Mother's Day at Hardy Hall
I'm not entirely sure why I hated Mother's Day. I shouldn't have. It was the biggest day of the year for Hardy Hall. A successful Mother's Day would insure our livelihood until the next holiday season. It was just that it was so difficult.
The challenge of that day always meant that we had to be ready. Being ready, though, was not enough. The most nerve wracking part was having to depend on all those things we couldn't control.
Would all the help show up? The high school prom was always on that weekend. All our young high school aged waitresses were certain to be invited to the after prom celebration that Sunday traditionally held at Turkey Run State Park. The fear was always, "what if they never showed up?"
What would we do to be able to handle the hoards of people that were sure to come?
Then there was the weather.
If it had been unseasonably hot, that meant two things: sweltering temperatures inside the restaurant and running out of water. If the wells ran dry, we would then lose Dan from his dishwashing post.
With the relish of an escaped convict he would disappear to the basement and assume his pump jockeying position and commence priming and coaxing the water pumps. If there were any water out there to be had in one of the five wells, he would find it.
There he'd be, down in the depths of the cool, quiet basement, carefully ministering to his water pumps, priming them, cursing them and sometimes even striking them in frustration. Valiantly, he would sit in his chair surrounded in a half circle by pipes connecting pumps, pressure tanks and valves, thumping, checking adjusting…all the ritualistic things necessary to find the water needed to finish out the day.
Meanwhile, the constant flood of dirty dishes would begin to stack up because Dan wasn't there to pounce on them.
Hardy Hall was an old, elegant, farm home built in 1908. Of brick construction and high ceilings, it remained cool and livable most of the year. When over 100 people converged on it at once to eat their noon meal dressed in their Sunday finery temperatures and tempers quickly left the zone of comfort. Families would line up inside the foyer. The living room was filled with tables. Tables were placed in almost every corner of the first floor. The restaurant was a sea of people, standing, sitting and milling about.
There were the prudent customers, the ones who made the early reservations, arrived, ate and departed just as the rush would begin and the heat would rise. As the day would progress, we would fall farther behind. People expecting to be seated at their reserved time would be delayed. Larger groups always would take longer than expected.
We would then begin to get creative and start seating that larger odd numbered family at a table meant to handle a smaller party. This condensing of people and furniture would make things appear even more crowded.
The kitchen was a madhouse. Plates were rattling, glasses clinking, silverware crashing, and the kitchen help were barking orders, pleas and commands which resulted in an orchestral cacophony that played out every year. It reminded one of a mad opera.
The contrast between the noise of the steaming kitchen and the chattering voices of the dining room patrons was made clear each time we crashed through the swinging dining room door. This was the door between two worlds. In the dining room world, our job was to, in mother's words, "create a memorable dining experience." That meant doing whatever we could to give the customers more than just a meal.
Back in the bowels of the kitchen scullery, the mayhem continued. Out of sight of the customers' gaze the kitchen brigade found it difficult sometimes to keep with the spirit of creating a memorable dining experience. The food orders would be laid out on the long serving table and filled in a first-come, first-served order.
Then there would be the "special circumstances" orders. The ones who appeared to be good tippers would need special preference and move ahead of the line. Too much of this would inevitably infuriate, Sally, the cook.
Sally typically was very easy to get along with until she felt she was being pushed just a little too far. Then, in the midst of all the chaos, Sally would go on strike, vowing to never fill another order. Usually, it was Karen who would push her over the edge. Then everyone would gather around the troubled Sally and begin soothing her. Finally, after what would seem an eternity, Sally would feel that her point was taken seriously, promises were made from the wait staff that they would do a better job sticking to the order of things. Soon the sharp comments to the wait staff about their getting all the tips would be forgotten and things would begin anew.
Mother would be out front during all this commanding like a general. She believed that each dining customer must have more than a full stomach when they left Hardy Hall Dining Room. She always believed that her restaurant was different than any other in the area. If you wanted to only get stuffed, there were many other places to go. It was her mission and goal in life to illuminate her customers on the joys of dining versus just feeding.
