I’ve had the total misfortune to witness a G.I.D.
(governmental intrusion disaster) unfold for months on end now in the
commercial space next door to my shop.
A very nice woman decided to try and achieve her dream of
opening a great little pizza parlor there. Not just another of the hundreds of
standard franchise models but a home made, brick fired oven variety. The kind
of oven I’ve seen while watching a travel channel in some far away island
community. A place the locals hang out drinking exotic drinks while watching
the suns rays slowly sink into the abyss of the Ocean.
I’m guessing now but I can imagine she will use a secret
sauce that was proudly passed down for generations in her family. My admittedly
overindulgent imagination would also include the dough. Not a dough from a box
with an ingredient list in some foreign language as long as the Constitution,
thrown together with water but something her Grandmother taught her to make
with the main ingredients being love and patience for perfection.
Now that’s one hell of a wonderful dream the lady has,
wouldn’t you agree? What could it possibly take to throw together a nice little
pizza parlor to serve the locals a great tasting pizza?
Admittedly the building we’re talking about is old. Very
old. Probably pushing 100 years old in fact. Still, some wall, floor and
ceiling treatments, a little paint, some kitchen appliances, the oven of course
and some tables and chairs for the patrons and BAM! “Welcome folks. Come on in.
Your nice hot, bubbling pizza straight from the brick fired oven will be ready
in a moment. Have a glass of wine or a beer while you wait.”
Approximately 17 years ago, when I rented my commercial
space next door, in the same 100 year old building, it was already painted so
all I had to do to create a Barbershop was put up some mirrors, install a sink
and slide the old fashioned Barber Chair in place. Then some nice rocking
chairs for the clientele and “Welcome folks. Have a seat. I’ll be with you
shortly.”
If I remember correctly, it took all of a week to open for
business.
Now back to the nice lady trying her best to open a little
pizza business next door.
The first activity I saw and of course heard, being right
next door was a whole lot of demolition. They obviously had to tear out a lot
of the old wood, wiring and what little plumbing there in order to upgrade the
whole thing to modern standards.
It all seemed to be going well until everything stopped one
day. Which turned into not days but weeks, then months.
When I asked, they told me they ran into the dreaded building
department monster.
Now my life experience admittedly does not include all the
modern requirements in this day and age to create a space to handle food but
the things I was hearing from the contractor and workers’ trying to do their
jobs was horrifying at the least.
First of all, instead of hiring some draftsman to pencil in
some general drawings for the place, they had to hire an architectural engineer
for god’s sake. Now his work extended the timeline another month or more. He
for reasons unknown did not work out in the end, so they had to hire a new and
improved architectural engineer. Of course his work only added another few
months to the now ridiculously long drawn out process.
Again I have no idea what’s involved in achieving this
little project but was constantly amazed at how long this was taking.
Finally one day, when I came to work it was a beehive of
activity with grins on everyone’s faces as they told me everything was in place
and it was a go! Then the bangs, crashes, air guns blasting and shaking enough
to knock things off my walls commenced in earnest once again.
With every apology offered, I always responded with “No
problem. Just happy you’re on your way now.”
Once more silence prevailed.
This new bureaucratic brick wall had something to do with a “Grease
Trap doohickey”, which costs thousands of dollars by the way and has to be
reviewed and approved by several arms of the permit department, as more weeks
flow by.
Using her California bureaucratic travesty as a lead in, as
the title of this piece infers, because of these insane food processing rules,
our free choices of what, where and how we enjoy food is only going to get more
and more mind numbingly generic and tasteless. Because Grandma is flat out not
allowed to cook in her own kitchen and serve to the public from her front porch
swinging bench, the general public will never get the chance to enjoy the
delicious food she regularly prepares for her family. Food by the way she’s
prepared and served most of her life with no one turning green and keeling over
with some exotic disease never heard of before or since.
No sir. The only food available to the masses (that’s us
folks) will be served from the confines of the mass marketed franchise verity. With
meat products from boxes labeled “Eatable Meat”, as I observed in the loading
zone of a McDonalds on my very LAST visit there.
So no folks. You will NOT be allowed to taste the wonders
passed down through the generations from folk’s family recipes, straight from
their regular kitchens. You’ll have to settle for the tasteless garbage offered
at the McPlastic establishments only.
So at the least, treasure every chance you get to set down
in Grandma’s kitchen and savor every morsel of heaven offered therein……..
Lastly, all I can say to the nice lady next door is “Hang in
there. Hopefully in the end, we’ll all get a chance to enjoy your offering from
the heart.”
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