by Linn Edwards
“You have quite the empire here, Fergie,” offered Jeremiah.
“Empire? Huh. Hadn’t thought of it that way. I have a niece in Idaho who has a small French bistro. She’s the daughter of my brother I started Fergies with back-in-the-day.” Fergie further mused, “I guess you could say food and food service was in our family DNA. My own grandmother ran a soup kitchen during the Depression here in a couple of churches.”
Jeremiah cursed himself a bit that his notepad and digital recorder were in his briefcase and not out and running. This was good deep background for the article.
“Remind me of all of this when we start the interview of you rather than me.” Jeremiah smiled.
“No, no. This isn’t anything other than I wanted to tell you I’m thrilled with the idea of an article. We—and I mean everyone except Zoe—will work with you however you need.” Fergie took a large sip of coffee and set the mug down. Obviously, he had a mouth of asbestos since steam was still rolling off the mug.
“Ethan and a couple of other family members have been discussing how to get our brand to extend a bit. Ethan thinks we can deliver biscuits by mail order. I’m willing to look into that. An article like this could get us those connections, hopefully.”
Jeremiah nodded. “I can put you in contact with a couple of good places that won’t over charge for the service. I gave Ethan some initial contact information.”
Sadie set the more delicate coffee cup and saucer in front him with a perfect café au lait. Jeremiah smiled at her as she also set down a large plate of a variety of cookies. “We bake the cookies here daily, and people know we run out usually by noon. It was slow today.”
Jeremiah sank his teeth into a chocolate chip cookie and smiled even bigger. “Very nice. These would do well on mail order.”
Fergie looked at the young woman, who face was a huge question mark. “Mums the word to anyone until we’ve worked out details.”
She shook her head, smiling, and went back to the counter to answer the phone.
“So, do we talk about the personal stuff?” asked Jeremiah, sipping the hot drink in front of him.
“Not sure we need to. It’s the usual thing in these cases, really. You hurt my grandson, who I love more than life itself, and I rip your heart out,” said Fergie before he took another gulp of coffee.
Jeremiah leaned back and laughed a loud and rolling laugh. Everyone wanted to protect Ethan. “If anything, Fergie, it will be Ethan who breaks my heart. He is an amazing young man.” Jeremiah blushed. “On many levels.”
“As long as we understand each other on the article and Ethan, I’m fine here.” Fergie got up from his chair. “I’ll see you at the restaurant. You’ll see the last of lunch rush, at least.”
“Meet you there,” said Jeremiah as he was pulling a reporter’s notepad and pen from his briefcase.
Fergie left, and Sadie came over. She sat down, looking directly at Jeremiah.
“Zoe’s bark is much worse than her actual bite,” offered the young girl. “But you’ll see that we all love Ethan probably more than any other family member. He’s the peace maker. He’s the one you go to when you’re in trouble. He has a big heart, and we worry about him finding that right guy.”
“I was under the impression Ethan wasn’t out to family or the community here.”
“Which only goes to show you how really sweet the boy is.” Sadie got up and went back to her station.
Jeremiah made a few notes, finished the now room-temperature drink, and smiled. Family could be great or a problem, and he hoped Ethan appreciated the family he had.
Chapter 8
Ethan kept looking at the door. He was actually nervous at seeing Jeremiah and his grandfather together. His mother was still not talking to him beyond the short words when orders were placed or were up in the pass-through. He wondered what the talk was because he kept getting those cow-eyed, knowing looks from the older ladies. Coupled with what Madilyn said earlier, it wasn’t going to be good.
He was absolutely sure everyone in town knew when Mrs. McIntire, the retired librarian at the high school, patted his hand and said in that cloying voice of hers, “It’ll be okay in the long run, dear.”
The bell jangled on the front door, and his grandfather waved in his direction before eventually disappearing into the kitchen. Voices were raised, but he was smiling when he settled into his back booth.
