Let me tell you about the quintessential happiest of married couples I know.  A love story straight from Hollywood.  She met him when he literally jumped ship and immigrated to America.  He may or may not have been doing some business for Spyredon “Spiro the Greek”Velentzas’ family, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

The ‘she’ in our story is Barbara.

Her Romeo is Kostas Papalaskaris.

We call him Gus.

By the time I worked with Barbara, she was in her late fifties.  After running her own diner in New York alongside Gus, they decided to move south where the living is easier, the cost of living is kinder and it’s entertaining to make fun of the natives on what they think cold/busy/hot/loud/humid is.

Barbara was a genuine server at heart.  It was imbedded in her.  While there are many transients in the business, Barbara had always been in it for the long haul.  She wouldn’t complain.  Never. No matter the craziest of requests her tables might give her, she would deliver with pride.  With a crew half, a third of her age at times, she ran circles around everyone.  Grabbing glass racks, running food, keeping stations stocked.  She knew what needed to be done and if she couldn’t cover it herself, she would not hesitate to ask you, “what the hell are you doing right now?!”

Barbara looked like an older Shelly Duval and had a voice equally annoying as Duval’s portrayal of Olive Oyl in the old Robin Williams Popeye movie.  Except it was high pitched squeaky Olive Oyl from New York.  She would say common words so butchered to my southern ears I would have no idea what she was talking about.

“I need a side of hossy”

“A side of what?”

“A side of hossy.”

I would try hard to run everything through my head to figure out what she was talking about. If I take too long and didn’t figure it out in time, she would rectify the situation herself.  This particular scenario had her threatening to slap me with a squirt bottle of creamy horseradish sauce while she’s yelling at me “Hossy! Hossy! You don’t know what hossy is?!”

Barbara was a very strong employee.  I think one of the ways sometimes that was described was ‘Barbara is a bitch.’ She had very high standards.  She would hold you to those standards.  She did not care if you liked her or not.  In an industry where you sometimes either make money or friends, she was at peace knowing she had filled her dance card long past.  You could not fool her, you could not take short cuts around her.  The saving grace with Barbara was that she was always right.  You can’t argue with the bitch when the bitch is the best there is.

Working with Barbara was enjoyable but challenging.  I could tell she wanted to respect me sheerly for my title of chef, but I could also see her biting her tongue at times as her experience far exceeded mine.  We’d smash into each other every now and then and remind each other we were both thankful to be on the same team.

I will admit, as much as Barbara was longer in the years and of work experience, she was also way more mature than me.  She had a penchant of coming into earshot of me right at the conclusion of a horrible perverted or graphic story.  It was always “why do I have to hear this?!” I would show a picture or video of questionable content to a coworker for a cheap laugh and she would inevitably pop up behind me and look over my shoulder.  She’d cuss me, cuss herself for looking, cuss the other person and usually hit somebody.

To her credit, the consummate momma, Barbara gifted me several pair of little booties upon my daughter being born.  She’d also remember my birthday and cooke me a chocolate peanut butter brownie.  We’d hug, we’d laugh and we knew, as different as we were, we were family by trade.

After being employed for a while Barbara asked me if I had any room on the kitchen schedule for ‘the old man.’  Knowing she was talking about her husband, I said sure and had him come by to talk to me.  Just an absolutely adorable old fella, he was a few yers older than Barbara.  He looked as if at one time he had flirted with being six feet tall but his back wore the question marked curve of someone that had been working his whole life.  He had the classic giant caterpillar mustache and spoke very softly.  As much as he seemed like a huggable grandfather, he had this definite demeanor that he would rip your eyeball out in a back alley brawl.  So of course I hired him.

When he showed up for his first shift, I inadvertently gave him a sneak peek of probably some things Barbara had warned him about.  To spare the details,  a bit of an adult movie connoisseur, Henry, had asked me if I had ever heard of a certain . . .uh. . .position.  I had not, so of course I ran back to my little office and looked it up on my computer.  This particular act involves two men and looks to be quite uncomfortable, but to each his own. So engrossed with this new knowledge, I am no longer concerned with the time of day.  As I’m sitting there with twenty something thumbnail pictures of what  certainly has to be a good time for those involved, I hear from behind me “oh, hello” and the wheezing, raspy giggle that I would learn to love.  Gus, showing up for duty.  Well, that was embarrassing.

Gus worked shifts in the prep room and on the back line.  He’d make the best damn soup you ever tasted.  Seriously.  He had an absolute gift.  The man did things the way they were supposed to be done, didn’t rush things, made broths and stocks, treated a roux as delicately as it needed.  Absolute divine soups.

He’d also flip the table over and tighten the screws if it wiggled.  He’d pull an electric drill out of nowhere and realign the ticket board.  He’d fix bolts, he’d clean compressors, he’d use a pot on top of a potato box as a ladder.  I actually have a picture of that.  He was a do anything man’s man and would do whatever needed to get the job done.

Early in Gus’ employment during a Christmas stretch I needed to call him in about five hours early.  Scheduled his usual back line dinner shift, I had gotten myself in a bind of sorts and needed some extra hands to get through the day.  I was reluctant to call him in fear of overworking the older gentleman.  Barbara was already at work, on the clock for her usual double, so I asked her what she thought.  She assured me it was fine and ended up calling him herself.  The dude came in, carried the kitchen through the day and didn’t even take a break.  As the dinner rush subsided, it was getting close to time for Gus to leave.

