Part III of Otto's Restaurant: Uff Da!

 Those of you who have not heard this phrase are no doubt wondering what "uff da" means.  So... here's my definition...
Uff Da:  a Norwegian interjection   pronunciation: (oof-duh)   

Uff da denotes disappointment, irritation, exhaustion, dismay, anger, disgust, etc.

Examples:  It's 20° below zero. Uff da! 
                   I burned the lefse... uff da!

                   Mud on the kitchen floor. Uff da!!!

Cold work sledding a huge log past Evenson's restaurant... uff da!

Otto and Henrietta in the restaurant

Over the 40 years that Otto ran a restaurant, there were, of course, some uff da moments. How could it be avoided? Here are a few uff da stories:

Grandpa loved sports, especially baseball.  He supported the town baseball team, and signed my dad up as the batboy. He attended Luther College games if he could, and he listened on the radio to hear big league games. One day while listening on the radio, intent on the game, he was also pealing onions in the restaurant. I can imagine him now, dabbing his blue eyes on a white handkerchief while he worked, his mind totally focused on the game. Maybe the onions were meant to flavor the soup or gravy,  who knows? In any event, Otto lost track of what he was doing and put them into the coffee urn. Yes, it was full of coffee. Uff da!!! Probably the onions were salvaged, but I bet the coffee had to go.

Otto is the team sponsor, my dad Emil is the batboy

Creamers from Otto's restaurant... and a HUGE tip!

Do you remember the old time pressure cookers? They saved a lot of cooking time, so Otto and Henrietta got one for the restaurant kitchen. The gauge at the top showed the amount of pressure inside, and you had to pay close attention to it or there was big T-R-O-U-B-L-E. One day, apparently someone tried to open it too soon, and steaming hot chicken parts went flying all over the place. Uff da! Luckily, no one was hurt. But apparently some chicken bones were permanently embedded in the fancy tin ceiling. This story deserves two uff das!

The restaurant was open 7 days a week. I'm reminded of a Garrison Keillor saying "My people are not paradise people." No kidding! It must have been exhausting. So one day, Grandma Henrietta got up and opened the restaurant alone to make breakfast for the road crew. Maybe this happened about the time the Rovrud guys were putting blacktop on the roads. The road crew was important to the community, and the crew members needed their breakfast before a hard day of work. So Henrietta made and served breakfast to the crew and they went on their way. Later, Otto joined her at the restaurant and was shocked to see that the back of her dress was hitched up in her girdle. Now, Grandma had a good sense of humor, but still... I imagine she was mortified. They had always run a respectable business. And strangely enough, no one in the road crew had said a thing! Was it possible they didn't notice? Were they embarrassed? Respectful? Or was Grandma getting older and they felt sorry for her? Any way you look at it... uff da!!!  

Otto, Henrietta, my uncle Burnell and cousin Bill

Main Street in Spring Grove, unpaved, and Otto's Cafe 

The last story in this theme is a little colorful, a little hilarious. Consider yourself warned.  

Grandpa Otto was known to be generous, He would share food with those who were down and out. But... one day a woman came in demanding that he give her free food. Something about her brought out his bullheadedness... he didn't like her and he didn't like her rudeness. She continued to demand food. Otto told her that this was America, and we expected people to pay for food here. He refused her demands. She got angry, he held his stance. Before she left the restaurant, she unbuttoned her blouse, took out a breast and squirted milk at him. She was quite a distance from him, but she managed to spray him anyway! Otto was accosted with breast milk in his own restaurant! 

And that story, my friends, deserves an uff da! Or maybe more than one? I'm curious. How many would you give it?

Tusen takk for reading today. May these stories bring a smile.

Vær Så God... Tusen Takk!

Curious about the words above? Here's a translation:

"Vær så god" literally means "be so good" as in "be so good as to join me." It is an idiom often used to call everyone to the table, and would mean "here you go" or "dig in." I'm using it somewhat liberally in this post, with the emphasis on "join me." 

"Tusen takk" means "a thousand thanks." I heard "tusen takk" or "mange takk" over and over as a child. If my parents visited at a friend's house, it was "tusen takk" as they left. "Mange takk" is "many thanks."

I'm sure that Otto and Henrietta used these words often in the restaurant. There was a certain pleasure and pride in offering hospitality, never mind the hard work. Otto spent most of his daylight hours at the restaurant. For a while, he even ran two restaurants on Main Street until a friend pointed out that Otto was competing with himself. Maybe that struck a chord because soon he was back to one restaurant.

Once her children were old enough, Henrietta went to help at the restaurant. I think everyone shared jobs there, but apparently she baked all the pies. In order to take care of household needs, she sometimes hired a woman to come to the house and sew for her. This beautiful quilt, passed down to me, is an example. 

I remember sleeping under this quilt as a child, especially when we had a full house. We think it was made by one of Grandma's seamstresses, perhaps a woman from the Fossum family.

