasoned flatbread, will warm your soul year round. And their “small plates” include an order of FIVE lamb chops with a sweet Thai chili glaze. Everything on the menu begs to be shared, whether you want to or not. So just order a few items and enjoy an intimate date night at the only table for two — or order a few more and dine family-style with a group of friends and fill every seat.
Originally published in the Spring 2017 issue of Stock & Barrel
The oldest of four brothers, Yianni Chalkias wasn’t the first in his family to find his way into the restaurant business, but he was one of the youngest. Having immigrated to Cleveland from Greece just shy of his tenth birthday, he recalled the early challenges of a new land and a new language.
“In school, we only had 45 minutes of English. And the rest of the day, you had to already know English,” he chided. “That’s why I always did well in math — the other kids were jealous because I always scored higher than they did and I just got here. But I learned English in the restaurant.”
Chalkias eventually excelled, but his first classroom was the kitchen — peeling a few potatoes, washing a few dishes after school — but embracing a new language and culture through interaction with employees.
Not unlike nearly every American restaurant today, the kitchen is still home to immigrants. Behind every counter and cooktop is someone who took a leap of faith, leaving family and familiarity to find a new future. Ethnic communities offer support for recent arrivals and help to retain ethnic identity through customs and cuisine. But it can also be insulating and isolating, preventing new neighbors from interacting and sharing their common culture.
Yianni soon relocated to Columbus, where extended family were already established in the restaurant business. In 1987, his parents opened Vaso’s Greek Restaurant. But just four years later, Yanni saw the opportunity to introduce Greek food to a wider audience with what is now called a “fast casual” concept.
“Vaso’s was full service, so I wanted to do something different — gyros, fries, salads, and a few desserts. That was it,” Chalkias explained. He set his sights on a former Taco Bell off Hamilton Road, despite some of the challenges it posed. “They built it just like they did in California, so it had single-paned glass and no insulation.”
Since the extensive remodeling effort several years ago, it’s hard to find the old bones of that Taco Bell, but I remember them well. When I first moved to Columbus two decades ago, finding decent Greek food was high on my priority list.
My first real job in college was right across the street from a Greek joint that luckily kept the same late hours as the newspaper. And I used to ditch class in high school on occasion to grab carryout from a tiny Greek place out by the interstate. My father, while stationed a Quantico, became lifelong friends with the Greek owner of a local restaurant who also learned English in the kitchen and from his Marine patrons. The former fisherman and sponge diver even sent a cab full of wine and food to the maternity ward at the base hospital when I was born. I may not have Greek in my DNA, but it’s always been in my blood.
That’s probably why King Gyros seemed so familiar in those early days, and why it still does. Despite the aesthetic improvements and expanded menu, it’s still the same place that used to have a bathroom outside and around the back. And it’s why few family or friends who come to Columbus to visit leave without going there. It’s a tight-knit, family restaurant — and whether you work there or eat there, you’re part of it.
“We survived 20 years like that, with just four tables here and three tables over there. But we had a lot of carryout and a lot of drive-thru service,” Chalkias noted. “There was catering too, but we had to do something. We had to expand.”
Rather than uproot the restaurant, he explored ways to expand in the existing space. A new dining room and patio seating with interior restrooms solved the capacity problem. An Acropolis-inspired façade and Mediterranean murals eliminated the obvious vestiges of the building’s taco tenure.
“Of course, all of this was happening right as the economy was collapsing, so some people thought I was crazy,” he recalled. “But I decided we weren’t going to survive otherwise.”
The renovations were further complicated by the decision not to close to potentially complete the project sooner. “We didn’t close a single day. We’re already closed on Sundays and holidays, but we didn’t close once during the entire process,” Chalkias said.
The new dining room and outside elevation were completed while the old dining area and drive-thru remained open. Only when the additions were finished were they finally connected.
“We worked with the health department and showed them if we did it this way, we’d never have to close the kitchen,” he explained. “We worked all night putting down tile on one of those two-day holiday weekends, but we didn’t grout everything in until Tuesday night. We opened Monday without any grout.”
