Greetings and salutations, all. I’m back.
We’re relatively lucky this week. There are no special events or anything that needs to be brought to your attention lest great misfortune befall you. Instead, I figure I might as well talk to your guys about something pretty normal for once. By which I mean I’ll talk about our family’s first dog, Buster.
Buster passed away in late 2017, at the age of 14. He was a Rhodesian ridgeback mix with some kind of coon hound. You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of his coloring, though, since he was a very lazy bum almost all the time. Very far from his hunting ancestors- whether they were trying racoons or hounding lions. We got him around Halloween in 2003 and he died just before christmas in 2017.
Buster hated fireworks with a passion the likes of which the world has never seen. He would bark loudly and often whenever we set them off from inside the house. The first time he experienced Fourth of July we had him outside with us. This soon proved to be a mistake when he pulled free from his collar and rushed towards a lit fountain, which he proceeded to pick up in his mouth and run around with as it shots sparks everywhere. We were lucky that nothing got set on fire
Of all of us, he was Mom’s dog the most. He slept in her room, went out with her in the morning, and laid down near her at the dinner table. She was hit the hardest when he passed, but I think the fact that we had three other dogs at the time and the soon addition of two cats kept her busy enough that she was able to mourn and move on, rather than overthink it and blame herself.
He was the best dog I’ve ever had. Sugar’s pretty close for me, though.
Welcome back, you’uns.
Things have been (thankfully) quiet this week, without any of you complaining too hard about the price shifts. Let me tell you, I appreciate that. Still, I figure I ought to switch topics to something a little less business-centric for this week. With that in mind, Saint Patrick’s Day did make me give a little thought to my own ancestry.
There’s a little bit of a hint towards it in my name, though. Both “Clayton” and “Riggs” are vaguely English, though Riggs leans a bit more heavily north than Clayton does. Speaking of, as both my names are last names (my first name is my maternal grandfather’s last), they both have actual meanings that you expect out of old English surnames, i.e. location (Rivers, Townsend, ect) or job (Taylor, Smith, etc.). As an aside before I get into the real meat of things, “Clayton” refers to people living within a clay fortification or on top of a hill while “Riggs” means the same for people living on a ridge.
That all being said, I am, very much so, English in origin. Oh there’s a sprinkling of Scotch-Irish in there like basically every American, but the real surprise for everyone is just how East European we are as well. They’re mostly drowned out by just how overwhelmingly Anglo I am, but my maternal grandfather brings a metric ton of Germano-Polish with him. You might think he was also English, what with the Clayton last name, but his grandparents has last names like Frei, Frahm, Feurhoff, and Moderetski. We can’t find any documents from before the late 1800’s (apparently a church fire destroyed our old baptismal records), but nothing says East German quite like those names.
We may, possibly, have Cherokee in us by way of Mary Ann, but we’re all pretty sure that’s a lie to make us forget that she’s from a pretty rich southern family that’s been around since before the Civil War.
(That’s a joke, by the way)
Hello, everyone. I know I just recently said that I wouldn’t be giving big news on here, but I find myself in the unenviable position of informing all of you about an upcoming price hike for the restaurant.
I mean, we’re sitting at seven years of our prices not changing, so I suppose we can be forgiven this one time, but I can’t help but think this is what we get for letting dad sit around without anything to keep him busy for too long. Alas, I’ll run through everything now, so if dry money talk isn’t your cup of tea, I won’t blame you for skipping this week’s update.
Our specials, french dips, frito pies, etc ad nauseum, are getting split up into a few categories. Things that come with two sides like the pork chop or the meatloaf are going up to $7.79. Meanwhile, things that only come with one side, like the chicken & dumplings or basically every sandwich special, are going to $7.49. Lastly, specials that don’t come with any sides like the spaghetti or frito pie are staying at $6.99 along with our 4-side plate. All of them still come with a drink, though, so that still not something either of us- you ordering and me checking you out- need to worry about
Speaking of drinks, though, I’ll start with them from our regular menu. Most drink are going up 10 cents to $1.85, though the special flavor teas and lemonades (blackberry or raspberry flavored) are going all the way up to $2.50. Desserts, unfortunately, are also going up in price, though only to $2.25. Considering how good they are, I still think they’re worth it. Hopefully you feel the same. Soups just barely edge them out, though, going up 26 cents to $4.25. Then, Lastly, we have our regular sandwiches. Back when we first opened, these were all we were going to sell. That’s changed, as has their price. The regular sandwiches- turkey, ham, pastrami, chicken or tuna salad, or pimento cheese sandwiches- are going up 50 cents to $5.49.
