Published by Michael in The business on December 31, 2008 at 8:59 am
It is 6 o’clock on the morning after Christmas, Boxing Day to the rest of the English speaking world.† Elsewhere in the city, shoppers are converging on the malls and shops and stores searching for bargains.† Here in my work neighborhood, it is silent.† I am certain that the mice — and their larger cousins, the shave-tailed squirrels — are stirring, but they are being very quiet about it.
I first break the silence with the clinking and clacking of the retracting overhead security door that fronts the warehouse, the racket masking the whir of the electric motor.† The beep-beep-beep of the alarm panel reminding me to disengage the system pierces the interior stillness.† Once I enter the alarm code, the building resumes its state of silence, the white noise of florescent lighting fixtures and basement and roof mounted refrigeration compressors accentuating the lack of any other sound.
I† have only 45 minutes of work to get ready for my morning television appearance.† The silence is comforting as I accumulate the tools and equipment I will require, dividing them into two stacks, one to take to the studio and one of things I will need before I leave.† The clicking of my knife blade against the cutting board ticks like a clock, on steroids and speed.† I complete my mis en place
more quickly than I anticipated, so much so that I have time to wash the few dishes I dirtied.
Sometimes I think I wash dishes constantly.† Without conscious thought, I begin: rinse and scrub all three sinks, close the drains, run hot water into each sink, squirt detergent into the left, drop sanitizer tablets into the right.† The running water rings against stainless steel; silence returns as I close the water valves.† Wash; rinse; sanitize; dry on rack.† My dipping of the dishes into and from each sink reminds me of a nearly still lake lapping against dock pilings or a boat hull.
In the silence of the warehouse, I am alone with my thoughts.† I find myself in this condition often.† Even when my landlord’s business is in full swing, my corner of the building is sufficiently isolated from his operations that I cannot hear his din.† I have gotten used to working alone and, most days, am at peace with the solitude and those thoughts.
On this day after the holiday, I reflect on the year past and ponder the future.† It was precisely one year ago that I registered the justcured.com domain name.† I shake my head and grin at the thought of some other names I considered.† The name seems so obviously right to me today that I marvel at how I struggled before landing on it.
I’ll save for a post shortly after the new year begins my scoresheet of successes and failures, of good decisions and bad, of triumphs and battle scars.† For this day, as I reflect on all those things, it is enough that I am happy — with my decision to enter this crazy business, with my execution of the start up, with my life.† Not satisfied; there is too much yet to be accomplished.† Just happy.
Published by Michael in The business on December 29, 2008 at 5:36 pm
On the morning after Christmas, I did the cooking segment on the Fox 19 morning show.† I demonstrated a couple of smoked salmon appetizers appropriate for a New Year’s Eve celebration — using Just Cured smoked salmon, of course.
Published by Michael in People, The past on December 27, 2008 at 6:02 pm
The Christmas party of my father’s family has been held on the Sunday before Christmas Eve for more than sixty years.† The first thirty or so instances were held at my grandparents’ home, and the guests included all the decendants of my paternal grandfather’s parents.† Although I recall bits of earlier parties, my first firm recollection of this party is from either 1964 or 1965.† My father and I made the 90 minute trip and attended alone, my mother having stayed home with my four younger siblings to whom I had given a Christmas gift of chickenpox.
After my grandparents sold the home in which they had raised their ten children, the party rotated for a few years among the homes of uncles living in Louisville, Kentucky.† It was at that time that the guest list was pared to include only my grandparents and their descendants.† I will admit to having missed one or two instances of the party when it was held at these temporary venues.
Twenty-plus years ago, my mother took over hosting this family party.† As my sisters and brother married, had children and moved from place to place, a rule developed, solely by operation of practice — celebrate Christmas in your own home and city, or anywhere else for that matter, but be “home” and attend “The Party” the weekend before.† I don’t recall any of us ever having violated that unspoken rule.† Over the years, the number of attendees from outside my immediate family has dwindled as the membership of my sisters’ families has swelled.
The constant feature of The Party (other than perhaps the menu) is a visit from Santa.† As the event is quite close to Christmas Day, the children have come to understand that The Party is neither the time nor place to present Santa with wish lists.† Rather, by tradition each child performs for Santa by singing a song, reciting a poem or telling a story.† For the past 7 or so years, I have taken on the role of Santa.