It wasn’t just customer consideration that kept King Gyros open without interruption, it was concern for his employees as well.
“Our employees have been here for years. They needed to work, and we didn’t want to lose them. They’re our family too,” he said. “When someone new starts here and seven of our employees have been here more than eight years, that says something to them.”
Expanded space created opportunity for an expanded menu of traditional dishes and family recipes. Tender souvlake (seasoned tips of filet mignon), fried calamari (breaded squid), dolmades (stuffed grape leaves), and spanakopita (spinach pie) — as well as some interpretations of more Midwest fare, like cabbage rolls stuffed with a mix of ground lamb and beef with decidedly Greek seasoning and sauce.
But there were some items that didn’t long endure. Begoto (fried smelts) weren’t an easy sell. Nor were moussaka (think shepherd’s pie) and pastitsio (somewhere between lasagna and a meaty baked mac & cheese).
“I grew up eating moussaka and pastitsio,” Chalkias explained. “It must be a generational thing.”
The kids, it seems, just aren’t keen on casseroles.
That’s probably true, given the success of other menu items, like the expanded dip options with variations of hummus, eggplant, and garlic. And the feta bowls with a base of saffron rice, gyro, chicken, or souvlake, topped with lettuce, tomato, onion, and peppers are a Greek reinvention of an increasingly familiar fast casual standard.
Never one to rest on his laurels (bad Greek pun intended), Chalkias is connecting with younger clientele through an active social media presence, to fight the generational drift that slowly dooms family restaurants, as seen recently with the closing of The Florentine. The unique selection of Greek beer and wine also attracts the Yelp crowd and helps tempt and introduce the authentic charm to folks well beyond Whitehall.
The irony of starting as an alternative to a full-service restaurant and eventually becoming one hasn’t been lost on Chalkias, nor are the long odds of success with any restaurant offering ethnic fare outside a well-established ethnic neighborhood.
“We’re supported by the Greek church, and hope to have more special events like our anniversary with Greek music and dancers,” he said. “But it’s our customers, our staff, and our community that have helped us make it this far.” ▩
King Gyros and Chalkias are celebrating their 25th anniversary this year. For more, visit kinggyros.com
Originally published in the January 2017 issue of (614) Magazine
Sharing stories around a campfire is among our most enduring traditions. From the primitive survival tips of our earliest ancestors to complex cautionary tales of love and loss, language remains the common currency of the human experience. But now we have a bigger campfire, spreading light and heat to everyone within reach of a keyboard or constantly connected device we carry in our pockets. That’s where Larry Smith is in his element, helping strangers rediscover the ancient art of storytelling by distilling it down to six simple words.
The
Six-Word Memoir project started as a stopgap solution for SMITH
Magazine, an online rendezvous for writers that launched just as social
media was redefining the rules for every internet interaction. Of
course, it’s hard to foresee the future from ground level. But Smith
somehow did, even as corporations and his contemporaries in what we call
“old media” struggled to see over the obvious horizon. Never minding
the naysayers, Six-Word Memoirs tapped into something deft, yet
diminutive. From boardrooms to classrooms, suicide prevention to speed
dating, the platform defied critics by effectively elevating kitsch to
cause almost overnight.
After a decade of didactic self-disclosure, it would be easy to descend into diatribes about Marshall McLuhan, the medium is the message, and other pointy-headed punditry. Though there is merit in analyzing the mental mechanisms behind the movement, it was never intended as an indulgent, academic exercise. Nor are there the fading flames or faint flickers of a dying fire. The effort keeps evolving to reach unlikely audiences and amateur auteurs whose unspoken autobiographies offer an intimate perspective that pierces the darkness with a few soulful syllables.
Having settled in Columbus after several stints in hipper haunts, Larry Smith kicked back for coffee to reflect on ten years of Six Words — an idea that keeps reinventing itself.