Ethan was pouring coffee when Jeremiah entered and headed back to his grandfather’s booth. He noticed heads turn as Jeremiah made his way through the restaurant. Although, given how handsome the young man was, Ethan wasn’t sure the looks were all about this situation. Yeah, right.
Fergie stood and shook Jeremiah’s hand. “Glad you could make it here this morning. Well, almost morning. Technically still morning.”
Jeremiah laughed and sat down. “You asked so nicely, how could I refuse?”
Ethan brought coffee cups and poured coffee, handed them menus, and went over the specials for the day. Fergie and Jeremiah didn’t say anything, just smiled at the apparently nervous Ethan.
Zoe appeared at the nearby door to the kitchen looking dire and upset. “Father? When you have time, can I see you?”
Fergie smiled. “When I am done here, m’dear.”
Zoe tried slamming a swinging door shut, which, of course, didn’t work. Ethan sighed heavily and said he would be back to get their order.
Jeremiah looked over the top of the menu. “Any recommendations?”
“Not sure I should. For purposes of your articles, you may want to look and discover. Specials here are daily specials, and they remain the same day in and day out. Monday is Zoe’s chicken and noodles in either a dinner or soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Tuesday is city chicken served with two sides and coleslaw. Wednesday is what we call Cook’s Choice, which means what we have the most of in the freezer. Thursday is my special fried chicken served with two sides, and Friday is our baked steak, also with two sides. Saturday and Sunday are more of Cook’s Choice.”
“That’s a nice selection. You serve breakfast all day and do some short order and burgers?’
“It’s our version of standard diner fare. We try and be better than most,” offered Fergie. “We use as much local and fresh stuff as we can. In the end, a diner is a diner.”
“Yeah, you’re better than most I found on this trip. Mind if I record our conversation so I can eat and not have to take notes?”
Fergie nodded in agreement, and Jeremiah went back to studying the menu. It was Tuesday, and that was what—City Chicken or pork cubes on a stick according to Fergie. Jeremiah looked over his shoulder at the white board on the wall by the door.
“We also have liver and onions today. It’s popular with the senior crowd, and its first of the month. We price it low.” Fergie shrugged. “I’d pass on it, although people tell me its good.”
Jeremiah laughed and silently agreed. He stopped eating many organ-meats thanks to high school science class where he learned all the functions of the various organs. He shuddered a bit at what he knew his grandparents ate in their youth.
Ethan returned, looking a little green around the gills with pad in hand. Was his hand shaking? Jeremiah felt for him. Too much was happening all around him, and it seemed like just so much drama. They’d laugh about this day sometime. That thought caught Jeremiah by surprise. Would he know Ethan long enough for the day to become funny?
“I’ll have the Fergie Burger with onion rings and a salad with the house dressing,” ordered Fergie.
“Usual on it?” asked Ethan.
Fergie nodded and settled back, waiting for Jeremiah.
“Might as well dive in then,” Jeremiah stated. “Meatloaf, home fries, and green beans. I’ll also want the coleslaw and a biscuit.”
“Good choice,” agreed Fergie. “They’re still using my grandmother’s recipe for meatloaf.”
Ethan asked, “Gravy on the meatloaf? It’s a beef gravy.”
“Sure, and on the
home fries as well.” Jeremiah smiled into Ethan’s still-fearful face and felt pity on the guy.
“He’ll want Grace’s apple butter with the biscuit, Ethan.” Fergie nodded at his grandson. “I best go see what Zoe wants and to be sure she doesn’t spit in your order. I’ll be right back.”
Ethan turned to go, but Jeremiah caught his wrist to stop him momentarily.
“Let me make it up to you tonight? I know this has to be—”
“Frenzied,” completed Ethan. “I agree as long as we go out of town for the evening?”
“We’ll go where you want to go. I just, well, I just…”
Ethan nodded and seemed to understand.
They both heard raised voices coming through the swinging door to the kitchen. Ethan just shook his head and went to place their order in the pass-through at the front on that old fashioned, metal turnstile thingy. No computerized system here, and perhaps that is what made places like Fergies unique in today’s world. They harken back to another time. Simpler? Probably not, just a different set of problems and solutions most likely.