And there was a difference. That difference was inculcated into each of her dining room army and rear kitchen echelon she commanded. It started with making sure that each and every customer was greeted when they arrived. An exchange of pleasantries while they were being seated was part of making them "feel at home."
They would be seated at a table that would be set perfectly in a dining room of tables that were each set perfectly. Each napkin had a backward "L" design. The backward "L" must always face away from the fork under which it was placed. The water glasses must be less than an inch from the knife. The cup and saucer must be an inch to the right of the spoon. Each cup handle must be pointed at a 90-degree angle away from the spoon, no exceptions.
Butter pats that required being speared by a fork in order to be served was preferred to the more prevalent paper encased butter pats of other local restaurants and cafes. Rarely, except in the finer restaurants was that small but elegant touch ever replicated.
For the salads, the tomatoes were required to be peeled before slicing. The Jell-O must be placed on a decorative piece of lettuce before serving. The serving of Jell-O salad was never so elegant.
Salads were not enough for Hardy Hall's patrons. A relish tray loaded with fresh, crunchy carrots, bite sized celery, pickles and fresh radishes went with every order.
The radishes were never placed on the relish tray without their first being decoratively carved first. Their looking only like an ordinary red radish would not do. The possibility of an uncarved ordinary radish infiltrating a relish tray would certainly diminish the "dining experience."
Each dinner plate should appear as a work of art. No gravy, chop, potato or vegetable should ever be out of place. Each plate must be wiped clean of any excess before it left the kitchen. Most of all, no plate must ever leave the kitchen without its garnish, parsley. Most people visiting Hardy Hall Dining Room had never heard of a garnish and most thought that parsley was something grown in a garden. The patrons' comments and questions would range from, "What is this?" to "Are we supposed to eat this?"
Mother would never tire of gleefully telling her legions of customers about why the parsley was always on the plates she served as a reminder to of what a dining experience should be. It was her hope that if she could educate her customers, they would be more appreciative of what she was trying to provide for them. In turn, by knowing what they should experience, mother had hoped that her customers would feel more special at her restaurant than elsewhere.
It must have worked. Most of the regular customers who knew and desired what a quality dining experience was dined regularly there, often driving sixty miles for that experience. They would tell their friends and bring their families. Many would eventually become an extension of the Crispin family.
Hardy Hall's help consisted of us five children, Karen, Sally, Dan, Bill and me. We all believed in Hardy Hall's mission of creating a memorable dining experience.
For us, it was simple, give customers the best dining experience possible or they would not come back. They also would not tell their friends. Since we had no marketing and advertising budget, word of mouth advertising and repeat customers meant everything to our restaurant. We all knew without saying it, that without a steady stream of customers, we could not survive. That was one of the reasons the mental preparation for Mother's Day was so important and so tiring.
Each Mother's Day, it was as if we were challenged to see if we were still worthy to compete in the competitive restaurant business arena. This was our test to see if we were professional or amateur food service providers.
Each year for ten years, Mother and her army of dining room and kitchen staff would ready itself for battle on this proving ground of contest and competition and strike out to show itself worthy of being included in the ranks of the professional.
This was not a "mom and pop" outfit. This was "Mom's professional food service outfit." We were there to compete that day and every day on the battlefield of business to unashamedly show the world that we were there for them to consider and be served.
To fail, to not show up, to give in to the terrors of failing to meet the standard were always there in front of each of us.
It would begin in the morning on Sunday. Mother could never go to church, but she wanted each of us to go. That cut 2 hours out of our early morning schedule, which had to be made up by getting up a little earlier and making the necessary preparations so that we could go to church.
Knowing the drill too well, each of us efficiently went through our Sunday morning chores with professional routine. We knew exactly what needed to be done. Being fully awake was optional.
I took an inventory of the food and supplies needed from the basement storeroom. I brought them up, and opened each can. These were very large, restaurant size #10 cans. I also stocked the cold room (walkin refridgerator) with cases of juice and boxes of condiments.