“I’M SURE YOU’VE ANSWERED THIS BEFORE.”
You’re essentially a superhero of short-form storytelling. Yet some are still unfamiliar with the six-word concept. What was the inspiration? Tell me your origin story?
I love origin stories. When I’m introduced, it’s often just “This is Larry Smith of Six-Word Memoirs” and someone might say, “Oh, you’re that six-word guy?” I like superhero better. The origin story is a literary legend, which some of your readers may know. Ernest Hemingway was once challenged to write a six-word novel in a bar bet, where many literary legends begin. As the story goes, Hemingway wrote, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
In January of 2006, I left a traditional journalism career working mostly in print magazines, but some web — Men’s Journal, ESPN Magazine, Dave Eggar’s Might, POV, Yahoo! Internet Life, which was like the people’s WIRED. I saw the user-generated content explosion coming as kind of the tech culture guy at all of these magazines.
Telling stories is hot, in almost an amusing way. It’s always been hot in film and television. But it’s hot in advertising now, because technology finally caught up with what we’ve always wanted to do. Telling stories, recording music, creating art — our ability to share these stories through Facebook, Twitter, and Six-Word Memoirs has become more easy, and addictive.
So I did something crazy and left a career I really enjoyed and I started SMITHMAG.net on January 6, 2006 on National Smith Day, which is one of those days you get if enough people sign a petition. But it was a good media hook. I launched a user-generated content magazine where anyone could tell a story. But Six-Word Memoirs wasn’t part of it.
“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING US?”
Online magazines were a tough sell back then, especially without some sort of parallel print product. How did your early partnership with Twitter propel Six-Word Memoirs into the popular culture?
Toward the end of the first year, people loved it — but it wasn’t a business. It wasn’t generating enough traffic. “Threw spaghetti at wall; some stuck.” is one of my favorite six-word memoirs, and that’s what I did. I remembered the Hemingway legend and thought, “What if we gave it a personal twist?”
So we Googled “six-word memoir” and nothing came up.
That was it — we called it “Six-Word Memoirs”. It was going to be a month-long contest and the best six-word story would win an iPod, which was a good prize back in 2006. Right before we launched, I called up these guys I’d met at a tech conference with a side project called Twitter. This was when you could call Twitter and Jack Dorsey would answer the phone. We’d talked about doing a project with SMITH MAG and they thought it was great. So anyone could enter a story about any part of their lives, their whole life, an epitaph, how you’re feeling today, whatever. But if you wanted to win the iPod, you had to sign up for this funny little thing called Twitter. We crowd-sourced the decision to some interns and friends and the winner was, “Barrister, barista— what’s the diff, Mom?” from a Silicon Valley engineer named Abigail Moorhouse. The response was overwhelming. We were receiving tens of thousands of six-word memoirs — which at the time all came to my email box. Obviously now we curate it and built the site around it.
“SIX WORDS AREN’T REALLY SO SIMPLE.”
Between the ease of the app and the confines of the format, there’s a surprising amount of intimacy on the site, the kind that maybe gets lost or overlooked in social media platforms without that six-word limit. How is this a fundamentally different experience?
It can get very deep, even though it’s short. I call it ADDeep.
We have power users on the site who have posted ten even twenty thousand six-word memoirs. They post eight to ten times a day almost like a Facebook status. Some are silly, but some are profound.
We have lots of six-word memoirs about the most emotional times in people’s lives — the birth of a child or a battle with cancer. If you go to the site as a major event is unfolding — like a mass shooting, a plane lands on the Hudson, or the death of someone like John Glenn — people share their thoughts and reflections. And because we aren’t as big as a Twitter or Facebook, people really have a sense that in our smaller community they are being heard.
When Bowie died? Whoa. Our users were able to become part of that narrative. The constraint fuels creativity.
“SOME COUPLES SHARE EVERYTHING. SOME DON’T.”
My
wife and I met in journalism school, which means she’s either the first
person to read something I’m writing—or the last. What’s it like having
two writers under the same roof? How did your Six-Word experience
influence your wife’s memoir?
