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Nothing but work, work, work all the time.

8/1/2015

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My parents’ generation had “It’s a Wonderful Life.”  My generation is more the “Office Space” crowd.  A long time ago Frank Capra captured how our lives intersected in meaningful ways while Mike Judge tapped into our collective desire to “do nothing.”  What would you do with a million dollars?  Nothing.  Sounds kinda nice, right?  But maybe that’s because we’ve misunderstood work this whole time.  The Greeks saw the physical world as something that merely weighed down the soul.  The way to avoid suffering and live a good life was to spend as much time as possible disengaged from worldly affairs.  Pull back, meditate and spout some philosophical nonsense and you’re enlightened my friend!  Aristotle actually said that unemployment (the ability to not have to work) was a primary requirement for a worthwhile life.  The earliest iteration of free your mind, man.  Early reliable accounts also verify that he had the munchies about the time he said this and was looking for a bag of Funions.

Although Aristotle is generally held as a pretty smart cookie, I’m going to have to humbly disagree with him here.  Go ahead and test me out on this.  Spend a couple weeks unemployed.  It sounds great for the first few days and then the stir crazy sets in.  We need to do something.  We have a deep seated need to contribute in some small way.  We all want to not have to work, but given the chance it never lives up to its’ billing.  We all share this planet and intrinsically we want to leave it better than we found it.  We want to build community and help others.  Benefiting others is what we are wired for.  That one time you helped out at Habitat for Humanity during college doesn’t cut it.  The world didn’t get fixed in that one afternoon.  Tack onto that the fact that one of the main causes of depression (and thus suicide) is a lack of purpose so apparently we still need something more out of work than a paycheck.  We need to make a difference no matter how small.  We are hard wired for work – which is why on those days when you know you have nothing left because you worked your butt off and you collapse into bed - deep down you know that was a day well spent.  You groan as you hit the pillow but deep inside there is a satisfaction that is undeniable.  The most delicious beer will always be the one you’ve earned.  At the end of a tough project or a long day, swing in here and we’ll be proud to serve you one.  Cheers.

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The Cost of Ignoring History

7/10/2015

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A recent trip to a restaurant association show brought me to the great city of Dallas.  With my family in tow, we stayed in a downtown hotel and used one of the evenings to walk around Dealey Plaza and visit the JFK memorial, the “floating tomb.”  Corralling the kids through busy downtown streets, past panhandlers, and around the cops arresting some guy a few feet away from us was not easy.  Also not easy, trying to hold their attention whilst we vainly fought to impart this special “history lesson” moment with the gravity it deserved amidst the aforementioned distractions.  In fact, I may or may not have lost my temper somewhere between keeping my kids out of the plaza fountain and telling them that the granite memorial was not a balance beam so please get off of it.  But struggle we did. 

The only question is why.  This is not my favorite chapter of history.  I’m not even a huge fan of JFK (although there is much to admire).  I’m not some crazed conspiracy theorist.  So why invest an evening, drain my patience, and endure such frustration to pass on to my kids a lesson in history that most would like to forget?  This is where I could play the I Love ‘Merica card or claim it’s because I am so much more patriotic than you but that misses the point.  I didn’t take my kids down to Dealey Plaza because I love American history.  I took them there because I love my kids.  My children are quite young (the oldest being 10) and one can be reasonably certain most of what they saw they didn’t understand - and that’s okay.  If they missed the details about Oswald getting into a fight with his girlfriend, or that he sat up there for an hour and a half while eating a chicken sandwich and drinking a Coke I’m alright with that. 

The lesson I most want them to learn (and here is where I’m gonna lose some people) is that we desperately need to cling to the most shameful parts of our past.  Let me expand that.  The parts of our history that we need to fight the hardest to remember are the parts we want the most to forget.  It would be much easier to skip the part about JFK being killed right over there as he sat next to his beautiful wife or heartbreaking moment when John F. Kennedy Jr. told Secret Service “I miss my daddy.”  Trust me, I would love to let my kids think the world is all sunshine and lollypops and we could focus on tickle fights and group hugs but that would cripple their potential.  They so dearly need to know the mistakes of the past and the wreckage caused by hatred and vengeance.  This is not a call for self-flagellation or teaching my kids humans are a blight on the planet.  I want my kids to know about the best of our history too.  There are great moments when people stirred by noble desires undertook difficult tasks from which we still reap benefits.  History is a complicated subject, precisely because it’s filled with humans, but it needs to be passed on.