Jeremiah liked the friendly atmosphere of the place, even given the stares he got from the locals. When he caught their eye, instead of hurriedly turning away, they’d smile and nod. These were people not afraid to look you in the eye, and if the right occasion was presented, spit in your eye with the same smile as the wink and the nod. He could appreciate that.
Jeremiah took out his mobile phone and took pictures of the extensive menu. He would ask for one so they could get better reproduction for the magazine, but he wanted to be able to recall items while he wrote the main article. Fergie came back, looking a bit flustered, but his cheery smiled replaced his exasperated look by the time he sat across from Jeremiah.
“She’s too old to spank for acting childish, I guess. But, damn, that’s what I want to do.” He smiled big. “So what do you want to know?”
Jeremiah turned on his trusty digital recorder, and they went through the history of how Fergie and his brother learned to cook at their grandmother’s knee.
“Mom couldn’t cook worth anything.”
They went through how not just the meat loaf recipe was from his grandmother. “In fact, the noodle bowl we use in the kitchen is my grandmother’s as well.”
Fergie wagged his finger at Jeremiah. “And tell those East-coasters who read your magazine that when we say noodles here, we aren’t talking pasta or those dry yellow curly things in a bag from the grocery.”
Jeremiah laughed. “Maybe we can do pictures to make sure even the most elite of the elites know the difference.”
Fergie went on to explain how the seventies and into the eighties took their toll on the business as the surrounding manufacturing left the area. Their twenty-four-hour routine slowly went to their present schedule of primarily being a breakfast and lunch diner. Yes, they were open to seven most nights, but that was more for their senior crowd.
“We are the place most seniors who don’t want to cook at least one or two meals come to,” added Fergie. “During the winter, we try and offer some delivery to regulars who can’t get out. Normally, deliveries are limited to businesses like law firms and doctors’ offices—multiple orders at one time—but in the winter, we can adjust.”
“You have a large number of regulars?”
“We have people I could tell you the time of day by when they come through the door.” Fergie smiled. “We’re into third and fourth generations now.”
“So when did Ethan’s mother take over?”
Fergie sighed. “Ethan’s father was killed in an accident when Ethan was small. I’m not sure he remembers much. They moved in with me, and Zoe worked the restaurant more and more. A heart attack kind of slowed me down, and the family decided I needed to retire. Zoe was the only one really invested in the restaurant.” Fergie looked into the distance a moment and was quiet. “Ethan grew up here, and he also has a connection here, but I understand his desire to go away and establish a life. And that’s what all of this with you is about, I think. Zoe finally understands, in a year, Ethan will be going to law school somewhere and gone.”
“Anyone else in the family interested like Zoe or Ethan?”
“You met Sadie. She says she’s interested and works weekend here sometimes.” Fergie shrugged. “The family will decide once I’m gone. I hope it stays as close to the way it is now, but not sure how feasible that is for the future.”
“Can I ask a personal question?” Jeremiah had a sly smile on his lips, trying to lighten the conversation again. He noticed the heaviness of Fergie’s voice.
“More personal than sleeping with my grandson?”
“Why not an apostrophe s after Fergie? I was expecting maybe an army of Fergies here.”
The older man laughed heartily and long as memory swept over him. “Well, when I took over as sole owner in—what?—about 1960, we changed the name. Had the whole outside of the restaurant painted and the name huge on the side, facing the on-coming traffic. That first sign painter didn’t put an apostrophe in, and it would’ve taken too much to correct. So there it stayed. Now I think it would jar people too much to change it.”
Jeremiah nodded and was glad he asked. These were the type of side notes he liked to include in his features because it added to the human element in a sometimes fairly impersonal business. Restaurants seemed to have become all about franchises and national themed places, all with the same or similar fare. Here was a real restaurant owned by real people for a community that appreciated their efforts.