My wife, Piper
Kerman, wrote the memoir Orange is the New Black based on her own
experience serving 13 months in federal prison for a crime she committed
a long time ago. So, we’re both in the storytelling business. She
teaches writing in two state prisons outside of Columbus, Marion and
Marysville.
She is a reluctant memoirist, and a more
quiet and introverted person than I am. I’m much more unfiltered than
she is, which isn’t a criticism. It’s just a style and approach. Many
people have a memoir inside them, but she was never like, “I want to
write a book about my life.”
Everyone has an interesting story if you poke around, but when she got out of prison, people were curious. And when she went into prison, there were really no books for women. They were all about the experiences of men. People were hungry to hear about it and she felt a deep obligation to tell not just her story, but the stories of the other women as well — who they are, where they came from, and what happens to them when they get out.
I
encouraged her to write it, and knew she was a great writer from living
with her all those years. We have a friend who used to joke long before
Piper went to prison and wrote the book that she was the better writer
in the house because she would edit things I wrote and she was so good.
But after getting her letters while she was in prison, it was
undeniable. She’s absolutely the better writer.
“IS STORYTELLING A CALLING, OR A CURSE?”
Columbus is known a test market for all sorts of products, and we’re proud of it. How did Columbus come to be the Six in the City prototype— a city of storytellers?
What I learned from Six-Word
Memoirs is that I went from journalist, which I liked a lot, to someone
who builds community through storytelling, which I love.
People sometimes ask if I ever get bored with Six Words. But it’s really just a tool to get people to open up about themselves. If I’m working with a Mosaic class, or Columbus School for Girls, or Independents’ Day with pieces of paper and a clothesline barking for Sixes, and that’s never boring.
Giving people agency over their lives, to be the protagonist in their own stories is empowering. I once had a teenage girl get up on stage at the Harmony Project and say, “Yes, I’m pregnant, but I’m graduating.” And they clapped. She was owning her story.
Six in the City tells the story of an entire
community. I had initial meetings in New York, talked to folks with the
city, and I’d get a call back three months later.
I
didn’t intend to launch Six in the City in Columbus. But when I got here
and looked around, and started to understand the community vibe,
everyone I talked to in Columbus said yes.
Do you want to have a meeting? “Yes.” Do you want to move forward? “Yes.” Columbus is a “Yes” city. If you have an idea, and you’re willing to work hard, Columbus will help you make it happen — the city, the people, the community, everyone.
We came here two times before we decided to move here. There was an event at the Jewish Community Center, and we went out to dinner afterwards. We didn’t have any family ties or friends here. We came back one more time and my wife and I decided right then, “Let’s do this. Let’s get a house”. I was tired of that Brooklyn apartment anyway. It wasn’t a difficult decision. Now, I’m an ambassador for Columbus. ▩
Originally published in the December 2016 issue of (614) Magazine
First, forget everything you know about barbecue.
It’s not because you’re wrong — it’s because barbecue is more than you probably think. It’s not just having the talent and patience to let food cook low and slow. It’s about assembling the right ingredients and giving them just enough time to create something that defies expectations.
That’s exactly what you’ll find at Rooks Tavern, a dining destination with the neighborhood feel necessary to stand out, after years of mindful and meticulous preparation and planning.
“Originally, it was just going to be a typical Texas barbecue joint. We’d open at eleven, and close when we were out of meat,” explained owner John Havens, half of the creative duo behind Rooks Tavern. “That’s such a part of Texas culture, but it’s not like that in Columbus.”
“The original menu design was developed over two years through a combination of investigation and experimentation,” noted owner Aaron Mercier, the other half of Rooks Tavern. “We’re respectful of the ingredients, and the culinary traditions we’re applying. But we’re also doing something unexpected.”
“Barbecue can be so much more than ribs, pulled pork, and brisket — all of ours are excellent by the way,” Havens quipped. “But, every culture in the world has a barbecue tradition.”
