Category: Inspiration (page 6 of 7)

March 1, 2018

Dead Celebrity

Originally published in the March 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

Chuck Lamb clutched his mother’s hand as the steady stream of mourners approached his father’s casket. He recognized a few faces from the family’s infamous backyard poker parlor, attracting traveling card sharks eager to ante up with the local gambling legend and sometimes moonshiner. Even Chuck had his own side hustle since the age of six, running sandwiches and chips to the players for tips long into the night.

For someone as fabled as his father, the funeral still had way too many folks for just family and friends. Reverend Billy Graham himself was there to deliver the eulogy, but it was the guys in fitted suits and fedoras that stood out in rural North Carolina — each passing by the casket in suspicious silence. Chuck whispered into his mother’s ear wanting to know why they were there. Her reply was almost prophetic.

“They’re here to make sure he’s really dead.”

Columbus seems to inspire unlikely celebrities, from a long-shot boxer named Buster to a guy whose penchant for potato salad nearly broke the internet. Chuck Lamb may not have the same name recognition or notoriety, but you’d be hard-pressed to find any actor more committed to character. He’d moved here to his mother’s hometown as a wide-eyed kid from the foothills of Appalachia, but always dreamed of something a bit bigger. Without the looks or chops expected by an industry built on image and experience, this everyman turned a singular skill into a career as a corpse.

Chuck Lamb is the “Dead Body Guy”.

“It was always on my bucket list to see my name in the credits for a movie or television show,” he explained. “I loved the beginning of Law & Order. Every episode opened with Jerry Orbach standing over a dead body making some smart-ass remark.”

Chuck and his wife Tonya hatched a plan. Posed in creative states of comical demise, she photographed her husband for the newly registered deadbodyguy.com website, which he’d whipped together on a whim. (Television crime dramas must always be looking for victims, right?)

“She came up with several clever ways to kill me and we posted the pictures. Tonya made up the blood and everything,” Lamb quipped. “Within six weeks, we were on the front page of the New York Times.”

That’s when macabre soon became surreal. Eager to land the first morning television interview, the major networks each angled for Lamb’s exclusive attention.

“I was on the phone at home with both the Today Show and CBS, clicking between the two, and Good Morning America on my cellphone — all at the same time,” Lamb recalled. “They all wanted me to do their show first.” NBC ultimately came back with the best offer, a promised appearance on one of their series, and CBS was still ready to send a limo to pick him up at Rockefeller Center to immediately do their show the same day. ABC wasn’t interested in third place and passed altogether, or so it seemed.

“I was at Port Columbus getting ready to catch my flight to New York and a camera crew from ABC tried to ambush me for an interview to air on Good Morning America before I could get to the Today Show,” he revealed. Lamb was having none of it. “When I got there, NBC actually booked my hotel room under an assumed name to keep the other networks from finding me.”

Forget slasher movies — network television is cut-throat.

Numerous notable and also-ran roles followed, but never quite ignited demand for a well-seasoned stiff. Expectations were high for an appearance on an episode of the sitcom “What I Like About You”, but most of Lamb’s cameo was left on the cutting room floor.

“I went out there for two days, sat for hours and hours, and all you see is me slumped over and my bald head. They never showed my face,” Lamb lamented. “That was supposed to be my breakout performance. But if you blinked, you missed it.”

There was also that time the Dead Body Guy bumped into the Terminator.

Schwarzenegger happened to be walking into Hollywood Casino at the same moment as Lamb. It turns out Chuck had worked on a TV pilot with Arnold’s old acting coach and introduced himself. The two shared memories of working with their mutual friend while someone from Schwarzenegger’s entourage ran out to the parking lot to grab a copy of his autobiography, Total Recall, which Arnold personally inscribed.

Lamb’s most recent television work was his most animated to date, an upcoming appearance on the game show reboot of To Tell The Truth, featuring Denise Richards, Kal Penn, Ken Marino, and Theresa the Long Island Medium. Celebrity contestants ask a panel of three guests questions and try to guess who are the imposters, and who is telling the truth. Chuck’s delivery was, of course, deadpan.

“The producers contacted me about doing the show. We shot it months ago, but it hasn’t aired yet,” he noted. “Theresa came over and asked to see all of our hands and immediately said she knew who it was. I fooled two of the four.”

Celebrity, living or otherwise, was at best a stunt that seemed to outlast its original intent, and Law & Order. Following a few unfortunate injuries, and multiple back surgeries, Lamb realized retirement was in his cards. (Save maybe a casting call from The Walking Dead — a dying wish, if you will.)

“After more opportunities and laughs than I ever expected or deserved, I need to stop before it actually kills me.” he explained, suggesting he’d like to pass on the legacy and namesake of the Dead Body Guy to the right person, like Zorro or Batman handing the mask to the next anonymous hero. “I don’t want this dream to die with me.” ▩

January 1, 2018

Family Jewel

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

October 1, 2017

Mob on a Mission

Originally published in the October 2017 issue of (614) Magazine

Kimberly Rottmayer is going to make you an offer you can’t refuse. The photographer by trade is as snappy as her shutter, fierce as her fervor, and undeniable as her freckles. She’s disarming, yet demanding. “No” is not an answer. If you’re a dog, she may just be your best friend — and luckily, she’s not alone.

Rottmayer is part of a clever clique of vocal volunteers at the Franklin County Dog Shelter and Adoption Center, a role that shouldn’t be as controversial as it has become. It was barely a year ago when a distemper outbreak resulted in the euthanizing of nearly a hundred dogs, a heart-wrenching decision that polarized animal advocates and shelter officials. Procedures and protocols have been thoroughly reviewed and revised since then, but those aren’t the only things that have changed.