By this time, Dan would have cut up all the chickens. (Up to 40 or more as pan fried crispy chicken was a Hardy Hall specialty.)
Sally would be cooking the gravy, frying the Swiss steak, cooking the ham and roast beef. The au jus had to be just right.
Karen made sure the dining room and reservations were in order.
Little Billy helped wherever he could eventually taking over all the duties as over the years, we each left for college.
Like a well oiled machine, the Crispin family moved quietly, but deliberately about their duties each Sunday morning. Sometimes Mother would feel the pressure of the upcoming day and begin barking orders at us more from her anxiety about the upcoming day rather than us not performing our duties, but we knew our duties and tried not to let her get too much in the way. It never failed to work out. After that, going to church seemed like an escape.
Once returned from church, each of us would "suit up" in our uniforms and jump back in the fray. By then, the rest of the help was already there. If any of the newer or younger girls or ladies were not "getting it." Mother would take this early pre-opening time to go over what it meant to deliver a dining experience…"one more time."
Many times that meant teaching them to wash their hands "every time" after going to the bathroom. Much has happened to all of us since those days. Whatever our memories are, we were all profoundly impacted as we affected others who were drawn to that place in the country and in time…that place called Hardy Hall.
I'm not entirely sure why I hated Mother's Day. I shouldn't have. It was the biggest day of the year for Hardy Hall. A successful Mother's Day would insure our livelihood until the next holiday season. It was just that it was so difficult.
The challenge of that day always meant that we had to be ready. Being ready, though, was not enough. The most nerve wracking part was having to depend on all those things we couldn't control.
Would all the help show up? The high school prom was always on that weekend. All our young high school aged waitresses were certain to be invited to the after prom celebration that Sunday traditionally held at Turkey Run State Park. The fear was always, "what if they never showed up?"
What would we do to be able to handle the hoards of people that were sure to come?
Then there was the weather.
If it had been unseasonably hot, that meant two things: sweltering temperatures inside the restaurant and running out of water. If the wells ran dry, we would then lose Dan from his dishwashing post.
With the relish of an escaped convict he would disappear to the basement and assume his pump jockeying position and commence priming and coaxing the water pumps. If there were any water out there to be had in one of the five wells, he would find it.
There he'd be, down in the depths of the cool, quiet basement, carefully ministering to his water pumps, priming them, cursing them and sometimes even striking them in frustration. Valiantly, he would sit in his chair surrounded in a half circle by pipes connecting pumps, pressure tanks and valves, thumping, checking adjusting…all the ritualistic things necessary to find the water needed to finish out the day.
Meanwhile, the constant flood of dirty dishes would begin to stack up because Dan wasn't there to pounce on them.
Hardy Hall was an old, elegant, farm home built in 1908. Of brick construction and high ceilings, it remained cool and livable most of the year. When over 100 people converged on it at once to eat their noon meal dressed in their Sunday finery temperatures and tempers quickly left the zone of comfort. Families would line up inside the foyer. The living room was filled with tables. Tables were placed in almost every corner of the first floor. The restaurant was a sea of people, standing, sitting and milling about.
There were the prudent customers, the ones who made the early reservations, arrived, ate and departed just as the rush would begin and the heat would rise. As the day would progress, we would fall farther behind. People expecting to be seated at their reserved time would be delayed. Larger groups always would take longer than expected.
We would then begin to get creative and start seating that larger odd numbered family at a table meant to handle a smaller party. This condensing of people and furniture would make things appear even more crowded.
The kitchen was a madhouse. Plates were rattling, glasses clinking, silverware crashing, and the kitchen help were barking orders, pleas and commands which resulted in an orchestral cacophony that played out every year. It reminded one of a mad opera.
The contrast between the noise of the steaming kitchen and the chattering voices of the dining room patrons was made clear each time we crashed through the swinging dining room door. This was the door between two worlds. In the dining room world, our job was to, in mother's words, "create a memorable dining experience." That meant doing whatever we could to give the customers more than just a meal.
