We've all heard the news by now -- Frank's Pizza is no more. Neveragain will we come together as a student body in the same way. Never again will we hear our number called for "the deal" on Monday nights.
But even if Basil tanks as the next Frank's, the disappointment wouldn't warrant the label of a "tragedy."
That word can only be used by the poor people of Austin, Texas right now. Tomorrow, they will lose a restaurant far superior to Frank's -- with a far worse alternative than Basil waiting in the wings.
Ever heard of a godforsaken place called GM Steakhouse?
After spending the summer in Austin, I certainly have.
The real tragedy involves the pending demise of a place called Reido's, the Mecca and Medina of Slider aficionados -- deep in the heart of Texas. Due to pressure from Gus, the backstabbing GM Steakhouse owner, Reido is being forced to close his doors indefinitely tomorrow.
When he flicks out the lights for one last time, Reido will be leaving a devastated client base to go back to the monotonous world of "regular-sized" hamburgers.
So don't mention the word "tragedy" and "Frank's" in the same sentence to me. Think about the people in Austin, for God's sake.
Before I make the case for Gus' crucifixion, let's go through a crash course in Reidology.
One: No cursing. I can't stress this enough. Failure to adhere to the cardinal rule will automatically generate the dreaded "grill look-back." If Reido has to turn around to give you one of these death stares, I promise you that you will never say another bad word the rest of your life.
Two: Do NOT order while Reido is cooking someone else's food. This, too, will grant you one grill look-back.
Three: No special orders. Reido doesn't care if you don't like onions on your Slider -- get something else, he'll tell you.
Four: If you're not naturally a big-tipper, you better learn to be. Reido has no qualms about mentioning the fact that Hanley, his top Slider sidekick, deserves compensation for her work.
Now do you see why he's affectionately referred to as "The Slider Nazi?"
Reido's doesn't exist for most of the day -- only from 6 p.m. to 3 a.m. It is then that the GM Steakhouse temporarily transforms into Reido's. And for the multitudes flooding in late night from the 6th Street bars, the nighttime is Slider time.
When Reido's regulars enter a place barely bigger than The White Spot, they feel at home -- complete with a surrogate father figure scolding them for bad manners. With temporary Reido's signs and dry erase boards covering the entrance and permanent chalkboard menus, the only things missing are "Parking for Reido's Fans Only" signs to hang on the side of the building.
"Reido explains it all for you ..." read the menu-biography hybrids that sit spaced across the countertop. Of the four signature items "explained" in the menu, the fourth paragraph particularly caught my eye.
"The Grilled With ..."
It couldn't be the same as ... I kept reading.
"In Charlottesville, VA where I first attended college ..."
It was.
Reido spent six years playing in a Charlottesville bluegrass band -- spending only two of those years actually in school. His Grilled With is a throwback to the old days of the U Diner, which predated The White Spot in serving fried donuts and vanilla ice cream.
Here is Reido's explanation of why he chose to add the dessert to the menu of his own place: "It was not uncommon to get cravings for sweet things in the middle of the night in those days, for whatever reasons."
"Reido," I thought to myself after reading that line for the first time. "Times haven't changed."
You want to talk small world? The Grilled With connection was nothing in light of other stuff I discovered after a summer of Slider time.
Turns out Reido's niece Meg goes to Virginia, and came to a party at my house the week before I left for Texas.
Turns out that the first girl Hanley asked me if I knew from U.Va. was my girlfriend.
And in the weirdest of all, turns out that my dad's main man from his lawyer years was Reido's childhood best friend.
In a summer that was all about me reconnecting with my roots, I'm especially thankful to Reido and Co. for driving this life lesson home: You can never escape your past.
I've gotten close to many college restaurant proprietors in my day -- Dimitri from The White Spot, extreme-rattail guy from Frank's, even "Buck," the anglicized name we've given to Suketu, the owner of Subway and former Frank's-rival Buck's Pizza.
But it's hard for me to say that any of those guys have ever taught me any life lessons like Reido has.
Which is why the news came crashing down on me like a ton of bricks -- Reido was being forced out by Gus, the GM Steakhouse owner, at the end of August. Turns out that Gus wanted to cut in on Reido's business and raised the rent to a rate he knew Reido wouldn't pay -- effectively killing Austin's entire Slider industry in the process.
I felt like a relative had been given three weeks to live. In a way, that was a true statement.
I made one last trip to see old Reido before I left town for good -- three cheese Sliders, like always. He said he didn't know what the future would hold. Those of us on his mailing list will anxiously await an e-mail with news of a comeback -- something I'm not so sure will ever happen. But even if I never eat another decent Slider, I will always remember my friend Reido.
Bayless may be reached at bayless@cavalierdaily.com.
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