“Being a volunteer dog walker at the shelter can be a very positive experience, working to help dogs get adopted. But it can be emotionally trying,” admitted Rottmayer. “You also get to know the dogs that have been there for months that may only get one walk a day.”

For perspective, imagine living in a cage or kennel and getting only 20 minutes a day to walk, play, and just be a dog? (Even inmates at a maximum-security prison get an hour in the yard.)

“Over time, you can see the dogs change — become less interactive, less adoptable,” she explained. “After the distemper incident, lots of volunteers quit coming. Those of us who keep coming do it for the dogs. We’re often the only advocates they have.”

Volunteers are tasked with walking dogs to maintain that human connection and mitigate the behaviors that typically come from extended isolation. There’s a class requirement, but students, retirees, flight attendants, and the like who love canines, but maybe don’t have the schedule or time to commit to a dog full-time, fill the ranks.

Then there’s the “Shelter Mafia”.

“It was just a hashtag I came up with to describe the shelter volunteers,” Cindy Renner said modestly. She has been a volunteer for years and witnessed the fall off in dog walkers first-hand. “We have a great group of new and old volunteers who would do anything for our shelter dogs.”

When she says “anything” she means it. Sometimes the only barrier between a dog finding a home and never leaving the shelter is a decent photo. Renner made it her mission to get one particular dog adopted, so she started taking pictures of him—lots of pictures. Denoted with the hashtag #dailysam, the series of snapshots revealed the personality of the pooch in a way a single image couldn’t. It was a hook and a hashtag that stuck.

“It’s so easy to take a picture with your phone, so we all started doing it to promote the dogs on our own social media accounts. Cindy tagged one of hers #sheltermafia and that was it,” Rottmayer recalled. “Now all of the extra things we do for the dogs from enrichment to marketing had a name.”

Among the changes made by the shelter is a new intake process, keeping dogs together that come in on the same day to control exposures, and providing preventive vaccinations. But dogs also go through the system faster now. That sounds good, but it inevitably means dogs that aren’t adopted, go to “rescue” status more quickly, making them less likely to be adopted before they’re put down.

That’s when the Shelter Mafia offers its protection, with a hard social media push of photos, short videos, and persuasive pitches on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and in-person to find foster families to buy each dog a little more time, before it runs out.

Despite the mob mentality, no one is set in their ways. There’s no “Godfather” calling all the shots. “New people bring in a new perspective,” noted Renner.

“It’s not all online. During adoption events, we started printing up old school flyers — you know, like bands do — promoting what makes each dog special,” Rottmayer explained. “We’re the ones who know the dogs, their personalities, whether they get along well with other dogs, or are maybe too rambunctious for small children — traits that are hard to see when someone is only looking at a dog in a cage or kennel that may be reactive, shy, or scared.”

Though there is still some conflict, there is also collaboration. All of those canine candids from the Shelter Mafia are now exchanged with the interns who manage the Franklin County Dog Shelter’s own social media presence, so they too can better promote adoptions. The shelter also started sharing posts from its volunteers, which is quite a turnaround following some unflattering hashtags that emerged in the wake of last year’s tragedy.

Metrics aren’t perfect measurements, but in the past five years, the number of dogs that have been euthanized at the shelter has fallen by roughly 75 percent, from 6,275 in 2011 to 1,617 in 2016. More than 10,000 dogs a year still find their way into the shelter. But that number has been trending down as well — and volunteers are an undeniable part of that, even before the Shelter Mafia emerged to employ its strong-arm, social media tactics.

“There’s probably a more scientific name for it, but we call it deterioration. The longer a dog is at the shelter, the less social they become. So we have to become more social,” Rottmayer noted. “You see it happening, but you also see the difference we can make. That’s what keeps us coming back, what gets us up in the morning, even in the snow. Every day, every picture, every post — we know everything we do helps a dog find a home.” ▩

Interested in adopting a dog, joining the Shelter Mafia, or just taking a walk once in a while with a four-legged friend? Contact the Franklin County Dog Shelter and Adoption Center at franklincountydogs.com or 614-525-DOGS.

September 15, 2017

Produce to the People

Originally published in the Fall 2017 issue of Stock & Barrel

Despite the city’s standing as a culinary capital, Columbus still sadly has its share of food deserts — neighborhoods where fresh fruit is foreign and the shelf-life for groceries at the corner store is frightening.

Suburban farmers markets may offer premium-priced produce to conscientious consumers, but urban farmers markets have a different mandate. For many living inside 270 on the west and south sides, they are the only source for vegetables that don’t come in a can.

That’s what inspired Juliette Lonsert and Ruth Thurgood Mundy to found the Westgate Farmers Market last year — not just to serve their own neighborhood, but also the greater Hilltop. The alternating schedule of first and third Saturdays caused initial concern with more than a few prospective vendors. But now some of those same skeptics are fierce defenders of the strategy. It’s a practical interval to keep things literally and figuratively fresh, more so than an every weekend commitment for vendors and volunteers.

There isn’t just one recipe for starting a farmers market, but there are some common ingredients — generous community support and social media savvy are among the most essential.

“Our fundraising so far has been mostly selling t-shirts and yard signs, which we will continue to do because it’s also great promotion for the market,” explained Lonsert. “But we hope to hire a market manager, to handle the operation and volunteers as we continue to grow.”

This summer marked the first step in that expansion with a farm-to-table evening on the lawn of the Westgate Masonic Lodge where the farmers market is held.