Back in the bowels of the kitchen scullery, the mayhem continued. Out of sight of the customers' gaze the kitchen brigade found it difficult sometimes to keep with the spirit of creating a memorable dining experience. The food orders would be laid out on the long serving table and filled in a first-come, first-served order.
Then there would be the "special circumstances" orders. The ones who appeared to be good tippers would need special preference and move ahead of the line. Too much of this would inevitably infuriate, Sally, the cook.
Sally typically was very easy to get along with until she felt she was being pushed just a little too far. Then, in the midst of all the chaos, Sally would go on strike, vowing to never fill another order. Usually, it was Karen who would push her over the edge. Then everyone would gather around the troubled Sally and begin soothing her. Finally, after what would seem an eternity, Sally would feel that her point was taken seriously, promises were made from the wait staff that they would do a better job sticking to the order of things. Soon the sharp comments to the wait staff about their getting all the tips would be forgotten and things would begin anew.
Mother would be out front during all this commanding like a general. She believed that each dining customer must have more than a full stomach when they left Hardy Hall Dining Room. She always believed that her restaurant was different than any other in the area. If you wanted to only get stuffed, there were many other places to go. It was her mission and goal in life to illuminate her customers on the joys of dining versus just feeding.
And there was a difference. That difference was inculcated into each of her dining room army and rear kitchen echelon she commanded. It started with making sure that each and every customer was greeted when they arrived. An exchange of pleasantries while they were being seated was part of making them "feel at home."
They would be seated at a table that would be set perfectly in a dining room of tables that were each set perfectly. Each napkin had a backward "L" design. The backward "L" must always face away from the fork under which it was placed. The water glasses must be less than an inch from the knife. The cup and saucer must be an inch to the right of the spoon. Each cup handle must be pointed at a 90-degree angle away from the spoon, no exceptions.
Butter pats that required being speared by a fork in order to be served was preferred to the more prevalent paper encased butter pats of other local restaurants and cafes. Rarely, except in the finer restaurants was that small but elegant touch ever replicated.
For the salads, the tomatoes were required to be peeled before slicing. The Jell-O must be placed on a decorative piece of lettuce before serving. The serving of Jell-O salad was never so elegant.
Salads were not enough for Hardy Hall's patrons. A relish tray loaded with fresh, crunchy carrots, bite sized celery, pickles and fresh radishes went with every order.
The radishes were never placed on the relish tray without their first being decoratively carved first. Their looking only like an ordinary red radish would not do. The possibility of an uncarved ordinary radish infiltrating a relish tray would certainly diminish the "dining experience."
Each dinner plate should appear as a work of art. No gravy, chop, potato or vegetable should ever be out of place. Each plate must be wiped clean of any excess before it left the kitchen. Most of all, no plate must ever leave the kitchen without its garnish, parsley. Most people visiting Hardy Hall Dining Room had never heard of a garnish and most thought that parsley was something grown in a garden. The patrons' comments and questions would range from, "What is this?" to "Are we supposed to eat this?"
Mother would never tire of gleefully telling her legions of customers about why the parsley was always on the plates she served as a reminder to of what a dining experience should be. It was her hope that if she could educate her customers, they would be more appreciative of what she was trying to provide for them. In turn, by knowing what they should experience, mother had hoped that her customers would feel more special at her restaurant than elsewhere.
It must have worked. Most of the regular customers who knew and desired what a quality dining experience was dined regularly there, often driving sixty miles for that experience. They would tell their friends and bring their families. Many would eventually become an extension of the Crispin family.
Hardy Hall's help consisted of us five children, Karen, Sally, Dan, Bill and me. We all believed in Hardy Hall's mission of creating a memorable dining experience.
For us, it was simple, give customers the best dining experience possible or they would not come back. They also would not tell their friends. Since we had no marketing and advertising budget, word of mouth advertising and repeat customers meant everything to our restaurant. We all knew without saying it, that without a steady stream of customers, we could not survive. That was one of the reasons the mental preparation for Mother's Day was so important and so tiring.
