“Jackie! How’d we do last night?” Mr. Buckley, the proprietor of Buckley’s Irish Pub and Grill asked his favorite bartender who was cleaning up behind the bar, getting ready to open for lunch.
“Not bad for a Tuesday night Mr. Buckley,” Jackie replied feeling his face flush at the thought of what he had been doing with Mr. Buckley’s daughter just a few hours ago. He had been working for Mr. Buckley for just over two years now though it seemed like only last week that they had met.
Old man Buckley, a retired firefighter from New York City, had taken his life savings, his daughter, and a whole lot of grit and moved out to the Hamptons and though having absolutely no experience in the restaurant/bar business, purchased the Pub almost three years ago. It was called the Driver’s Seat back then. Mrs. Buckley had passed away just nine months before his retiring from the FDNY, and the widower Buckley was glad to get out of the city after thirty-two years of fighting fires. The Pub quickly became a favorite watering hole for many of Southampton’s restaurant workers, as it stayed open until 4:00 a.m., which was as late as the law allowed. Cooks, waitresses, bartenders, and bus boys would frequent the Pub after their respective restaurants closed. It was a cozy place to unwind after a busy night or after a slow night. Restaurant people really don’t need a reason to frequent a watering hole.
“You don’t like the menu?” old man Buckley had asked Jackie one night at the Pub when he and a group from the Manor, a well established restaurant on the other side of town, had stopped in for a few drinks. Buckley had overheard Jackie criticizing the menu with his friends stating that prime rib, lobster tails, and filet of sole just didn’t fit the ambiance of an Irish Pub. He told old man Buckley the same. “I suppose you could do better?” the retired firefighter challenged.
“Don’t take me wrong Mr. Buckley, I just think that a menu of lamb stew, chili, burgers, and stuff like that would better fit the style of your Pub is all,” Jackie answered.
After pausing briefly, Buckley offered him a job running the kitchen and when Jackie accepted, walked back into the kitchen and fired the girl who had been running it for the previous three-months. He came back out and announced that the kitchen was closed and told the bartender to pick up the tab for Jackie and his friends for the rest of the night and asked Jackie if he could report for work the next afternoon to put the “Grill” back into Buckley’s Irish Pub and Grill. He had been losing money steadily and until now, nobody had the nerve to tell him why.
Jackie O’Shea reported early that next day and took to rewriting the menu. He explained to Mr. Buckley, who asked him to stop calling him “Mr. Buckley,” that what they needed was a menu that complimented the bar, as the bar was the draw. It was clear to Jackie that Mr. Buckley didn’t really understand, but didn’t really care as long as he stopped losing money. Occasionally he would get nervous and ask if they shouldn’t throw on a prime rib night or a lobster special but Jackie stuck to his guns and laid out his plan. The Grill would offer a variety of burgers and sandwiches with big steak cut french fries or hand battered onion rings daily. And then they would offer specials; chili on Monday’s, lamb stew on Wednesday’s, fish and chips on Friday’s. Not only did old man Buckley stop losing money, but he started seeing a profit from food orders in just six weeks time. In fact, Buckley’s Irish Pub and Grill became the place to eat in the Hamptons on Wednesday nights, with customers willing to wait an hour in line for a table, all wanting a bowl of his famous lamb stew. It was good stew. With tender chunks of lamb and beef and large pieces of carrots and potatoes, a hint of burgundy wine, and served with fresh bread from the bakery across town.
Jackie worked the kitchen for eight months before hanging up his apron and moving behind the bar. Mr. Buckley treated him like the son he’d never had, which was OK for Jackie since his father was not a part of his life, hadn’t been since Jackie turned 18 and moved out. Actually, he had taken care of himself since turning 14 because if his father the Chief wasn’t off sailing the seven seas, he was out carousing with women of ill repute.
Patti Buckley didn’t like Jackie at all when first she met him, undoubtedly feeling threatened. That is until he started tending bar wearing tight Levi jeans with his dark hair and blue eyes, always with a smile.
“Speak of the devil,” he said as Patti stormed into the Pub.
“Piss off!” she snapped, walking past him and into the rear office. Mr. Buckley looked at Jackie for some kind of explanation.
Jackie shrugged and mumbled, “off again I guess.”
A second later Patti stormed out of the office, stopping a few feet from the bar, her arms crossed, barely able to control her anger, she matter of factly stated, “your Army recruiter called, said he got the job you wanted.”
“No shit?” Jackie asked in a much too excited voice for Patti’s liking.
“Good for you Jackie,” the old man said.
“You knew about this daddy?” Patti asked incredulously.
Old man Buckley knew better than to get into it with his daughter. He just turned and went into the rear office.
Sgt Hook out.
Posted by Hook @ 1736 zulu | | Permalink
This post is filed under: Jackie O'Shea & La Vita Dolce
