Quiet Storm Pittsburgh: An Abridged History

These chapters first appeared in Quiet Storm Book.

Preparations are underway for the follow-up to Quiet Storm Book, a scrapbook-cookbook about a pretty legendary Pittsburgh diner/coffee shop/third space, my restaurant from 2001-2013.

I’ll be hand-making the books via printmaking, specifically risography, which is thrilling. It may be the only printmaking medium I hadn’t tried up till now.

In the works as well: merch and free/PWYC (pay what you can) fundraising downloads. And, though I won’t reproduce the first book identically, I’m reimagining the content & design into a “2025 edition” so more people can access the recipes!

To kick off this sequel promotion, I present the prose chapters from Quiet Storm Book, a recounting of a dozen years of restaurant-ing. Warning, it’s very Pittsburgh-centric.

Join the mailing list on quietstormbook.com to follow the process & find out first about releases!

1.

I left the alternative newsweekly business after an ascendant, notorious seven-year run, and shortly before it imploded, in Y2K. It was during those years – as an art director, writer, editor & publisher – that I developed an affinity for working on deadline. The brainstorming & collaborating, writing & editing, collating & packaging, coordinating & copy-editing, corralling so many disparate elements simultaneously – all converging by absolutely this minute and no later – well, it's a thrill.

Unbelievably, I was soon hired as webmaster at WQED. Thrilled to be in Mr. Rogers' house (he was still with us then), I had no idea my career in media would soon be derailed by unforeseen opportunity.

Sheryl Johnston & I met IRL as one did back then – via mutual weblogs. From our first hang at a Pittsburgh Center for the Arts opening, we became fast friends. It wasn't long till we discovered our mutual love for cooking & global cuisine. One night we were drinking with a crew at her house, as one did back then, and we decided to become vegetarian-vegan caterers. We named ourselves Herbs & Spices (guess who's who) and became instant sensations.

Why? Because we knew a lot of artists who needed food for their gallery openings. We donated food to nonprofits & passed out business cards at galas, openings & festivals, knowing the food itself would be the best advertisement. Where could you get vegetarian – forget about vegan! – catering in Pittsburgh in 2001? Mind you, we were cooking out of our own kitchens & working full-time jobs.

Soon, we were booking real paying gigs. Thanks to our brave friends Heather & Dror for opening the door to wedding catering, which would support the restaurant through the years.

It was September 2002. Sheryl knew Ian Lipsky, who had opened a bona fide coffeehouse in Garfield a month after 9/11. He asked her if Herbs & Spices wanted to try doing Sunday brunch. She asked me & I said yes immediately. My restaurant experience was limited to a short run at Gullifty's in Jenkintown in college. My fearlessness was, and remains, unlimited.

I remember the first time I drove to Garfield from the South Side. This long stretch of Penn Avenue, where Garfield Artworks, Penn-Aiken, KFC & Babyland were among the few operating businesses, awakened something in me. The Glass Center was about to open, too, and nonprofits (Sprout, Grow Pittsburgh) were moving into refurbs across the street. This once dark-paneled bunker of a bar had been transformed into The Quiet Storm Coffeehouse, with a entire wall of windows facing the avenue, an invitation to the neighbors & community to “see what we’re doing here.”

Sheryl & I met with shaggy proprietor Ian, menu in hand, and hit it off, excitedly agreeing on the menu. A few weeks later we were serving our very first Original Burritos (eggs or tofu, taters, beans & cheese, topped with salsa). They were $4.

That brunch was exhilarating. Outside of the Zenith's long-running veggie brunch, the category was wide open, and I knew meat-free people would seek us out. I just had to figure out how to get the omnivores to make the trip too.

A few months later I quit my job to build the restaurant (and catering) side of the Quiet Storm full-time.

2.

Quiet Storm food is mostly vegan & all vegetarian. What you may not know is that we don’t have a fryer (or a grill, for that matter). We bake, roast, poach, braise, simmer and double-boil, but we don’t fry. And we prepare almost everything on the menu from scratch. – from Quiet Storm’s 2012 menu

The Quiet Storm kitchen was an old-timer, which we could use as it was & only as it was, as per the health department's grandfather clause. Otherwise a full-scale upgrade would be needed, starting with a $20k hood system. So we made it work.