Each Mother's Day, it was as if we were challenged to see if we were still worthy to compete in the competitive restaurant business arena. This was our test to see if we were professional or amateur food service providers.
Each year for ten years, Mother and her army of dining room and kitchen staff would ready itself for battle on this proving ground of contest and competition and strike out to show itself worthy of being included in the ranks of the professional.
This was not a "mom and pop" outfit. This was "Mom's professional food service outfit." We were there to compete that day and every day on the battlefield of business to unashamedly show the world that we were there for them to consider and be served.
To fail, to not show up, to give in to the terrors of failing to meet the standard were always there in front of each of us.
It would begin in the morning on Sunday. Mother could never go to church, but she wanted each of us to go. That cut 2 hours out of our early morning schedule, which had to be made up by getting up a little earlier and making the necessary preparations so that we could go to church.
Knowing the drill too well, each of us efficiently went through our Sunday morning chores with professional routine. We knew exactly what needed to be done. Being fully awake was optional.
I took an inventory of the food and supplies needed from the basement storeroom. I brought them up, and opened each can. These were very large, restaurant size #10 cans. I also stocked the cold room (walkin refridgerator) with cases of juice and boxes of condiments.
By this time, Dan would have cut up all the chickens. (Up to 40 or more as pan fried crispy chicken was a Hardy Hall specialty.)
Sally would be cooking the gravy, frying the Swiss steak, cooking the ham and roast beef. The au jus had to be just right.
Karen made sure the dining room and reservations were in order.
Little Billy helped wherever he could eventually taking over all the duties as over the years, we each left for college.
Like a well oiled machine, the Crispin family moved quietly, but deliberately about their duties each Sunday morning. Sometimes Mother would feel the pressure of the upcoming day and begin barking orders at us more from her anxiety about the upcoming day rather than us not performing our duties, but we knew our duties and tried not to let her get too much in the way. It never failed to work out. After that, going to church seemed like an escape.
Once returned from church, each of us would "suit up" in our uniforms and jump back in the fray. By then, the rest of the help was already there. If any of the newer or younger girls or ladies were not "getting it." Mother would take this early pre-opening time to go over what it meant to deliver a dining experience…"one more time."
Many times that meant teaching them to wash their hands "every time" after going to the bathroom. Much has happened to all of us since those days. Whatever our memories are, we were all profoundly impacted as we affected others who were drawn to that place in the country and in time…that place called Hardy Hall.
2 comments:
Jon, I smiled all the way through your description of "the Hardy Hall behind the scenes experience"! You are a great writer! I had no idea about Dan and the water pipes and the Sunday morning drill. You all had for the most part great self control to have already handled as much as you described before the rest of us arrived! One hard working family! You especially had a talent for helping us enjoy ourselves with your great way of making us feel good about being there. And thank God for Karen's great sense of humor! I had forgotten about the relish trays. Every yeast roll I have I always compare to your mother's and there are none on this planet better. It was at Hardy Hall that I discovered that my favorite pie is Custard Pie. Finally I found a recipe that helps me fill that craving once in a while.
I remember how your mother would put on "The Lonesome Whipporwill" song after everyone had left on Sunday afternoon while we cleaned up. She was a beautiful person inside and out - you know that I loved her! I always called her, Mrs. Crispin - not Kay- to me it was just more respectful! She liked that. She was tough but she had to be. Hardy Hall was one of the finest dining experiences anyone could have and it was credit to her meticulous and 1st class manner. Beautiful family, Beautiful Mansion Home and beautiful precious memories of days gone by and I am proud to have been a part of it all.
Janet, thanks for your warm comments and for your refelctions about life at Hardy Hall.
Little did we know during those times how great an impression the Hardy Hall experience would make in our lives. As a result, in part, it shaped how we thought, shaped our values and gave us all a great sense of accomplishment.
Janet, you were one of those who made that a great experience.
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