The Party was special this year as we welcomed a new generation to the family and to The Party.† Just before Thanksgiving, niece number 2 gave birth to a son; and, of course, baby and his parents made the 100 or so mile drive to attend.† Sister number 1, and grandmother to new baby, presented the newest family member to Santa while the family sang “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” in recognition of the reindeer slippers baby was wearing.
As I held that little child, it occurred to me that one or the other of my sisters with children would likely soon take over The Party.† The guest list will likely be pared yet again.† And something very old will be new again.† Life goes on.
Published by Michael in The business on December 21, 2008 at 10:28 pm
Each year, my parents host a family Christmas party on the Sunday before Christmas Eve — more on that later.† For the past many years, sister number one has held a dinner party for our immediate family the night before that party.
This year, my sisters semi-surprised me with Just Cured logo fleeces for each member of that immediate family.† And so, I present to you last night’s Just Cured herd — one spouse, two parents, five sisters, one brother, four brothers-in-law (with one missing due to weather and flight cancellations), 17 nieces and nephews, two spouses and a boyfriend thereof, one grand-nephew.† And a partridge in a pear tree.
Published by Michael in The business on December 19, 2008 at 10:57 pm
I have posted previously about Carmen Nauseef, the photographer responsible for the photos on this web site.† Yesterday, Carmen posted a blog entry containing several photos from the Just Cured shoots.† Please take a look at the photos she took for Just Cured — and while you are there, peruse some of her other work.
Published by Michael in The business on December 18, 2008 at 8:31 am
Beginning Friday, December 19, Just Cured smoked salmon and gravlax will be available in select Kroger stores in Greater Cincinnati.† Look for Just Cured salmon while doing your holiday shopping at the Kroger stores in Kenwood, Hyde Park, Anderson, Blue Ash and Harper’s Point.
I am humbled by the confidence and interest Kroger has shown to me and my fledgling company.
We have also taken a small jump outside the Cincinnati market.† You can now buy Just Cured smoked salmon and gravlax at the three Dorothy Lane Market stores in Dayton, Ohio.
Finally, and I’ll post about this again next week, look for me on the Fox 19 morning show on the morning after Christmas.† I’ll be cooking some dishes for your New Year’s Eve party.
It is going to be a crazy final two weeks of the year! But a good kind of crazy — the kind of crazy I have been working for all year.
Published by Michael in People, The business on December 14, 2008 at 4:23 pm
I probably posted about my telephone experiences last week a bit early because on Friday afternoon I had a conversation at least as interesting as either I reported on.
I spent almost all of Friday afternoon at a business function (OK, it was a very elegant holiday party given by a friend and colleague) with my phone muted.† When I returned home and looked at the phone, I had several voicemail messages.† I recognized the numbers of a few customers and suppliers but did not recognize one particular number or area code from which a message had been left.
My curiousity got the best of me, and I listened to that message first.† The voice of the caller was that of a pleasant, professional woman.† Interesting, I thought, wondering what she wanted and how she got to Just Cured.† Then, my blood ran cold.† She was calling to check on the status of an order she had placed and was obviously just a bit irritated.† I didn’t recognize her name; and the only recent order I had shipped to her state was to a family friend.† I frantically checked all the interfaces to the Just Cured web store and confirmed that I had shipped every order received.
I returned her call; and immediately after I identified myself as Michael returning her call, she began asking about her order and why she hadn’t received it.† I tried to concentrate on her words, but my mind was racing.† How could this have happened; what am I going to say to her; what can I do to make her happy; please tell she didn’t order for a party this weekend.† Wait!† Did she say “chemicals”?† I gave her my undivided attention; sure enough, she mentioned chemicals and the application for them.
“Excuse me ma’am,” I interrupted.† “I am confused.† I have an online business that makes and sells artisanal smoked and cured salmon.”
“Ummm, this is really embarassing,” she replied as I detected a broad, appealing smile in her voice.† “I am calling about an order I placed for chemicals for my septic system.† The order confirmation says ‘processed by Michael.’† So, when your voicemail greeting identified a Michael and a Michael returned my call, it never occurred to me I might have dialed the wrong number.”
