"Order up!" The morning was hectic, and the crew and I were hitting our stride. Unlike most restaurants in the greater Tulsa area, our Sambo's restaurant was the only eatery within several miles of the surrounding highrise office buildings and the Drury Inn motel.
Several of the guests glance in my direction, and no doubt think they have seen me before. They wouldn't be mistaken as I checked most of them into their rooms last night at the motel. As a single individual working to save enough money to attend college this fall, I worked a double shift. Not a full double; however, I had worked at Sambo's several years before taking the night shift at the motel across the parking lot, and I agreed to stay on and cook the breakfast rush to help out my manager.
I think the manager and I had become good friends over the past couple of years, primarily because he didn't have to worry about the store when I was on duty. Up to this point, I had worked in food service all my adult life (I was 23 at the time). I had thought about going into management with the store but didn't want to spend the same hours my manager did for a salary; when the motel wouldn't promote me without a college degree, I decided to return to school.
I will be attending Oklahoma State University in the fall. Although I wasn't starting from scratch in the university setting, I didn't have many classes that transferred over credit for credit. The only request I had received from my Sambo manager and friend was to help cook the breakfast rush and help train the next group of store managers how to cook.
We were a training store for Sambo's, which meant that everyone in a five-state region lived in Tulsa for five weeks to learn how to run a restaurant from the best. I did consider my manager to be the best. He was intelligent, understanding, conscientious, honest, and could perform every duty the store required. But, unfortunately, that was the role of the store manager, complete not only your responsibilities but the duties of anyone that didn't show up for work that day.
Russ would train them in the bookwork during the slow times, and I would train them how to cook. Sambo's was a breakfast establishment; however, we were open 24/7, so I would begin to teach them on the dinner menu, then lunch, and slowly work them up over the five weeks to cook a total breakfast rush.
Cooking has always come naturally to me, and I enjoyed the therapeutic effect of the movement, timing, and results. The clean grill, cooking hash-browns, eggs over medium, and toast out of the toaster hitting the plate all in perfect sequence. Cooking is an art form as much as science, and I used to think anyone could cook. But, over the subsequent five-week cycle, I would be proven wrong, over and over.
When someone is introduced and possesses two left feet, the rhythmic dance in the kitchen leaves many burnt toast and plates of eggs on the floor. But, with the patience of Job, Russ would smile and tell me to "just teach them the best you can," as I'd look at him with fire and brimstone.
Summer passed quickly, and I soon found myself at school; as a business major, I often thought about the motel and restaurants I had worked at with fond memories. I was saddened when Sambo filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in November 1981. [1] Russ undoubtedly landed another manager's job, and I've thought of him extensively over the years. Good managers, it seems, and I've also learned that good cooks are always in short supply.
Written August 12, 2022
Reference:
[1] [Sambo's - Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sambo%27s)