I was a bit surprised, though I shouldn’t have been, when I found out that following the assassination the city of Dallas had wanted to tear down the book depository.  Today they have a museum up on the sixth floor complete with the boxes stacked exactly the same way as on that fateful day, but that almost didn’t happen.  The people of Dallas were so overcome with shame that this could happen in their city that in the years following they wanted to tear the building down.  They didn’t want to have to drive by such a painful reminder with questions like “how could this happen?” haunting them for decades to come.  In fact, it took almost 30 years for the museum to come about. 

It may be that that decision to own and embrace rather than destroy and ignore their darkest hour might ironically be their greatest accomplishment.  It’s easier to forget.  That’s why so many countries deny the holocaust ever happened.  But greatness happens when the shame of the past is neither ignored nor allowed to limit the promise of tomorrow.  That is what I fought valiantly to instill in my kids that evening.  That mysterious dichotomy of what we’re capable of.  That evil does exist but also that dreams can put a man on the moon.  Please remember that history is a cultural treasure and we all bear the responsibility of keeping it and passing it on.  It will not happen if we place that burden on teachers who get 1 hour a day to pass that subject on to the next generation and too much is at stake if it is lost.  These lessons cost too much to learn.  Let’s not forget them.

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Bar Top Civility

6/17/2015

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What makes a bar special?  Hint #1 - It’s not the décor.  Countless neighborhoods find their epicenter in the diviest of dives; places that haven’t seen a remodel or a can of Pledge since candy bars cost a nickel.  Hint #2 - It’s not the beer selection or the food.  Patrons have choked down many a barely edible meal or thoroughly enjoyed marginal beverages just because that particular establishment happens to be “their bar.”  Nope.  Bars can exist and even thrive despite lacking any of the latest marketing gimmicks or demographically focused fare on their menus if the personalities that populate the torn vinyl seats or the ones mixing the drinks share a common trait.  It is a trait that is desperately needed yet sorely lacking.  Say it with me “Ci-vi-li-ty.”   

Civility is the virtue of treating others with respect regardless of their opinions.  It’s an ingredient that decides whether friendships will be made or if tempers will flare.  As my father always says “If we both agree all the time then one of us isn’t necessary.”  Without a doubt some of my most rewarding friendships have been with people with whom I vehemently disagree. 

But that’s the best part.  Civility doesn’t minimize differences.  It relishes the discussion because it pursues one of two outcomes.  Option numero uno, I convince you to see things a different way because you matter and truth matters.  That’s called proselytizing and it’s a good thing.  If I am utterly convinced of a profound truth then I am obligated as a decent human being to try and convince you of that truth.  Not doing so means either that particular truth is insignificant or you are insignificant. 

Or the second choice, you show me a side of the argument I hadn’t considered yet and cause me to reevaluate something.  Sometimes this means I abandon a line of logic and defend my point a different way and other times it means I acknowledge the validity of your point and change my mind.  Both of these goals should be worth striving for and yet we should be completely fine with nobly failing to achieve either of them.  Even if the argument ends in a stalemate, which is most frequently the case, I had to remember why I think a certain way and see if it holds up to scrutiny – which is unquestionably a good thing.  Or we could just settle for shallow underpinnings for some of the most fundamental questions and simple direct ad hominem attacks at those who disagree.   Your choice.

I have both participated in and moderated my fair share of bar top debates.  Some elevated emotions and nothing else, while others deepened friendships and even highlighted points of agreement within the argument.  That’s called empathy - trying to see the world through their eyes.  In the words of Timothy Keller “You don’t have the right to disagree with someone until you can explain their argument in the strongest way possible.”  Nothing is gained from victoriously defeating straw men arguments.  Instead we should recognize both the dignity of the other person and the values that underpin their perspective.

But none of this will happen if we don’t abandon the stale talking points and actually engage with each other.  Find out where they are coming from and why they think that way.  It may just be that you’re wrong.  Or that I’m wrong.  Either way, it’s best if we just leave the bitterness to the IPAs and relish the relationships as much as that trendy food and fantastic beer selection.  Cheers.

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Strange Brews

6/6/2015

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This past Thursday we had the privilege of hosting one of the most sought after breweries in the country and if you ask Jester King co-founder Jeffrey Stuffings no one is more surprised than him.  “Initially we thought we would have to sell most of our beer out of state” he recalls, thinking back to what most people would consider a hare brained scheme to build a small farmhouse brewery outside of Austin.  Opening up a brewery without an IPA or a hefe sounds like suicide but Jeff knew the kinds of beers he wanted to produce and had enough faith that he could grow a following.

