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Don't Cry Over Frozen Milk

Written by Terry Howard

August, 1635 Grantville

Arch Pennock looked at the balance sheet and wanted to cry. Yes, he knew. Up-time for sure, and probably here and now also, restaurants were the number one most failed business. Still, opening a restaurant had seemed like a great idea back in March.

He'd let a young chicken plucker use his kitchen to make the Hungarian dumplings he was homesick for one Sunday, after he'd fed the boy southern-style chicken and dumplings and been informed that, while they were good noodles, they were not dumplings. It happened to be Arch's turn to host the poker game and the guys scraped the pot dry of the rich broth after they scarfed down the ravioli-like dumplings stuffed with three kinds of meat and savory vegetables. The boy had two requests to cook for upcoming events on the spot. Well, Arch Pennock knew a good thing when it was sitting on his kitchen stove. So he fronted the money to set Janos up vending dumplings on the streets of Grantville. From there things went well, very well.

By March six pushcarts were bringing in money hand-over-fist and prep work was spilling out of the kitchen onto card tables in his living room. Arch wanted his house back. If he had to build or buy a commercial kitchen, he might as well add a dining hall and open an eatery.

Getting a construction loan was easy. After all, he had good credit and collateral. He wiped out his savings to pay cash for the land so he would have lower monthly payments on the loan. But that was fine. The business had a solid, consistent, positive cash flow for the last four months, and the loan was on a drawing account so he didn't have to make payments, or pay interest, until he used it. It was a bitterly cold, early March with frequent, howling winds and plenty of snow, so Arch assumed construction would have to wait for spring and he would have time to build up a cushion. But when he lined up the contractor, the man wanted to start right away.

"Herr Pennock, I have big work, sorry, many, no much work, come spring. I have sm—little work now. The men, they need to pay bills in winter, too. You buy big tent. We build you kitchen under it. I have natural gas burner so the tent stays warm and is not smoky and you use the tent for your dining garden come spring. In fall, we build you dining hall for winter. Okay?"

The contractor built a bonfire several nights in a row to thaw the ground enough to dig the foundation in the daylight. When the trenching was done they pitched the house-sized tent and started building. Arch had his kitchen and living room back by the end of April. The contractor rented the tent from Arch for the rest of the spring.Still, everything seemed to cost more than he planned on. Arch put the cars up for collateral on an increase in the drawing account, to get things wrapped up by June first. With great fanfare, and a rush of success, they opened the Dumplings Garden.

The pushcarts were all the advertising Arch figured he needed for the grand opening. Each cart had a colorful sign over the Nagyany Nokedlik/Granny's Dumplings, logo detailing the great dumpling cook off. People were invited to come and taste and then vote on which country had the best dumplings. Of course, the Hungarian dumplings which were the pushcart's trademark were on the top of the list. They were followed by Southern Chicken and Dumplings, Yankee Chicken and Dumplings, German Chicken and Dumplings, three kinds of Italian Dumplings (Arch called them ravioli in private) in white sauce, red sauce and a garlic butter white wine sauce, Vietnamese/Chinese dumplings and apple dumplings for desert. A cavalryman read the sign and objected so Arch happily added Scottish Dumplings to the list. When he agreed to add a kosher dumplings dish he couldn't pronounce, he never dreamed of the trouble it would cause.

"No, Herr Pennock, we will cook it at the synagogue in an inspected kitchen. We can warm it here before we serve it."

"No, Herr Pennock, the dishes and eating utensils must be kosher, also. We will bring them."

"No, Herr Pennock, please to stack the dirty kosher dishes in a dry tub to be washed in a kosher kitchen."

Fortunately, that hassle was just for the grand opening contest. About the last thing Arch wanted to do was build a second kitchen and hire a second staff and pay for a certification by a qualified inspector. Out of the question! Too much work to be kosher.

June went well. By July the novelty wore off. In the end it didn't mater what the vote tally came to. Anybody who had a strong opinion on what constituted a real dumpling was not about to give way. What they all said was, my grandma's were better."

July was slow, and worse still the pushcarts' sales volume started dropping in June. Now it was August, the push carts were just breaking even and the garden was losing money. If it weren't for the hot dogs, chips and drinks, the carts would be done for. It looked like the whole dumplings business was a novelty whose time had come and gone. After paying for the supplies and wages there wasn't anything left to make the loan payments. He was late with last month's installment and if he was lucky he would be late on this month's installment, it was really looking like he wouldn't make it all. Arch stared at the numbers. His stomach was in a knot. He had no idea what to do.

The garden's staff had high hopes for the new, more varied menu. They would keep the Hungarian dumplings. They would keep one chicken and dumpling dish. To Arch's sadness, it would be the Yankee/German dish which was pretty much the same thing and not his grandmother's recipe. They built a charcoal grill and would push salads and fresh vegetable dishes while they were in season. It was helping, but it would not make the loan payment. Grilled steaks and sausages could be had almost anywhere in town. Ribs in barbecue sauce were nearly Grantville's trademark meal.

"We need a new draw, another grand opening rush. If things keep going like this, we're doomed. I've got to find a gimmick," Arch said to himself as visions of total ruin ran rampant through his mind. "Even if I move into the garage and rent out the house, it won't be enough." He sat at the desk in his study and stared at the tally sheet. A drop splashed on the papers in front of him. "Don't cry, Archy. Be a man," he said aloud. No one had called him Archy since his mother passed away.

Another drop splattered.

"No, I'm not crying. It's sweat. Damned Freon!"

The air conditioner blew hot air when he turned it on this year. It lost its charge and the wherewithal to fix it was nowhere to be found. Even with the windows open, the dog days of August were hot and humid.

Arch listened to the children playing stickball in the street. Motor traffic was picking up since petroleum was beginning to trickle into the gas stations but traffic was still light. So it was safe to play in the street. Arch sat and stared at the bottom line and listened to the children play outside. "At least we don't have to put up with a damned ice cream truck playing the same dumb tune over and over."

Then it clicked. August. Ice cream. Trucks. The ice cream parlor had a line out the door every evening. The grocery stores with an ice cream counter had a line in the afternoon. Arch rushed out the door with eureka written on his face in a grin. He felt like Archimedes running through the streets of Syracuse. But at least he had his clothes on.

When he got to the restaurant, he couldn't help himself. He stepped through the door and shouted, "I've got ...