“The idea for the farm-to-table dinner was more than just a fundraiser. It was a dining experience you don’t have anywhere near Westgate, and a community experience you don’t really have anywhere else in Columbus,” Lonsert noted.

The seasonal menu was created by Westgate resident and chef, Christopher Vehr. Ingredients were supplied by local vendors, then prepared and served family-style by Vehr and a team of volunteers from the community. Sitting under a canopy of leaves and stars sharing a harvest supper with early autumn in the air and grass under your feet, the connection between the field and the fork couldn’t be more apparent or intimate.

“When you go to a lot of markets, they don’t really have a culinary presence. I think there are a lot of chefs who prefer to use local, seasonal produce. But unfortunately, most restaurant chefs work late on Friday nights, so it’s harder for them to become involved,” Vehr explained. “Events like this create a synergy that’s unavailable even when you go into a restaurant — connecting farmers to the people they serve by showing folks the potential for produce available to everyone at the market.”

Like any nonprofit, annual events fund the ongoing service mission of the organization, covering overhead while helping to reach a wider audience. But even with earthy endeavors, the internet is still integral.

“We couldn’t serve our community without social media. It’s how we best reach our SNAP and low-income customers,” noted Thurgood Mundy. “We also have a great relationship with Local Matters. They come out and do cooking demos based on what’s in-season and available at the market. Knowing how to prepare foods is a large part of the nutrition gap facing many families.”

“Education is most powerful when combined with an access point. Our work with the Westgate Farmers Market is a family engagement, to get everyone onboard with fresh, healthy food grown locally,” said Adam Fazio, Director of Development with Local Matters. “The family context for food is a benefit that’s often overlooked.”

Franklinton is even farther away from traditional groceries. Despite being a major traffic corridor, there isn’t a single grocery store on Broad Street between downtown and almost the outerbelt.

That’s why the Franklinton Farm Stand is so crucial, and why their schedule is different than most farmers markets. Operating Thursdays and Fridays, as well as Saturdays, better serves the needs of the neighborhood where any other source for fresh produce is a drive or bus-ride away.

“A majority of our customers are walk-ups, and it’s a more convenient time to get their groceries, especially their healthy food options,” explained Josh Aumann, the farm stand’s produce distribution coordinator. The farm stand is the retail face of Franklinton Gardens, which has twelve plots scattered across three acres of land (mostly from gifts and grants) that a mix of local volunteers and AmeriCorps service members have turned into a robust, urban farm network.

Outreach is key in underserved areas, which is why home delivery is also an option, with about half of the participants in their CSA, or Community Supported Agriculture program, using EBT and SNAP to help their produce budgets go further.

“The Franklinton Mobile Market is an online storefront. We send out a weekly email to about a hundred households with a list of our produce ready for purchase. They reply, and we deliver it to their doors the next day. Our biggest challenge is getting our name out there,” Aumann said. “The people who live here see us farming. We need to let them know we’re growing this for them, it’s not going somewhere else. We want the people here in Franklinton to have access to the produce being grown in their backyards.”

Starting a farmers market is only slightly harder than keeping one going. That’s the backstory behind the new South Side Farmers Market.

“When members of the Merion Village Farmers Market asked us to take it over, we wanted it to be more inclusive of our neighbors, as we were already the middle point for the south side,” explained Allison Willford, president of the Merion Village Civic Association. “That’s why we changed the name — because it’s everyone’s farmers market.”

The standard schedule had likewise proven restrictive in attracting and maintaining vendors for the former Merion Village market. So the new market was quick to adjust that as well, with an afternoon and evening market anchored by Tatoheads Public House, an already popular neighborhood destination.

“We changed the day from Saturday, because it was harder to compete with some of the more established markets. Thursday nights, people are getting ready for the weekend,” Willford said. “They can come to the market and have a beer, get a bite to eat, and buy fresh produce to take home.”

The geographic reach of the South Side Farmers Market also opened the organization to a larger pool of volunteers. That’s how Ryan Hansen, now one of the organizers, originally became involved.

“A handful of us came together after responding to a food security survey,” he recalled, noting the diverse and collective nature of the new market. “Some of us had leadership experience, some of us just had time on our hands. But that’s what makes it work, not having one person doing everything. This is as grassroots as it gets.” ▩

Writer’s Postscript: If the soulful plant contemplation above seems familiar, that’s Blase Pinkert. We didn’t know each other at the time, but more than a year later, he reappeared in the 28-inch pizza challenge story Pies Wide Shut.

March 15, 2017

King of Gyros

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

March 15, 2017

Tradish

Originally published in the Spring 2017 issue of Stock & Barrel

Pizza is probably our most prolific and pervasive ethnic fare. But “pizza pie” hasn’t always been as American as apple pie. It was originally dismissed as immigrant food — and before the 1950s, Columbus was one of the only cities between New York and Chicago you could even find it.

As waves of immigrants from Italy settled along the East Coast and in close enclaves across the country, they weren’t always welcome. In Columbus, one of those neighborhoods was Flytown, so nicknamed because the new homes there seemed to “fly up overnight”. A mostly Irish community, by the early 20th century, immigrants from Italy and elsewhere in Europe also called it home. African Americans fleeing the south settled there as well.

That’s where Columbus pizza history had its undisputed origin, at the oldest Italian restaurant in town, TAT Ristorante Di Famiglia — named as a nod to the new Transcontinental Air Transport, which also opened for business in 1929. Promising travel from New York to Los Angeles in 48 hours through a network of planes and trains, Columbus was the starting point for all flights west. First served off the menu, then officially added in 1934, TAT served pizza in the Flytown neighborhood — ultimately relocating to 1210 S James Road in 1980, where it is still owned by the Corrova family.