Faith can be a dangerous intoxicant in business.  In a sense, you almost have to be drunk with it to get anything off the ground.  You at least need a healthy buzz to quell the voices of caution in your head (and from well-meaning friends) telling you to play it safe.  But eventually “you’ll never know unless you try” becomes a cliché that haunts you until you do.

So here we sat sipping a glass of Gotlandsdricka, an ancient Viking ale brewed with smoked malt, juniper berries and gale (I went to culinary school and even I don’t know what that is), freshly poured from a gravity keg in a craft beer laundromat talking about how life is full of surprises.  Nowadays, Jester King most certainly does not have to sell most of their beer out of state.  In fact, according to Jeff, 85% of their liquid produce is sold every weekend directly to customers at their brewery tours.  

Weekends at Jester King have turned into a weekly pilgrimage for many devoted fans seeking an escape from crazy Austin traffic and a taste of something deeply connected to the land that results from a process that refuses to be rushed.  But it hasn’t always been that way.  Cultivating a family friendly environment that flies in the face of traditional American macrobrew culture has been work.  Jeff still grimaces as he recalls a painful episode when they first started out.  A couple “booze crews” party buses pulled up filled with college kids bent on having a weekend they couldn’t remember and before the day was out they had started a brawl on the patio. “It was so embarrassing” Jeff admits.  “We had to kick everybody out and close down for the day.”  Luckily for all of us, the craft beer community has been quick to show the “drink to get drunk” crowd the door.

Weekend tours haven’t been the only thing requiring intentionality.  According to Jeff, the risks involved with trying to harness a wild microorganism to produce the desired result have been frustrating at times.  “We probably dump more beer than any other brewery.”  As they continue to add layer upon layer of natural processes attempting to culminate in delicious complexity the results don’t always taste like success.  Combine that with a beer list that rarely sees the same beer brewed twice and you have the essence of educated guessing.  “We’ve had a batch of Noble King in barrels for about 18 months now that isn’t where we want it to be.  We’ll give it a little bit more time but we’ll probably end up tossing it.”  Sacrifices like that, however, have paid off.  Jester King is in the beer media so regularly that they’re practically a no-brainer for anyone putting together a list of top breweries you ought to know about by now.

But long before anyone in the beer world knew who they were or even had a working definition of “farmhouse ale” Jeff, Michael Steffing, and Ron Extract had a pretty dialed in picture of what could happen when you connect with the land around you and allow nature a little more elbow room to work its magic. 

And believe me when I say that’s a good thing.  Cheers.



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Just your average Laundromat blog post...

5/23/2015

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Yep.  Nothing to see here.  Just your average, run of the mill blog post from your neighborhood laundropub written by a guy with 5 (soon to be 6) kiddos and a culinary degree.  Nah, "average" never really applied here.  Even before my parents lovingly allowed me to remake the business they have poured their heart and soul into for the last decade and a half there never really was anything normal about Harvey Washbangers.  I mean, really, have you met my parents?  This place was a perfect distillation of their personalities.  My mom, one of the sweetest, kindest women on the planet painstakingly ensured every frightened fish fleeing the corps dorms could escape to a place where there was always a mom on duty.  My dad could, and still does, hobnob with the best of 'em.  Shaking hands, making people feel welcome and telling the same few jokes to every face that needs a smile.  There is no comparison to the culture they built and that was what I jumped right into the middle of..

There is a saying in the running community that the single best thing you can do to be a great runner is to pick your parents well.  In other words, there is no escaping your genes.  And I think most of us have tried.  Really hard.  At one time or another we have all fought the inevitable reality that we are destined to become our parents.  From the all knowing vantage point of 22 or 23 years old that seems like a death sentence to us.  Usually, we don't find out until it's too late that turning into mom or dad should have been the goal to aim for rather than something to avoid. 

Fortunately for me, I came back to Harvey Washbangers having already been that arrogant.  Working here when I was in college, back when I knew SOOO much, I tried to fix everything.  But then culinary school and a decade working in the industry showed me the kind of super human dedication it took just to eke by in the restaurant business.  Suffice to say, I didn't come back here because my folks needed my help.  The funny things is I came here to learn and get experience.  I'm more surprised than anyone at the level of success we have had over the past 3 and a half years.  I'll also be the first to tell you how surprised I am at how much fun this has been.  We're having a blast. 

So whether you've been a part of the Washbangers family for some time now or you're still a newbie that can't believe there is actually a restaurant in that laundromat, thanks for letting me be a part of the fun.
 

P.S. If there were any lingering questions about being "normal" this  ought to dispel that pretty quick.
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    Michael Lair

    owner, operator, beer lover, food enthusiast, family man, and head janitor.

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