This brings us to an early memory. My sister Marion remembers walking with Margaret, Emil Jr. and our cousin, Virginia Ike, from the restaurant to Otto and Henrietta's one evening when they were all quite young. They walked along the dirt alleyway, between big bushes and through scary shadows, and into Grandma and Grandpa's house. It was dark inside so they turned on a light, probably a single lightbulb in the ceiling, when they saw an old woman, unknown to them, come out of the pantry. Her hair was white, her gown was long and white, and she spoke a language they didn't understand. Maybe she was a ghost! The kids screamed and ran back to the restaurant.  Once they explained their fright and were calmed down, they found out that she was a seamstress, a friend to the family, hired to come and do some sewing for Grandma. Whew! Close call!!! 

Virginia Ike, Marion & Margaret play wedding.

My family had many reasons to say "mange takk" to Otto and Henrietta. During the depression, when my oldest siblings were small and my father was between jobs, our grandparents said "vær så god" and our family moved in with them. Several times my older siblings lived there, went to school in Spring Grove, ate at the restaurant, and slept in the upstairs of the big old house. They remember those days fondly, and surely we can't say "tusen takk" enough for the generous support of our family.

Three Brothers:

Jacob & Johanna...Otto & Henrietta... Edward & Ingen

Otto had three brothers who emigrated to the US, several seen in the photo above. Jacob and Johanna moved to North Dakota to pursue farming. Edward and Ingen lived in Spring Grove and raised ten children there. The tenth was a boy named Timan, which translates from Norwegian to "tenth man." I rather love that bit of the story, especially since our family had ten kids also. 

Hans Evenson

Otto's brother Hans went to prospect for gold in the Klondike and, like many others, he came back penniless and in poor health. Apparently Otto again said "vær så god" because Hans lived with Otto and Henrietta for a while, and would be seen in the restaurant.  When Hans died, Otto provided a gravestone by donating a portion of the marble countertop from the restaurant. 

You can still find it in the Trinity Cemetery in Spring Grove.

Mange tusen takk to Otto and Henrietta, for all their hard work and hospitality. And tusen takk to all who stop by to read about them. Much appreciated!

Early Days in Spring Grove

I've been writing off and on about my Grandpa Otto Evenson's restaurant in Spring Grove, MN. I don't remember the restaurant myself, but my older siblings do, and have told me about it. My brother Emil, who spent a good deal more time in Spring Grove than I did, wrote this poem:

Grandpa and Grandma's Town

There is a small Southeast Minnesota town

where the dogs all bark in Norwegian

and lift their hind legs to salute

lutefisk barrels lining store fronts.

My delight is center on Main,

Otto Evenson's Cafe, with its

blue plate special for 25 cents,

roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy,

peas and a scoop of Dolly Madison ice cream.

There was a fascinating cigar lighter

that sparked when the lever was pulled to

light the cigar. And then there was the bottle

of Spring Grove pop. My favorite,

Strawberry Soda.

What fun it was to call my aunt and hear at

the other end, "Hello, is that you, then?" as if

it would be another.

The church stood at one end of town,

the school at the other, like two bookends

guarding everyone between from all ignorance and

evil. They did their work well. Catechism and

Primer were heeded well by townsfolk.

Not that everything was a bed of roses.

Everyone knew their neighbor's business,

good or bad.

But at the same time they were supportive.

Cheered when home team won.

Mourned when there was a death,

pulled together when there was a cause.

They were part and parcel of the town's life.

They say you can't go home again but boyhood

memories come flooding in when I walk the streets

of Grandpa and Grandma's town.

© Emil W. Evenson, Jr.

Spring Grove Soda Pop is still made. If you are ever in town you must try some. According to the current website there are nine flavors: strawberry, rhu-berry, root beer, lemon sour, grape, creamy orange, orange, cream soda and black cherry. So so sweet!!! Read all about its history here.

Speaking of history, I came across a wonderful collection of historic photos from Spring Grove via the Giants of the Earth Heritage Center.  You can see the entire collection here.

Of course I looked for pictures of Otto's Restaurant or other images that related to my family. I was not disappointed.

Otto was a Totning, which means he was from the Toten region of Norway. This is a photo of the Totning Lag, or festival, when all those from Toten gathered to celebrate their heritage. Circa 1916. My dad would have been 9 that year, so it could be him sitting in the very front of the group.

Logging was not for the faint hearted. Note that this log is being pulled through town on runners, on unpaved streets, no doubt by a team of horses that we can't see. Otto and brothers worked this trade before he married and started the restaurant. You can see the restaurant behind these guys, the sign behind the man on the far right.

Check out the clothes... I'd say this is sometime in the 1920's. You can see that Otto had competition from Hanson's Restaurant, just a few doors down. Unpaved roads.

I don't recognize anyone in this photo, taken on a homecoming celebration, but this is the best close-up I've found of the restaurant's front. I wish I could enter this picture and walk into the restaurant.  They say that a picture is worth a thousand words... maybe one of these will inspire a poem by you.

More on Otto and his restaurant in coming days. 

Today is Poetry Friday. Thanks to Heidi Mordhorst for hosting... find her and links to other poetry at https://myjuicylittleuniverse.blogspot.com/