But those early pizzas bore little resemblance to the modern pizza most know, more like a focaccia that sometimes lacked cheese during the depression or due to war rationing. Flytown suffered during those decades, eventually declared blighted by the Columbus Redevelopment Authority and leveled just as the city’s pizza scene was starting to emerge.

That’s also when bragging rights for the oldest pizza place in Columbus become a bit more murky, and where old menus and old memories don’t always agree.

By the late 1940s, returning GIs in Italy weary of rations had their first taste of “pizza” and were looking for it in the Italian neighborhoods and restaurants many once shunned. That’s also about the time Jim and Dan Massucci and Romeo Siri started serving what most of us would recognize as pizza at their restaurant in Grandview. The Massucci brothers opened Massey’s Pizza in late 1949 at 4464 E Main Street — where it remains today after more than a few renovations and updates.

“It’s been added on several times, but it’s still the original building,” explained Dave Pollone, who along with his brother Jed acquired Massey’s Pizza in 2000. “Jim and Dan Massey started it, but Guido Casa bought them out in 1962. My grandmother was Guido’s aunt, so we’re cousins.”

“Our dad used to get us pizza from Romeo (Siri), but it didn’t have cheese under the pepperoni. It was just dough, sauce, and pepperoni with a little parmesan sprinkled on top,” he recalled. “The first time I had pizza with cheese under it was from Johnny Remeli, when he used to make pizza in the back of a place called the Musical Bar on Parsons Avenue.”

Though the Massucci brothers are known as the founders of Massey’s, the Pollone brothers have stayed true to Guido Casa by refusing to follow the industry trend toward faster-cooking, conveyor ovens.

“You can’t make a pizza in a conveyor oven, it just doesn’t cook the bottom right. That’s why all of these old pizza places still use deck ovens,” Pollone explained. “The oven in Whitehall is the original rotating-deck oven from 1949. It’s like a Ferris wheel in there.”

Though Massey’s remains ubiquitous in Central Ohio, they weren’t the only ones pushing modern pizza into the mainstream. The Angeletti family still owns Ange’s Pizza, opened in late 1951 before moving to their oldest location at 139 S Yearling Road early the following year. Tommy’s Pizza still has two locations on Lane Avenue opened in the 1960s (and one in Dublin), but Iacono’s original place near E 5th Avenue and Cassidy Avenue opened in 1952. (In fact, Tommy’s only added “pizza” to the name of the restaurant after demand for the novel dish outpaced the rest of the menu.)

Gatto’s Pizza at 2928 N High Street was Clintonville’s first, also opened in 1952 by brothers Jim and Joe Gatto. Johnny’s Pizza on Parsons Avenue opened in 1953. Rubino’s brought pizza to Bexley in 1954, and likewise endures with a faithful following at 2643 E Main Street. And the original Josie’s in Franklinton at 952 W Broad Street has been around since 1959, with extended family operating the Hilltop location in Westgate. Johnny Remeli wasn’t the only Columbus pizza pioneer making pies in back. A young Jim Grote famously started selling pizza out of the storeroom of the hardware store across the street from 1000 Thurman Avenue where the original Donatos still stands.

“Every Friday night, my dad brought a pizza home for dinner,” recalled Donice Foraker, who recently retired as director of special projects and “on-site historian” for Donatos after more than five decades. He scarcely recalls a time when Columbus wasn’t a pizza town.

“My older brother worked for Donatos too. He started doing deliveries while I was still washing pans,” he explained. “That was 1966 and we were kids, but by 1978, I was running the store. After a couple of years, Grote asked me to come work with him — to tell him what was right and what needed to change as the company grew.”

“All of the pizza places on the south end had a good reputation,” Foraker noted. “We were competitors, but we all knew and respected each other. For those of us who are still around, it’s still that way.”

It’s a shame we don’t celebrate legacy and longevity the way we do new and shiny. The 1950s was a transformational decade — from fenders to fashion, hairstyles to hemlines. Americans are historically fickle, and Columbus is no exception. But these early ethnic eateries endured, doing their part to spread pizza’s popularity throughout the Midwest, long after the Lustrons lost their luster.

Though each neighborhood could claim which pizza place is the oldest in their particular part of town, deciding which is the oldest in Columbus isn’t as easy as it seems. There are competing claims, but also some shared credit to go around. All of these places survived despite economic declines that saw competitors and imitators come and go. They also held their ground against big budget, corporate carpetbaggers muscling into their territory. And they fearlessly defended thin crusts and square-cuts from their detractors — because a pointy, triangular slice with a chunk of crust at the end as a bland handle violates the implicit social compact of pizza, with varying slices just right for any age or appetite. But, if “oldest” really means “original”, the answer becomes more certain.

There is only one pizza place in the running that’s still in their original space, run by the original family, using their original recipe: Gatto’s Pizza.

“Vince and Joe Jr. started working here in high school on the weekends. It was a family business,” explained Bill Fulcher, the youngest of the three cousins who carry on Gatto’s pizza heritage. “I started when I was a sophomore, so I’ve been here 45 years.”

Fulcher went on to Ohio State and still works for the Ohio Attorney General’s Office, but also wanted to keep the family tradition alive.

“Jimmy Corrova is actually our cousin, so we know TAT is really the oldest pizza place in town,” he said humbly. “But I think we have remained the same the longest.”