We joked for a bit and finally determined that her vendor’s toll free number is one transposition off Just Cured’s.† As we terminated the call, I invited her to visit the website.† I was so relieved that I may have imagined her saying that her family loves smoked salmon.
So, Joan, if you find your way here, even though our conversation made my heart stop, it was another highlight in a day filled with only highlights.
I received two phone calls this week from people I know not at all; and each call considerably brightened my day.† I have mentioned several times on this blog that the single largest disadvantage of my being the sole employee of Just Cured is the relative lack of meaningful engagement with others.† A principal reason for starting this blog was to give me an outlet for thoughts I want to express and to open a dialogue with consumers and friends.† Even though I don’t post as often as I would like, I am quite happy with the blogging experience.† The direct interaction with consumers by phone this week was a welcome development.
The first call was from an older woman who received a gift basket last week from a business associate.† I had received an email from the gift giver to the effect that this woman might be calling; as a result I was expecting her call.† My caller identified herself, expressed her appreciation for the giver’s thoughtfulness, told me how much she enjoyed the gift.† She then asked a few questions about storage and shelf life of the items in the basket.† It occurred to me then that she was excited about this gift of food that she had not consumed.† We spoke for a few more minutes before I realized she appreciated most the hand written note I had included in the basket introducing Just Cured and thanking the gift giver for having confidence in our products.† Finally, she asked about pricing as she thought she might send a basket or two to some of her friends.† A gift of a product she hadn’t yet tried, I thought?† All because she received it from someone she trusted and because I included a personal note.† Thanks to my mother and grandmother for emphatically impressing on me the importance of those thank you and other notes.† I fought them every step as a child; but I can now assure them that the message stuck.
The second caller was a gentleman from one of Cincinnati’s outlying suburbs.† He clipped the article about Just Cured and me that appeared in the Cincinnati Enquirer
in early November and had it sitting on his desk for the intervening month.† He and his wife enjoy eating smoked salmon often and are discerning about the quality of the products they consume.† They have perceived a decline in the quality of the product they have been buying for some time.† He provided me with a detailed description of the problems they identified with this competing product and the efforts he has gone to with the producer and retailer to resolve his concerns.† He quizzed me at length on the quality of the fish Just Cured uses, our production techniques, consistency of our product quality, shelf life and product handling.† He concluded that Just Cured’s salmon may satisfy his needs and that he and his wife will visit me soon to sample the product and decide whether to switch their brand allegiance.† I am confident that Just Cured’s smoked salmon is superior to the fish he is buying today and that he will agree.† I suspect Just Cured will win his and his wife’s business and loyalty.† Based on this one call, I am going to hear from this gentleman often.† And I’ll welcome his calls and notes; give me a consumer who is passionate about what he eats and serves his family any time — in fact, give me a few hundred.
Published by Michael in The business on December 2, 2008 at 11:11 am
Exit the Interstate at Georgetown, Kentucky and drive west and south on Route 62.† Over a scant ten miles, the car dealerships, fast food restaurants and big box stores give way first to large homes, then to acres of fenced pasture with grazing horses fronting barely visible farm buildings.† The terrain transforms from graded suburban sprawl to the gently rolling hills for which the Bluegrass region is known.† The road narrows from four lane highway to two lane road to a narrow two lane country track.
At the end of your ten mile drive, the road crosses South Elkhorn Creek over a narrow bridge.† This creek flows with the limestone rich waters that make Kentucky thoroughbreds and bourbon whisky so justifiably famous.† At this particular spot, you are not interested in the water itself, rather in the movement of the water.† This water flows over the blades of two turbine; and the turbines power a grist mill that sits just on the near side of the bridge.
August Weisenberger bought this mill in 1865, and it has provided the livelihood to six generations of Weisenbergers since.† As you enter the building, the office appears unchanged for generations, but for a personal computer and dot matrix invoice printer tucked around the corner.† There is a product and price list on the desk just inside the door.† All the Weisenberg products are available for purchase directly from the mill.† The offerings are extensive for such a small operation, from several strengths of white flour to specialty grains and prepared mixes.† The person who greets you will likely be a family member, perhaps Mac Weisenberger, a member of generation five.† Mac is soft-spoken in that uniquely Southern manner.† City dwellers will strain to discern his quiet words.
The Weisenberger flours are all of the highest quality; I encourage you to drive or click