A temperamental but pretty awesome Diamond gas convection oven anchored the kitchen which, in the beginning, was the size of a small bedroom. We implemented a small 4-burner stove in every way possible, including the ones of which the health department did not approve. We made a panini press a big part of our menu, and used a trio of microwaves to expedite. A workhorse Zojirushi rice cooker & a pair of steam tables to hold soups, chili & specials rounded out our janky roster of heating & holding devices.

The oven did occasionally malfunction, usually on the weekend. It happened enough that we had a "no-oven" brunch plan on paper, which was successfully executed more than once. But on a regular basis, it pumped out hotel pan after hotel pan of our many staples – scrambled tofu, roasted vegetables & sweet potatoes, tofu planks & tempeh bacon, falafel, granola, mac & cheese, zucchini bread, frittatas & many beloved brunch dishes.

The kitchen was described by three walls which did not reach the ceiling. Food aromas wafted into the dining room all day. Live music, conversation – and incredibly, cigarette smoke, in the early days – wafted right back into the kitchen all night, whether you liked it or not. At some point after dismantling the stage, we had to enlarge the kitchen. The footprint didn't work given the size of the dining room & catering business volume.

We removed a wall & extended the kitchen to the back of the building, using those backless Ikea shelves & a thick curtain to divide it from the dining room. It actually was cool – you could be prepping & watching people through the spaces in the shelves.

One thing you could count on seeing at QS was a lot of traffic across the dining room to the basement. These folks would more than likely be headed to the walk-in, another dinosaur that was miraculously unproblematic.

We also stored our deep inventory & nonfood stuff down there. The management office was in the furthest corner – truly creepy, looking back – with dark, dusty & damp nooks even I never investigated. And a furry brown couch that survived it all.

So, while nothing was state of the art, there was art in our state. Our kitchen staff – including the most crucial people in any restaurant, the dishwashers – was a literal motley crew of artists, musicians, tattooers, writers, thinkers, dreamers, doers, activists, weirdos & future leaders, and every one is a part of the legend. Some came in with few skills; many are implementing their QSU diplomas in their current endeavors. Thank you for your service, one & all.

Frankly, I can't promise the recipes in this book taste exactly right – because I believe that kitchen made magic.

3.

Quiet Storm's thrift store aesthetic held fast for all of its dozen years. Initially, there were fewer dining tables & many more large couches & comfy chairs. Spoken word & singer-songwriters provided the living room "LOUNGE" vibes. An active bookshelf (take one, leave one), toy collection & truly unhurried atmosphere were in lockstep with the time before ubiquitous wifi.

As the menu & hours expanded, so did the dining space. With the end of live music came the removal of the stage; in its place large dining tables for big groups at brunch anchored the back of the house. Almost everything was secondhand – chairs, lamps, stools, appliances.

You know you own a restaurant when... you’re a handyman. Clogged toilet. Oven door. Air conditioner. Coffeemaker. Chairs. Alarm system. You don’t actually have to be an electrician, HVAC specialist or plumber, but it’s useful to observe the pros when they’re fixing your stuff and to listen to them when they’re explaining what they did (admittedly, the hard part – the listening, I mean). Be unafraid to dismantle things.

We ran through four espresso machines over the years. I drove to Indianapolis for a La Marzocco I bought off eBay. Occasionally I'd get word though the secret restaurant pipeline about equipment for sale; most times that equipment was greasy & gag-inducingly filthy. Shoutout to the staff who really cleaned stuff – nooks, crannies, crevices, milk fridge, toilets, really anything, ever – because it's essential & thankless.

You know you own a restaurant when... you're a wildlife handler. Bird trapped in the basement. Incapacitated persons locked in the bathroom. Live mouse under the canned goods shelf. Dead mouse in the toilet. Rats.

