The Fragility of Purpose: A Cook’s Tale

This is the story of a cook who lost his purpose.

My mother subscribed to the idea that if truckers stopped at a restaurant, the food is good.

So for a lot of my childhood, we surveyed the highway for parked big rigs. They were the neon arrows pointing to good restaurants.

The problem with that theory is the food may be tasty but the ambiance will not match the flavor.

The one I remember the most was Tony’s Steakhouse.

Tony’s was out of Santa Fe, on the highway to Albuquerque. It wasn’t out of town; it was in the middle of nowhere. The only site for miles around was the New Mexico State Penitentiary.

But Tony’s had great steaks at cheap prices. I suspect the cost was low due to little overhead. The restaurant was a structure of less than 1000 square feet. When you opened the door on the left, you saw a cash register in front of a smoking grill. Standing watch on both was Tony.

Tony was a small man with a massive determination. He did not trust anyone with the money. That’s why he placed the grill behind the cash register. The waitress never handled the money. Instead, you got a slip that you took to the cash register. There, Tony would take the money and make the change.

It was an efficient operation. Tony was a cook, cashier, and owner. He employed only a single waitress, dressed in her white apron. It was quite a sight. Waitress takes the order, and gives it to Tony who cooks and plates it, and the waitress brings it to the table.

Simple. Basic.

Tony did not have a big menu. He did not serve pasta, chicken, or fish. He did not serve mashed potatoes or green beans. Salads were nothing more than a handful of lettuce with a tomato wedge. The dressing was oil and vinegar.

Tony specialized in steaks. He had three cuts of steak but the one we ate was the New York Strip. Tony took the steaks (each about 10 oz or more) and seared them on the grill. Each steak came with a baked potato.

Simple. Basic. And delicious.

I doubt Tony knew much about seasoning, but he could coax the flavor out of the cold slab of flesh. It was juicy. He knew how to get the marbled fat at the right temperature to make the mouth water.

We ate at Tony’s about once a week, usually Friday nights. It was one of the special treats. The four of us packed into the car and drove out of town to Tony’s. We ate well. We left stuffed.

And because the overhead was low, so was the cost.

Then, one day, we stopped going to Tony’s. I did not know why. When we drove to Albuquerque, I noticed the little restaurant vacant and locked.

Then, Tony’s world shattered, and we stopped going to Tony’s.

Tony lost his sight and could not cook any longer. In his despair, he took his own life.

That little restaurant packed with smoke was his purpose for living. Without it, he decided he would rather die.

For the last few years of our sojourn in Santa Fe, we would make the trip to Albuquerque. Every time, we passed that little building. Each trip showed more wear and tear. It became dilapidated and turned to ruin.

One day, it disappeared, becoming the victim of both time and despair.

It’s been over half a century since we pulled the Chrysler onto the caliche parking lot. Since that time, I have eaten a lot of steaks. We have dined at restaurants that come and go.

But none of them stick in my mind like Tony’s. Was it childhood memories or good food?

Many times, they fuse into a single unit.

It was from Tony that I learned one of life’s great lessons. Be careful what you wind your life around. For Tony, it was that steakhouse. Without it, he had no life.

I have known many Tonys in life. They build a sandcastle in time that the tide of circumstances sweeps away. Nothing remains or dreams.

Jesus stared into the eyes of both the wealthy and the weak. The rich sat satisfied while the poor yearned for more. But he warns both…including you and me.

“Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.” (Luke 12:15)

While we agree, more is implied. Not only does a man’s life not consist of his possessions, neither does it consist of his profession. If life is not more than your job, title, or responsibility, what do you have when it withers?

I think I have built my life on something more sturdy than a single passion. Who knows? We all may be more like Tony than we would like to admit.

Examine your own life to find out what anchors it. What do you have left if you lose what you love?