Point of fact, Gatto’s is essentially unchanged after all of these years. A picture from the mid-1950s hangs on the wall that is nearly indistinguishable from the present. (You’d need Doc Brown and a DeLorean to tell the difference.)

“We have families who have been coming here for decades, or people who went to OSU who come back to Columbus and say the place is just like they remember it,” Fulcher explained — noting the sauce, sausage, and meatballs haven’t changed either. “They’re all my grandfather’s and my uncle’s recipes. That’s why our customers always come back to us. It’s because we really haven’t changed anything in 65 years.”

This honor won’t sit well with everyone, and that’s fine. Nor should it discourage fellow members of this exclusive, half-century fraternity from staying true to their roots, while still looking forward. This wasn’t a dough town throw-down or neighborhood grudge match. It’s hopefully part of that overdue celebration of legacy and longevity that Columbus often lacks and we all tend to overlook. My challenge to each of you is to discover for yourselves why all of these pizza places are unique. Central Ohio is rich in pizza history, and each of us shares a slice of it with everyone else.

The best pizza is still one that brings people together, stirs a memory or creates new ones, that fills more than your stomach, and last long after the box is empty. ▩

January 1, 2017

Six-Word Memoirs

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. ▩

December 15, 2016

Something’s Brewing in Westgate

Originally published in the Winter 2016 issue of Stock & Barrel

The most exclusive watering hole on the west side isn’t a trendy bar or cocktail lounge filled with fake swag and fake laughs. There’s no Yelp review or neon sign. It doesn’t even have a name. That’s because it’s an invitation-only, semi-regular soirée of Westgate’s homebrewers — folks whose passion for potent potables created an ad hoc excuse to raise a pint with friends in a neighborhood rich in community, but short on gathering places.

“A few Christmases ago, my wife gave me a homebrewing kit. I enjoy new beers and knew people who brewed their own, so figured I’d try it and see what happened,” noted Nick Bates, one of the group’s initial organizers. “Then I met other people in the neighborhood who were also homebrewing and experimenting in their kitchens.”

What began as a one-time event has become a rotating ritual featuring a handful of bona fide microbrews. Brewers bring enough of their latest competitive concoctions to share, and everyone judges the entries in a blind taste test. These are just “flights” of beer, not enough for a sloppy lush — but definitely enough to provide social lubricant.

There’s even a trophy, the “Westgate Wort Award”. No one gets to keep it though. It rotates around too from winner to winner, kind of like the Stanley Cup.

“Wort is basically unfermented beer. All beer starts as water, then you add your hops and malts,” Bates explained. “That sweet, initial product you have, in the brewing world, is called wort.” But beer wasn’t what drew Bates and his wife to the neighborhood from Harrison West.

“We were debating about continuing to rent versus buying a home, and saw Westgate as an affordable place to live,” he said. “Though we didn’t have any kids at the time, we were planning to start growing a family. There’s a culture here that just fit.”

Robyn Mathews-Danforth echoed the sentiment. She and husband Andy Danforth were the hosts for the evening’s competition– and that new trophy was also his handiwork.

“Anything that promotes Westgate, that brings people into the community, is part of why we’re here,” she explained. Originally from Arizona, the unseasonable chill in autumn air didn’t seem to dull her spirits. “I’m still in Ohio because of this neighborhood.”

“I’m a pastry chef, so I came to brewing from a culinary background, where I’m used to looking scientifically at ingredients,” she noted. Her first foray into fermentation also started with a homebrewing kit from her spouse. “Not having been a serious beer drinker before, I really wanted to see what happens when you add cranberries, what happens when you add blueberries.”

Westgate’s homebrewing community is more than just one night of bottles and ballots, with a spread that could hold its own against the best tailgate or cocktail party. “We actually started a Facebook group so we could share our experiences — when something goes well, and when something goes wrong,” she said. “I wanted a resource group for ingredients and where to find them, to ask, ‘Does anyone have a lagering system?’” Homebrewing is chemistry you can drink.

A lagering system isn’t quite as common a request as asking a neighbor to borrow a cup of sugar or a snow blower. But there’s more than beer brewing in Westgate. It’s a different kind of community, one that only evolves when folks are forced to look inward because their surroundings fall short. A common complaint of suburban sprawl is that it has everything except community. Sure, you get your pick of grocery stores, fast food, and drycleaners. But homogenized housing tends to discourage neighbors from ever becoming more than strangers on the same street, quietly complaining about one another’s lawns.

That’s why a growing number of boomers and busters are following the millennial lead by abandoning the suburbs in favor of emerging, inner city neighborhoods written off until just recently. Victorian Village and German Village were once desolate and dilapidated too. But now Italian Village and Merion Village hope to follow in their footsteps. Olde Towne East has been a work-in-progress for decades, with immaculate restorations surrounded by sketchy side streets. It’s a bit like Detroit — investing or living there is still a block-by-block proposition. But being minutes from downtown, bumpered by historic homes and an enormous park, is a tempting offer for anyone whose aversion to the suburbs has led them to look for something more authentic than big boxes and busybodies.

But these better-known neighborhoods aren’t the only destination for those handy with a hammer looking for something real. Westgate is what was once called a “streetcar suburb” back when mass transit held mass appeal. Just four miles down Broad Street on the other side of Franklinton is an unexpected enclave of homes that could easily pass for parts of Grandview or Clintonville. That’s no accident either.