Ethan brought over their orders, and it jarred Jeremiah out of his thoughts. The plates—platters, really—were huge and overflowing, and the aroma was all but intoxicating.
“Oh, what is the possibility of including a couple of recipes in the article? Our readers don’t necessarily cook themselves, I think, but it lends to authenticity,” Jeremiah said as he took a bite of meatloaf. Sinful, he thought. Just sinful.
“I can probably do the biscuits and how about the noodle recipe? We need to show people how simple things can be. The biscuits really have three ingredients, and the noodles are flour, water, and eggs.”
“The biscuits?” asked Ethan. “Are you crazy? Mom will—”
“My name is still on the mortgage here and on the side of building,” said Ethan’s grandfather, smiling. “Besides, she’s gotta come around to all of this. What better way than to highlight her cooking?”
“The biscuits were amazing. What’s the secret there?”
“Yogurt and not working the dough too much. They really are better as drop biscuits but rolled out and cut are prettier, they tell me.” Fergie shrugged. “They were fine as drop ones until Zoe wanted them to look prettier. Ethan, get yourself something and take a break with us. Madelyn and Sara can handle things for now.”
Ethan smiled and said, “I’ll check with Mama.”
Jeremiah went on eating as he saw family dynamic at play.
Chapter 9
“A break?” Zoe yelled. “You just got here!”
“Four hours ago. We give breaks here, and I’m taking mine. Both Madelyn and Sara are good with it, and Grandpa—”
“Well, of course, if your Grandpa says so! I guess he’s still the boss then.”
Ethan smiled. “He says his name is on the side of the building.”
The rest of the kitchen staff snickered, and it seemed to break through to Zoe as well.
“Well, he is right there. We can discuss this article thing when you get home tonight.”
“Jeremiah and I are going to dinner out of town. Don’t know when I’ll be home again.” Ethan tried to ignore the snickers as Zoe’s face clouded over.
“Try and fit me in sometime, then.”
“Mom, come on, lighten up. None of this should have come as a shock to you. I thought we went through the hard stuff years ago.”
“I just don’t think this article—” started Zoe.
“The article? Are you sure this is about the artic
le and not me staying out last night?”
“Do we do this here?” whispered Zoe.
“You made this public, might as well. I slept with Jeremiah last night. First time I’ve had sex in town, by the way, and it was lovely. I had a personal life—though discreet—while in college. Here, I’ve been like a monk, and the first time you are aware, you fly off the handle! God, Mom, it’s not like I can get pregnant!”
The entire kitchen erupted, and Ethan heard people in dining room guffaw as well.
Fergie opened the kitchen door. “Could you guys keep it down? Father Adam just came in, and you know how he is.”
“Just as judgmental as my mother.” With that, Ethan grabbed his lunch from the warming plate and headed to the dining room.
“You best be careful here, my girl,” cautioned Fergie as Zoe threw down a towel in frustration.
Jeremiah got into Ethan’s little car and belted in as they headed out of town along a scenic, two-lane highway. Ethan told him they were on the outskirts of a state park, and the foliage was rich and green and beautiful.
“So where are we going?”
“There’s a winery along the river about forty miles. They have a restaurant there and, of course, serve their own wines,” Ethan said. “The wine is average, but the food is very good. Tonight, there’s a small jazz band playing. We have reservations for the outdoor patio overlooking the river. It’ll be a change from Fergies.”
“I enjoyed Fergies both times I’ve eaten there. Your family knows how to cook and serve. I’ll admit, the entertainment was a bit stressful.” Jeremiah grinned and poked at Ethan.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I would never have thought Mom would react like this.”
“They’re afraid of losing you.”
“They can’t lose me. I’ll always be there for them. They should know this by now. They should know me by now.” Ethan sighed.
“You plan on coming back here after law school?”
“Oh, hell no. But losing me would be if I just went away and never came back.” Ethan went on. “I figure Fergies is financially viable for maybe another ten years. I would hate to see it disappear. It’s as much a part of that town as anything. But a successful law career somewhere could subsidize it for some time.”
