Death From Above

This flying Terminator just flew into my house and began buzzing my head. I grabbed my electrified fly swatter and went to battle. This creature took a total of 12 solid zaps before it finally gave up. That is a quarter sitting next to it. And seconds after I took this picture, the beast sprung back to life, took another pass at my head, and flew out the door. This should count as a brush with death.

Filling In The Gap

Some might say I was actually born into the bar business. My parents met while my dad owned his first bar, The Green Spot. I was born shortly thereafter. In the immediate following years he also owned The Local Gentry and Gassy Jack's. In 1973 my parents purchased a small neighborhood corner tavern. In 1974 The Buffalo Gap was open. Named after a small town just miles away from my dad's birthplace in the Black Hills of South Dakota, The Buffalo Gap was destined to become a fixture in Portland's tavern culture. While many in Portland's bar and restaurant world will always think of the Buffalo Gap and my dad as one in the same, it's important to note that my mom was the silent partner who was my dad's iron forged backbone, allowing him to accomplish what he did over the years.

I clearly remember those special mornings when dad would take me in before opening hours. I would search the booth seats for loose change. I would pilfer from the plastic containers loaded with pepperoni sticks and beer sausage. I would guzzle all the RC Cola my stomach could hold. Dad would give me quarters for the pinball machines and to play pool. And when nobody was looking, I would touch the boobies on the naked lady statue.

I remember the night the Buffalo Gap burned. I remember the company parties on Labor Day. I remember many of the wacky people that worked for my dad. I remember all the remodels that took place. I remember dad bringing home my requested custom sandwich for dinner, loaded with corned beef and pastrami, cheddar and swiss cheese, a few veggies here and there, and packed into an onion roll.

Many people don't even remember what the original Buffalo Gap looked liked. The bar faced the door. The lower section downstairs was once booths and had a colorful painting of cowboys that covered the wall. What is now the pool room was once law offices. The upstairs was once an apartment that was home to my Uncle Dave. There were no stairs inside. The only way to get to the upstairs was via the stairs in the Biergarten.

Eventually, the Buffalo Gap became my first place of employment. I washed dishes, bussed tables, and sliced every meat, cheese, and vegetable known to mankind. I cleaned the fryers, the air vents, the floor, the toilet post customer vomit, and would literally run to the grocery store several blocks away if we ran out of Half & Half. I saw my first boobs in that kitchen. I heard jokes that none of my classmates could even comprehend. I worked amongst the dead... the dead who had lived more than I ever would. My brother Troy and I wreaked havoc in that kitchen... from egg throwing contests to developing our ninja skills at throwing sliced Swiss cheese to stuffing our cheeks full of peanut butter pie. And yes, Troy even stole the bread delivery truck.

I eventually made it to cook status. I learned how to blacken any slab of meat. I learned how to bread and saute. I battered fish and onion rings. I layered pizza after pizza. But I could never learn to make a good soup.

I eventually made it out to the floor where I learned the art of waiting tables. I learned to I.D. the older ladies if you wanted a good tip, and to never return to the kitchen empty handed.

In time, I headed off to college and that was the end of my life in the restaurant business. The concept of me taking over some day came and went within both my head and my dad's. The problem was that we could never be on the same page on the same day.

What was once that small neighborhood corner tavern is now a complete restaurant serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner with live music, two bars pouring beer, liquor, and wine (but not necessarily in that order), and a legacy that most bar owners in Portland could only dream of.

As of today, my parents are retired. The torch has been passed as of 12:01 this morning. A young bartender who worked his way up from the beginning has been handed the keys and much faith. After thirty six years the Buffalo Gap is being guided by new blood. I want to congratulate both my parents for the years of hard work and the success it brought them. I want to wish Troy Itami all the luck in the world in his new endeavour as bar owner.

I want to thank The Buffalo Gap for more memories than one can imagine.