On the grounds of what used to be a Confederate prisoner of war camp, then sold off in the interim to an ambitious colony of Quakers after the Civil War, are streets and houses built by some of the same urban planners and architects behind two of the city’s more famous, family-friendly communities. Unlike Grandview and Clintonville, years of struggle in the surrounding area and an absence of economic development left Westgate residents lacking a lot of the robust retail and name recognition their sister settlements offered.

But instead of selling out, Westgate residents dug in. No curated grocery stores or food co-ops? They started their own farmers market. Stagnant restaurant scene? They created a rotating food truck schedule. Slipping real estate sales? They started an annual Home & Garden Tour. Left out of the Columbus festival craze? They organized Summer Jam, a free day-long arts event featuring local music, food, and crafts. Seriously, just ask anyone who lives here. Where else in Columbus can young couples with kids buy a Craftsman-era home for a bargain, in a community that is proudly working class, diverse, and creative — all built around 50 acres of parks and playgrounds, only minutes from downtown? Westgate is essentially Sesame Street with backyards instead of brownstones.

That’s what brought Seth VanHorn back to the capital city after a decade of moves through some of the country’s more notable neighborhoods. “I was drawn back to Columbus by some of the cool things going on here, the low cost of living, and neighborhoods like this,” VanHorn noted. “I liked Austin’s vibrant downtown scene, it’s a college town — you know ‘Keep Austin Weird’. But in the ten years that I was gone, Columbus has really grown up from a small Midwestern town to a city with so much more to offer.”

“I looked at several neighborhoods near the core of downtown — Weinland Park, Olde Towne East, Merion Village — but Westgate won out,” he explained. “I’ve done some homebrewing myself and am really impressed with the quality of the beer, and the welcoming vibe of the event and the people who live here.”

That close-knit community won over Eric VanOrder, who returned to the west side after a stint in the Navy. “There’s a renewed camaraderie bringing together people who have lived in Westgate for years,” he noted. VanOrder was the winner of the first Westgate Wort Award, but wasn’t competing this evening. Any endeavor dependent on just the right time and temperature doesn’t always turn out as planned. “I ended up brewing a beer only a father could love, so I decided I’d stick to judging this time.”

A little daring didn’t deter John Salvage, a homebrewer with 15 years of experience entering the competition for the first time. “I’ve mostly just brewed for my own enjoyment, and giving beer to friends for Christmas has been a tradition,” Salvage said. “I brewed a ‘butter beer’, which is obviously inspired by Harry Potter. I’m more of a malt fan, but I put in some butterscotch candies and added some lactose for more mouth feel, so it’s smooth going down.

The evening happened to coincide with Land Grant’s second anniversary party. So while most had their fill, after the trophy was awarded and the last of the entries were imbibed, some headed toward downtown for one more round — and surely some inspiration for their next batch of backyard brew. ▩

Writer’s Postscript: Just how inviting is Westgate? After meeting those who call it home while working on this story, we wanted them as our neighbors. We bought a house near the park and have lived there ever since.

December 1, 2016

Satire, Super-Sized

Originally published in the December 2016 issue of (614) Magazine

In case you missed it, Columbus just became home to the world’s most subversive sandwich.

If Morgan Spurlock hangs up his handlebar mustache tomorrow, he’ll forever be famous as the guy whose one-month stunt eating nothing but McDonald’s fare changed the way Americans think about fast food — or, maybe not. By now, the gag is out of the bag. But the last laugh may still be on us. Holy Chicken, his latest venture, launched its first location as a four-day pop-up amid apparently oblivious fanfare. Unlike rival restaurants, it advertised antibiotic-free, hormone-free, cage-free fowl with unprecedented honesty.

“We’re going to bring total transparency to a lying industry,” said Spurlock, between a call-and-response chorus of patrons packed before his poultry pulpit. “HOLY CHICKEN,” he chanted—and his faithful flock followed.

If Andy Kaufman had opened a fast food franchise, it would be difficult to distinguish it from Holy Chicken. As far as the simple menu went, it seems like a genuine attempt to offer a better bird for a premium price. But, you’re also being served some super-sized sarcasm on an artisan bun, with a side of social satire.

The signs were everywhere.

No, really — the signs were all over the joint.

From on-the-nose aphorisms about the persuasive psychology of “healthy and relaxed” green and “enthusiastic and energetic” orange to a snarky “SEE YOU SOON” on the exit with the disclaimer, “Most doctors and nutritionists would recommend that you eat Holy Chicken only once or twice a month to maintain a balanced diet. But that probably won’t stop you, will it?”

“Americans make bad choices all the time,” said the straight-faced Spurlock, noting the ominous warnings in friendly fonts occupying the walls. Spurlock’s old-fashioned ribbon-cutting ceremony included representatives from Experience Columbus and the Chamber of Commerce, as well as a proclamation from the State of Ohio — presented against a backdrop of folksy, farm-to-table, illustrated insights titled “Know Your Chicken,” “Know Your Farmer,” and “Know Your Vertically Integrated Corporate Supply Chain.”

I have to admit, the sandwich was pretty tasty — despite the dire and discouraging décor. I went for the “Grilled Crispy Chicken Sandwich” topped with maple mustard, pickles, and homemade slaw. The side of “Crunchy Greens” was actually batter-dipped green beans. Both were fried.

“We don’t use the F-word,” Spurlock quietly confessed. “People like ‘crispy’ and ‘crunchy’ food.”

That’s not much consolation if you worry about what you eat. Americans rarely read the fine print, and apparently they aren’t fans of larger-than-life print either. The chicken sandwich, their only entrée, weighed in at 860 calories. Add those fried green beans at 190 calories, and your total matched that of a Big Mac and large fries from Spurlock’s former nemesis.