I asked the bar manger to sell me a bottle of Courvoisier and as Gus was clocking out I gave it to him with a “thank you and Merry Christmas.”  He responded with this usual grandpa like smile, made some noise that I assume were words and headed on out.  Barbara, still waiting tables, gave him her customary goodbye, complete with cheek peck.

The next day Barbara came to me and hooked her arm in mine like a side by side do-si-do.  “Jaaaaaaaaaaaamie,” she said with a noticeable youthful, almost flirtatious tone.

“Yes Babs”

“I’d like to thank you for the cognac you gave the old man.  By the time I got home last night he sure was warmed up a bit…”  I laughed to cut her off because I didn’t want her to go into great detail of what happened next, but my mind had already put together a scene involving a bearskin rug, fireplace and the shrieking giggles from Barbara I’ve heard at work.  But it was touching.  Youthful love.  These two are as old as my parents but it is refreshing to see the happiness they have just making eye contact.  It’s the kind of pure beauty this world needs of.

Apparently still an animal in the sack, it wasn’t long before I learned first hand how durable this man is.  A relatively busy dinner service, as I am expoing hot food I see him standing off to my left.  I could tell he needed something but he wasn’t being intrusive.  I was talking to the cooking line, communicating with servers and traying food.  I knew he was there and it’s quite normal for the back line cook to come to me and touch base; how many potatoes we have cooked, how much soup to heat up, how much rice do we have, bread is running low.  Just a normal, routine going-on.

As I am prioritizing my tasks, I finally find a second for Gus.

“Yes, Gus, what’s happening?”

“Jamie.  I have an irregular heat beat. Perhaps a heart attack?” Ok, now I’m freaking out, thinking do I give him the Heimlich now or do I need to see him choke? He calmly continues, “I have some potatoes in the steamer, they will need to be smashed.  If someone can do that.  There are third pans half full of both soups,” looks at the clock on the wall, shrugs his shoulders and tilts his head, “ehhh…that’s all right.  I am going to the emergency room.”

Barbara, who is waiting tables, hears this and stops in her tracks.  They exchange a few lines in a Greek-English hybrid, Barbara kisses his cheek and off he goes.

“Is he driving himself?”

“Oh yeah, he’s fine.”

“Isn’t he having a heart attack?!”

Barbara laughs, “he’s the Energizer Bunny, he’s ok.”

After massive convincing, Barbara eventually quits taking tables, cashes out and heads out to the ER.  Of course, she was right and Gus was ok.  It’s just amazing that ‘ok’ for him would kill 98% of the population, but he’s a fiercely strong man.

Legend has it that one time in New York at their diner the HVAC conked out.  Gus unfortunately was in the hospital with one of his we’ve-lost-count-how-many-now heart attacks.  He had a pretty major surgery and a big old set of stitches running down his leg.  Since the diner was open, Barbara was steering the ship.  She couldn’t get anyone to come in and fix the HVAC.  A job that size, any reputable service company is going to want a contract.  Meaning they want to be your service technician for everything, not just come and fix one thing.  All the reputable companies in the area knew Gus was the HVAC technician, the plumber, the electrician, the carpenter, the chef, the dishwasher and the whatever else needs to be done-er.  No one was going to lug your giant new air conditioner up top of a building in the middle of summer knowing they are never going to get any more work from you.

Gus leaves the hospital and heads to his diner.  He had a unit delivered waiting for him and in examination gown with his whole lower Mythonos region showing scales a ladder and lugs the new HVAC unit with him.  Of course he busts all the stitches in his leg in the process, but he connects the unit, sticks around to see the internal temperature of the restaurant drop and drives back to his waiting hospital bed.  There’s tough, and there’s Greek Tough.

Luckily for us we didn’t need Gus to perform such super human acts.  Coming in, making his remarkable soups, maintaining the back a line and occasionally helping on the fry station is all we needed.  Of course he’d go out of his way to fix things he saw needed tweaked and to keep us laughing with his horrible jokes.  They were tasteless, old school dirty jokes but most of the time Gus was so tickled himself he couldn’t suppress his heavy accent and would end up laughing in a foreign language before he could offer the punchline.  We would laugh when he would start laughing. Later on, collectively we’d try to piece together the segments that we understood.

It was touching watching these two together.  It was obvious Barbara was in charge, but without a doubt a lot of her confidence came from knowing she had such a wonderfully strong and dedicated man behind her.  We would catch them from time to time chatting it up while on the clock, quickly to yell at them to get back to work with a “both of you are married, you should be ashamed of yourselves!”  They’d share a grin and she’d peck him on his cheek.  He’d smile at her as she walked off and then he turn around and with a simple change in his brow remind us all he could kill us seven times over and hide our bodies.

Barbara and Gus ended up moving back up north.  They were grandparents a couple times over and decided to go live the grandparent life.  Since then Gus has had covid twice, a couple more heart issues and something that involved the word urinary tract so I blocked that part out.  But regardless the dents in their armor, they have maintained a steadfast love for each other and their family, proving that if you’ve got something to live for, you are damn near invincible.

There’s lots of people that recommend not working with your significant other.  ‘You don’t get your honey where you get your money.’  These two never had that issue.  Definitive sweethearts.  Not only were they impeccable as employees, it has like watching a fairy tale of happily ever after in real life.  He’d make her laugh, she’d make him blush, and they make each other shine as bright as the sun.  It was a treat to be able to not just work with these two but to also call them friends.  Now Barbara and I did get into a pretty big argument over the soup warmer set up one day, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.