I’m not a fan of being the bearer of bad news, so I hope you forgive me this once and come see us again in the coming days, hopefully with your wallets better prepared than they’d otherwise be.
It’s a bit late this week, but here we go, everyone. Today, I’d like to bring up one of our regulars. He’s been here for at least 4 years at this point.
His name is Morris, and he’s the orange cat that a lot of our customers have seen hanging around the place. He used to be the top cat around here, but he’s gotten older and slower ever since he got fixed without our input one day. Still, he’s definitely the nicest of the strays that hang around here, of which there are many.
We’re pretty sure he used to be a house cat, but those days are long past him. Still, that upbringing does make him the chillest of the strays. He enjoys getting rubs from my father, Steve, the most, but he’s not particularly picky in that department. Every once in a while, he’ll sneak his way into the store and we’ve got to shoo him out, but he has the good graces to at least stick to the store side when he does so, avoiding the restaurant (and the health department) when he comes in.
If you have the pleasure of seeing Morris whenever you drop by, feel free to give him a little hello, but do remember that he’s a stray. If he asks for you to pet him, then feel free, but don’t try to force some on him. That might have less to do with him being a stray and more of him just being a cat, though.
Hello again, everyone. I’m sure most of you are familiar with our little animal farm out behind the restaurant, but I thought I’d use this opportunity to introduce three of our newest barnyard animals. We bought two goats over the course of the summer and set up a decent sized pen right next to the pig. More recently, we’ve found a replacement rooster ever since some crazy woman stole our first rooster, Donald, way back when we first opened.
I’ll get to that story another day, though.
For now, I’ll talk about the goats, Malcolm (the greyish one) and Rudd (the black and white one). Steve, my father, named them after the AC/DC members. Considering we named our pig “Bacon”, I can’t say he did a bad job naming the goats. The cage we have them in is a good 200-ish square feet that we originally bought to try and bring our dogs to work. That ended up not working out (they bit at the fence until it deformed enough for them to crawl out), but it did leave us with a nicely sized chunk of tall fencing for the goats. The little house in there is built with pallets, five or six of them, I think. The only thing they like more than climbing on top of their house is climbing up any hay bales we put in their cage. Standing in their food bowl is a close third.
As for our newest addition, the rooster, he’s either named Yosemite or Foghorn, depending if I get my Looney Toons characters mixed up that day. We could have let the customers come up with a name, but I don’t trust any community to name something after the “Boaty McBoatface” debacle. Still, in spite of him looking good nowadays, Foghorn was rescued from an all-rooster farm by the people we got him from. Which means, when they got him, his crest had been pecked off, and he had been missing a ton of his feathers. You wouldn’t be able to tell now, with how much of a lady’s man he’s become, but it’s definitely been a heck of a step up in the world for our little guy.
Hello there, everyone. My name is Clayton Riggs, and I’ll be writing this blog for Country Kinfolk, my family’s business, until they grow tired of me. I’ve lasted twenty-six years at this point, though, so I’ll think you’ll have the pleasure of my eloquence for at least a few months.
To keep things relatively simple for you all and myself, I’ll be writing for this blog once a week, at least. I’ll be covering low level topics here at the store, so don’t expect big news to come from me, but I can relay some of the more minor tidbits we have going on around the place.
For this first blog, at least, that means telling you all about the “King Cake” Cindy (my mother) and I baked for the first time just this morning. It’s a relatively simple recipe, and, considering the results, one I recommend you all try out for yourself. The crescent roll shell along with the cinnamon flavoring in the cheesecake filling really made me think of cinnamon rolls, if, somehow, richer.
I cook a lot at home, so I’m pretty proud that I’m being brought in to help on the food side now, rather than just taking all of your money at the register. I’m more of a cooked meats guy, but I enjoyed branching out with Cindy this morning, and I hope you all get to try the cake before it’s gone.