If that realization wasn’t enough to offset your appetite, the annotated, meticulously staged mural of the same sandwich should have. Photoshop trickery is always a given — but using KY in the coleslaw to create a more marketable image could leave you feeling queasy.

The genius: Spurlock wasn’t hiding any of this, making the distinction between sincerity and chicanery difficult to tell, hard to sell, and harder to swallow. Though he described the use of real wood surfaces to “give you thoughts of nature, trees, cute little farms with barns, and other healthy stuff” — a discrete lean over the counter into the kitchen revealed an employee literally using a brush and stencil to paint charcoal stripes on the grilled chicken.

Holy Chicken claimed its food was “too good to be true.” Whether the hundreds who lined up were willingly duped, blissfully ignorant, or just playing along was an even-money bet. The hype was real, even if some weren’t sure the restaurant was. Perhaps that was the point, along with gathering a lot of footage for some future film or television endeavor. Americans care less about antibiotics, hormones, and cages than they do feeling good about themselves.

They want guilt-free fast food — disclosures be damned.

But in the days that followed, social media cried foul and the local press was unimpressed. Spurlock’s epic editorial on deceptive practices had some screaming the sky was falling without considering the moral of the story.

Columbus was invited to be in on the joke, not the butt of it. As America’s test market, we’ve seen our share of half-baked ideas. This was not one of them. There was no subterfuge. Holy Chicken sold sandwiches, not snake oil. Better yet, they sold them at a price we should expect to pay for better chicken and better wages. That chicken was all that was advertised—free from the ambiguous labels we presume are bad, but have lots of legal leeway. And those employees were paid $15 an hour, far better than Spurlock himself made during his last gig in Columbus.

The premiere episode of his groundbreaking television series, 30 Days, followed the filmmaker through the struggles of minimum wage employment. It’s no coincidence he returned here to unveil his latest project, even if some were swept up in the same cognitive dissonance behind the foods we choose everyday. Of all of the premium modifiers used to describe his chicken, “healthy” was never one of them. Presuming the rest somehow made it so was exactly the linguistic leap the fast food industry expects us to make, and any backlash instead of hilarity that ensues proved it.

Did Holy Chicken disclose in unapologetic fashion exactly what they were serving? Were you initially elated that a healthier restaurant was finally meeting customer demands, only to have your hopes dashed again? Were the sandwiches they served likely no better than those sold by nearly every fellow fast food chain? Yes? Then shut the cluck up.

Spurlock didn’t reduce cultural commentary to a crappy carnival ride. He elevated it to an innovative, interactive experience. Holy Chicken wasn’t a hoax — it was a catered performance art exhibition. Luckily, most folks were all too honored to eat it up. ▩

Super Size Me 2: Holy Chicken! is now available to stream on YouTube, Amazon Prime, and iTunes.

July 1, 2016

The Night is Young

Originally published in the 2016 FAMILY issue of (614) Magazine

I won’t pretend being a work-from-home dad isn’t daunting. I’ve been there, and what you gain in flexibility and time with your kids is often the envy of 9-to-5 fathers who may get home in time for dinner, soccer practice, or dance class—but rarely much more.

Dads who mostly work nights and weekends may miss a PTO meeting or orchestra concert, but the practical aspects of modern parenting remain culturally biased toward mornings and afternoons—and moms, in particular. But it can’t all be storytimes and jungle gyms. Too many tea parties are enough to drive a dad to drink.

That’s the Day Dad Dilemma, but Night Dads have fewer options still. When the park gets dark and the school day looms large the following morning, are there any adventures for fathers and their children to make Day Dads envious for a change?

As it turns out, there are — and Columbus is full of them.

Here’s an enviable itinerary for dads (or moms) hand-picked to help reconnect and create memories as the day grows long and the night is still young.

South Drive-In | 3050 S High St. | southdrive-in.com
Nothing says nostalgia like a drive-in theater, and the South is the last one in town.
Located between downtown and the south side of 270 is a time machine of epic proportions. Two giant screens set back from the road noted only by a modest marquee. The evening double feature is the best deal in Columbus. Adult prices are about the same as the multiplex, but kids’ admission is just a buck—plus you can bring your own snacks. Lawn chairs and a blanket are great, but lounging behind your windshield still works just fine. Get there early for the perfect spot and stay late for the second show.
Best Bets: It’s easy to fall into the dad-time trap of “just you and me, kid.” And maybe that’s fine for the first film out. But sometimes, being a dad is best experienced as a spectator sport. Next time, bring a few of your kid’s friends along, buy a big bucket of popcorn, sit back and marvel at how connected kids can be when they are all watching the same thing as a shared experience, instead of being individually glued to their iPads. Not all screen time is inherently bad.

Ten Pin Alley | 5499 Constitution Blvd., Hilliard | tenpinalley.com
If your idea of summer fun is indoors and air-conditioned, go knock down some pins.
Ten Pin Alley may be outside the outer-belt in Hilliard, south of Cemetery Road, but the updated lanes and legit food and drink offerings make it a destination worth the drive. Bowling alleys easily get a bad rap for the dingy décor and smoke-stained ceiling of another age. Not here—it’s all kid-friendly and kid-approved. The recently renovated lanes also complement the robust, rotating bar menu and craft beer selection. You might just have to return another time with your grown-up friends.
Best Bets: If you go often, the Summer Bowling Pass is the way to go. For $100, you get an hour of lane time every day for up to six people (including shoe rental), through October 30. As if that wasn’t already a deal, a portion of the proceeds got to Big Brothers Big Sisters of Central Ohio. This is another opportunity to bring your kid’s friends along and revel in the shared social awkwardness of adolescence.