The comfy chairs & lumpy sofas of yore gave way to mismatched tables & chairs, many of the school variety. There's a reason cloth upholstery isn't used in busy diners. A kind customer gifted QS two pendant lamps which feature prominently in so many photos, one of which I use in my dining room at home today. I trash-picked a giant owl lamp in Bloomfield, set it on the back counter & it become an owl shrine over time, with the owl population growing to four dozen as guests overtly or furtively donated figurines, planters, paperweights, salt & pepper shakers, et al.

You know you own a restaurant when... you're unfazed by gross stuff. Public bathrooms need little explanation; suffice to say, people's toilet behavior outside the home is aggressive. That pinkish, greyish, slug-like goo that grows on the roof of the icemaker. Compost. Dumpsters. The trash “jus” at the bottom of the slim jim (wastebasket) near the bus tubs. Puke. Diapers. Lady napkins. A sewer break in the basement – you are literally shoveling shit! Bugs. Mice. Rats.

Upon reviewing Quiet Storm's long menu history, I must agree with so many employees – I was out of my mind. We had something like 100 items on our menu at one point. My background as a graphic designer allowed me to shoehorn every idea I ever had into a single menu. I'd like to think I got a grip around 2011; our final years' menus – beverages, weekdays, Saturdays, brunch – were edited to something of a “greatest hits.”

4.

“We all think you’re rich,” Quiet Storm FOH manager Eric Butler told me once. Ha! I’ve never been rich, I’ve often been broke. I made a little money from real estate & spent it all on Quiet Storm.

I closed the business owing several vendors, the City of Philadelphia & the IRS. I made good on those debts & lived a meager life for some years. I had to start over, facing down 50, having lost step with the design & publishing industries. I bounced around a few restaurants which was hard.

In 2015 I earned around $10k. I was driving rideshare & working retail. The highlight of my week was the gym, my one & only luxury. I was miserable, clueless about my “career” & falling out of love with a now-popular Pittsburgh, but I was fit.

Once you’re an entrepreneur, it’s hard to be an employee. Not gonna lie, I’m hard to boss around. Nonetheless, it was the right time to try to work with my brain & give my body a break.

Don’t get me wrong: I have no head for “business.” I went through the motions of spreadsheets & QuickBooks & accountants & recipe costing & labor analysis but mostly just winged it as a restaurant owner. There were electrical shut-off notices & tax liens. There may have been “hood financing.” My priorities were paying employees, then vendors, then everyone else.

Because of an extremely loyal & long-term staff, with trusted managers & low turnover on both sides of the house, I was able to take regular vacations to keep my sanity. It was a wonderful feeling to not have to worry while I was away. Perhaps that gave the impression of wealth.

And of course we were open 12 years, a not-minor miracle selling $7 burritos & no alcohol. Because, when I wasn’t vacationing, I was at the Storm. I was hands-on. I loved all of it, and was never happier than in that kitchen. QS was beloved & also vehemently disliked, which made perfect sense to me.

I’m certain Quiet Storm would be open today if I hadn’t failed in one important area – a succession plan.

My best advice: Be decisive. A wrong decision is better than inaction. Learn from the wrong choices & you’ll make fewer of them. Stand strong in your mission but pay attention to what people want, talk about, gravitate to. Your best product incorporates both. Embrace change & push others to embrace it.

And, enjoy the ride. I failed that part. I could have enjoyed it more. I was tense AF! I just wanted QS to be great.

To each & every staff member, even the handful I had to fire, I salute you & acknowledge your part in this great legacy we leave behind. I want to recognize some essential non- or pseudo-employees too – Pete Tompkins, Joe Caputo, Lynn Benson, Josh Murphy, Bob Lampenfield, Jody Noble, Todd Owens, Pete Lambert & Ed Parrish & Red Star Ironworks, Tom Yokum, Alfie (RIP), Sean Barton, Davu Flint – and the many, many loyal customers who kept QS alive then & still do now.

I left Pittsburgh in 2017 & rebuilt my life & reinvented my career (again). I now live in Philly, spending my free time rescuing cats, planning my next trip & writing. Today, I am rich.