It takes a lot for me to endorse a chain restaurant. I’m the kind of guy who admires independence, embraces local atmospheres, and favors excellent unheralded eateries. A chain has to have something special to get me in the door. Something that separates it from the rest. Something you can’t put on a menu. An intangible.
I’ll give a chain restaurant a fair shake. I’ll dine. You know what I always say, “Hey, I’ll try anything twice.”
So on a crisp fall Saturday I stepped into the Aroostook Center Mall’s Ruby Tuesday’s with the goal of sampling the mozz sticks, watching some football, having a few beers and checking out the joint.
It was a small place. Booth and table seating for what looked like about 100, and an L shaped bar. Since I was by myself, I bellied up to the bar and waited for the bartender’s attention.
After the “Hey, how’s it going?” the bar-lady asked me what I’ll have. Being 11:45 on a carefree Saturday morning, I thought no better way to start the day than a bloody and a beer.
As she prepared my drinks, I scoped the place. It was quiet, another man at the end of the bar and a few other folks dining throughout the place. The TV’s were all set to the same channel (NFL Network). A crew of colorful shirted servers buzzed between tables. And like it’s namesake, classic rock played in the background.
As the bar-lady brought me my drinks, I introduced myself. After 7 years of working in the service industry, I’d learned that great service is as much an effort of the guest as it is the host. Step one is to learn names, humanize the help. Treat them as friends, not slaves. They’re serv-ers, not serv-ants.
So Crystal and I struck up a conversation. I’d mention I’d only been in town a few weeks, and she instantly responded like every other warm soul I’d met in Aroostook, “Well welcome to the County!”
We talked about the area, where I came from, where she came from, and she did a fantastic job of making me feel welcome. But this was only the beginning.
It was past noon by this point, and it was one of the first big weekends of college football. So I asked her if I could change one of the TV’s over to ESPN where my beloved Wisconsin Badgers were playing.
“What channel?” she asked. I had no idea what number channel it was. After about four seconds she realized I would be much more adept at finding what I wanted than she would be, so she handed me the masher and said, “Here, I’m sure you can find it much quicker than I can.”
Masher is an old Polock word my grandpa invented for remote control.
I began to recite to myself the games I saw as I was scrolling through the guide, each one with more and more excitement. I’d been deprived of a menu of games this wide since I’d moved up to Presque Isle. At my apartment I was limited to one tube-style TV and just the big networks, like ABC, CBS, etc. (or as we say in Chicago, “2, 5, 7, and 9”).
“You can change these other TV’s if you want?” Crystal said.
Hot dog!!!
I sprang up to aim the remote at another receiver. I noticed a nearby table and asked if they were watching the Ricky Williams Football Life that was playing on TV and they said no. So I found the Navy game on CBS Sports Network and flipped to that. There were higher profile games on, but I couldn’t turn away from a Navy game.
I love service academy football for two reasons:
- There’s just something special about it. The tradition, the crew cuts, the stands filled with uniformed corps mates, the maximum effort each and every player gives on and off the field. These are some of the highest character individuals in this country playing the same game I used to play and still love.
- The Triple Option. The dive, the pitch, the keep. The pulling guards, full-steam ahead fullbacks, and intelligent aware quarterbacks that make the offense run like a well oiled machine. It takes a disciplined defense playing sound assignment football to stop it. I am the biggest advocate of the Triple Option offense you’ll meet under the age of 40.
On the other TV, which had no immediate lookers, I found the University of Maine game. I wanted to see how these Black Bears play ball. And I figured somebody else inside the bar had to have cared about U-Maine, at least a little.
The View from the Throne
So there I was. A Bloody Mary and Blue Moon in front of me, mozz sticks on the way, an outstanding playlist setting the tone in the background, the masher at my side and three TV’s at my discretion.
It reminded me of the Big Ten Saturday mornings of my youth. Days where me and the Old Man would set up a few TV’s in the basement, turn the stereo on, start cooking up a pot of chili and indulge uninhibited in a football feast. This was before the days of man caves and extravagant sports bars. No obnoxious outside noise or cheesy gimmicks. Just a father-son film room that facilitated fellowship, and chili.
The feeling of nostalgia always makes me a little more talkative. The feeling arises to not simply to talk, but to share. So I struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to me. Little did I know that this would be the first of many conversations with relative strangers over the next couple of weeks. I’ll tell you all about those in part 2.
You see, Rub’s has become a half Cheers/half Love Boat type experience. It’s a place where everybody knows your name, at least the bartenders and regulars, but then there’s a changing cast of colorful guest stars every week.
I never would have dreamed in my life that I’d be able to write so much about my experiences at Ruby Tuesday’s. In the mean time, I’d found my spot. Rub’s would solidify its place in my schedule as the Saturday afternoon hangout. Who’d have thunk a chain like this would grow on me so quickly. The hidden gem of Presque Isle, perhaps, might just be a Ruby.
Jake Berent 
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