Tinker | 3933 Trueman Blvd., Hilliard | tinkercolumbus.com
For those unfamiliar with the “maker” movement, Tinker is your crash course.
Tinker offers children immersive access to emerging technologies like robotics, coding, and 3D printing. Just inside 270 off Fishinger Road, their class schedules cover toddlers to teens, as well as an occasional Makers’ Night Out where you get to take what you create. Birthday parties, or even hosting your own “maker mentor” event for your kids and their friends, offer options to build fairytale terrariums, design dollhouses, construct marshmallow shooters, or make superhero costumes.
Best Bets: If your kid is already obsessed with Minecraft, take the next step and go for a coding workshop. The sleek simplicity of the Raspberry Pi platform and its hardware are a low-cost entry into custom computing—even for elementary ages. Reluctant to buy your kids their own computer? How about letting them build one instead (for less than $50 in parts) so they can create their own games?

Comic Town | 1249 Morse Rd. | worldofcomictown.com
Be the hero and introduce your kid to a universe of imagination and adventure.
Comic shops all need to find a niche to survive, and Comic Town has found several. Sure, you’ll find the standard fare of new releases and long boxes of back issues, but the comics market has become a collectors market as well. Action figures for kids and pricier cast statues coveted by adults intermingle with graphic novels and role-playing paraphernalia. Evening hours also host trading card games, like Magic: The Gathering, nearly every night.
Best Bets: Every dad loves a bargain, and the dollar boxes at Comic Town are treasure chests waiting to be discovered. These aren’t just bent-and-ding covers or unpopular overstock. Flip through the stacks to find well-known titles from Marvel and DC to obscure and independent releases. Some aren’t even that old, and include codes inside for digital copies you can download. You can even buy the following issue through the app to see what happens next. Added bonus for paper comics, they never need charging.

Vertical Adventures | 6513 Kingsmill Ct. | verticaladventuresohio.com
Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise: we all know that DAD + DANGER FUN.
Their new facility just north of The Continent is bright and inviting for climbers of all ages and abilities. Though safe and supervised by capable staff, it’s not without the sensation of danger kids crave. Hands-on dads who want to try it on for size first should consider the Ropes 101 class. You’ll learn the basics and how to “belay” (hold and handle the safety rope) for your child. Plus, the class includes a two-week pass to try everything in the gym and scout out the best courses and climbing walls for your kids.
Best Bets: The Summer Climber’s Club runs Monday and Wednesday evenings for two hours of small group climbing, knot-tying, and practical problem solving that work the mind and body. Bring their friends or make some new ones. Need a little more support? Vertical Adventures also offers a Climber’s Club for kids with autism on Tuesday nights to build confidence and social skills while learning rope techniques and bouldering basics. Both classes are just $15.

Glass Axis | 610 West Town St. |glassaxis.org
Working on your cool dad cred? How about teaching your kid how fun it is to play with fire?
What started in the late 1980s as a “traveling hot shop” founded by a handful of OSU students and graduates has grown to become a Franklinton fixture for the art of blown, fused, cast, and stained glass. With more than 12,000 square feet of studio and gallery space, the class calendar covers nearly every night of the week and experience level. The organization has its roots in GCAC’s Artists-in-Schools program and the love for teaching still glows like molten glass.
Best Bets: You wouldn’t expect their “First Experience” classes to be so comprehensive and varied, but they are both. With projects and prices ranging from glass beads and blown ornaments to paperweights and neon, there’s the perfect project for you and your kid. Dads are often maligned for lame gift giving, so maybe make that first foray a present for someone special, like a teacher or grandparent?

Natalie’s Coal-Fired Pizza | 5601 N High St., Worthington nataliescoalfiredpizza.com
Who says you can’t take your kid to the bar for a live show?
Well, not exactly “the bar.” Yes, Natalie’s does have a credible collection of craft beers and cocktails. But your kid is always welcome for eats and a show, so long as they sit at a table instead of by the taps. Though perhaps not a school night outing, their musical lineup is as eclectic as the toppings on their pizzas. The clean-burning, coal-fired oven creates a crisp crust and bubbly cheese, paired with impressive local and regional acts in an intimate, purpose-built performance space in Worthington.
Best Bets: Digital downloads just can’t compete with the palpable hum of live music. Acts range from blues to bluegrass, simple to soulful. Many shows start at 8 p.m., but if you get there before 7 p.m. you can grab the best table and still sneak in for the happy hour food specials. Highly recommended is the “seasonal pie,” offering the chef’s daily selection of fresh ingredients and locally sourced toppings. Come early, stay late, and let their pizza and performances surprise you.

Spoonful Records | 116 E Long St. | spoonfulrecords.blogspot.com
Go old school and teach your kid what music was like before there were iPods.
This downtown, down-low location is an unpretentious destination for established and aspiring fans of analog audio. Spoonful Records finds just the right mix of collections and conditions to keep the experience approachable and affordable. Reissues and rarities round out the bins of classic and contemporary releases. There’s also a rich range of reasonably priced turntables, which they assemble on-site, that are perfect for your newly pressed audiophile.
Best Bets: Record Store Day can be crushing in any small shop, so try a weeknight when there’s more time to meander, sift through the stacks, and play some free pinball. Don’t judge an album by its cover, either. The best looking album cover could conceal a well-worn LP, and the rough covers sometimes reveal pristine vinyl that’s rarely been played. Take anything you find for a spin before you buy. ▩