It’s a scorching hot June summer day in the Pocono Mountains Pennsylvania, and a little old restaurant named Crazy Fingers is Rock’ n and Rollin on a Friday night. “I need five dozen wings down” the last words I heard from the head chefs mouth when the flashback hit me. I felt as though I was 10 years old again going to work every day of the summer with my dad, to his restaurant, Crazy Fingers.
I can remember the beautiful landscape that it sat upon with an oversized rock wall running directly behind it and the luscious green grass growing along the gradient of the mound just beyond the wall. In winter time my sister and I would sled down the mound and race to the bottom, every now and again spotting a roaming deer in the woods. Afterwards we would warm up in the kitchen as it was always nice and toasty and cook up some hot soup. Then our imaginations would make us the head chefs on a busy night in the kitchen and we’d cook up five star meals and run them out to the customers in record times. Once the kitchen experience ended we would wander down into the basement, which was always a journey unto itself. There were always awesome antique items spread around to be stumbled upon. Sometimes you would have to blow the dust off just to read some words or make out exactly what it was you just picked up.
“Hey you going to work or just stand around all night, let’s go!” I snapped out of it just in time to bring up the wings from the fryer. The people I had met over the years that I made relationships with and the sights that I had seen in the restaurant are many I will never forget. Crazy Fingers, my second home, and a place my heart will always hold strong to.