The two met in high school, and despite a few moves along the way, both settled back in Columbus. Havens’ formal background in portfolio management, and Mercier’s in medieval literature, aren’t the common curriculum vitae for two guys elbowing their way into the restaurant racket. But their authentic Texas roots and keen kitchen chops are actually enhanced by the sense of trends and love of language that set Rooks Tavern and its evolving menu apart.
“One of our best-selling dishes is our beets. We take beets and par-cook them, then throw them in the coals of the fire,” Havens confessed. “After a while we pull them, peel them, and serve them over sheared chevre and a beet green puree — then we take some of those ashes that we keep and mix it with the salt. It’s one of the best things on the menu, and it’s totally vegetarian.”
“I tried it once and it was a smash hit,” Mercier noted. “It’s a process of research, citation and adaptation.” (It turns out that Copenhagen beet barbecue was actually inspired by a Danish dish Mercier found and refined into something entirely original.)
You’ll find more than a few surprises on the menu, as well as daily and seasonal specials — pulled pecan-smoked ruby trout, low country succotash, and a Western-inspired French stew they describe as a “Cowboy Cassoulet”. Weekends get weird with smoky banana-pecan French toast with Mexican chocolate, rib-meat poutine with mole gravy, and the “Austin Hangover” featuring up to a full pound of pulled pork or brisket, slow-cooked for 18-hours in one of Rooks’ two custom smokers — affectionately named “Pancho” and “Lefty”.
Rooks Tavern chooses local ingredients whenever available and appropriate for the menu, with more than a dozen farmers, bakers, and makers stocking their kitchen.
“Barbecue gets maligned as simple comfort food and very rarely gets elevated to fine cuisine, which it absolutely should be. It takes so much more work and knowledge and art,” Havens said. “We have no gas firing our smokers or our grill. It’s all based on how long can you hold your hand over it and how hot is it. So our cooks are constantly adapting. There are so many more variables.”
Another challenge in opening any restaurant is breaking through with customers, critics, and fellow culinary professionals in a city that takes its restaurant scene very seriously.
“I learned a lot about how to open restaurants the right way — and the inevitable chaos even when you’re doing it the right way,” Mercier explained, whose tenure at The Guild House was a proving ground for the process of opening their own restaurant.
Beneath their beards and boyish charm, both hide the résumés of restaurateurs forged by fire. Instead of tutoring for extra cash while finishing his dissertation, Mercier was working at Austin’s famous Blue Ox. Havens was trudging through stock trades by day, but also seasoning his partner with pictures of food trucks by email, hoping to find the right nudge.
“We were unusually prepared for a couple of amateurs,” Mercier chided. “We were ready to be unready.”
Eventually, the idea settled in during a summer stint with family and friends in the Adirondacks. Sitting out on the dock after supper, taking in the still of the lake and a generous share of bourbon, the two decided the time to fail was while they were still young enough to recover. After a couple more years of slow, steady heat, Rooks Tavern was finally ready to serve.
“Restaurateurs want other restaurateurs to succeed. It’s incredibly supportive here,” Mercier revealed. “Young chefs in particular want to raise the bar in this city, responding to national trends but applying Midwest values to them, to make them accessible.”
When best friends go into business, it can easily become a recipe for disaster. But these two wiseacres seem to have it down. Even the most incidental interaction reveals Havens is the affable Ben Affleck matched by Mercier as the more ruminating Matt Damon. Yet both are free from the ego that easily comes from early success.
When pushed for the biggest disagreement they’ve had in opening the restaurant —who won, and who was right — the answer was unequivocal.
“The menu…” Mercier replied without hesitation, about two seconds before Havens cut him off with a swift, “I won.”
Who was right is still disputed. Mercier contends the language in the original menu was too heavy-handed. Havens concedes it could use some tinkering.
Much like their barbecue, the truth is probably in the middle — never overcooked, nor underdone — but always adapting and improving. ▩
