Harrison

Woody Appleby’s Playlist

admin_harrison — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 17:26:10 +0000

As any of you who frequent our shop know, we love music. We love to listen to it, talk about it, and debate it. And it’s often through our discussions that we find out what many of our clientele are listening to as well. Our music dialogue is evolutionary, and it always leads us to artists we know so little about or new ones we have never heard. We thought it might be interesting to create playlists of what our clients and friends are tuned into.

Tell us yours. We’ll post it.

To listen to Woody’s favorites, click here

Bo Grisham’s Playlist

admin_harrison — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 17:11:48 +0000

Tell us yours. We’ll post it.

To listen to Bo’s favorites, click here

Harrison’s House Wines

admin_harrison — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 21:35:09 +0000

Drop by our shop late on just about any afternoon and you’re sure to grab a wine glass of nectar. While we do often have a variety, we must admit we have our favorites- The Harrison House wine so to speak.EXPAND

The H-LTD house white was discovered at Highlands Bar & Grill while my wife and I were celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. We asked our waiter to suggest something white that would serve as compromise between her taste preferences and my own. You see, I prefer california style chardonnays and she is more of a pinot grigio kind of gal. We explained this to our waiter and he suggested the Baumard Savennieres, which is a chenin blanc varietal. It was an immediate hit, a lovely, lovely wine.

The H-LTD house red was discovered through the generosity of our Bills Khakis sales rep, Mr. Woody Appleby, some 15 years ago, while at market in Charlotte, N.C.. At that time, Woody also lived in Charlotte, and it was customary for Woody and his truly delightful wife Adria to invite a handful of retailers over to their home for dinner and some ping pong and occasionally some pinball. Woody has met very few red wines he can’t figure a way to enjoy and this Treana is as tasty as any of them.

This is Woody in our shop recently trying to look like he was working hard in order to earn a glass.

These wines can be found at:

The Wine Shop in the Mountain Brook Western

2717 Culver Road

Mountain Brook, AL 35223

Ask for Richard Robinson, Jerome Crawford, Laurel Martin, or Scott Atkinson

Tel: 205.879.1746

Fax 205.879.1736

email wine07@westernsupermarkets.com

Kevin Kynerd’s Playlist

admin_harrison — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 22:26:25 +0000

Tell us yours. We’ll post it.

To listen to Kevin’s favorites, click here

For Pete’s Sake

admin_harrison — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 21:02:46 +0000

GUS from UM Media Documentary Projects on Vimeo.

In honor of the passing of Birmingham’s hot dog king, Gus Koutroulakis, we’re posting this video produced by the Southern Foodways Alliance and Media & Documentary Projects at the University of Mississippi as well as this entry by Wright Thompson at Grantland.com.

Gus made dogs every day for 62 years.

And they always liked to bite.

“The old man’s back was bent from decades of stooping over hot dogs. For the longest time, I thought he was a hunchback. That’s how I described him to my wife the one time I took her over to Pete’s Famous: We gotta visit the hunchback in Birmingham who makes the most amazing secret sauce.

His obituary told me different.”

EXPAND

Before he died this spring at 81, Gus Koutroulakis came to work every day since he took over Pete’s Famous from his uncle in 1948. Gus fixed so many hot dogs, for so many years, that it permanently bent his back in that position, difficult to sleep but easy to ladle on his sauce. Nobody but him knew the recipe. He worked the day he died, just like he’d done every day for 63 straight years. He closed the shop, went home to his chair. That’s where they found him.

You’ve probably never heard of a Birmingham dog. If you live outside a tiny radius, they don’t exist. Maybe your hometown has a food tradition like that. Is there something you once took for granted that you crave now that it’s gone? For people who grew up in or near the Magic City, that’s a Special Dog.

Traditions like that are called foodways, which is just a fancy word for any piece of food culture that sprung from the furnace of a time and a place. Food that tells a story about who we are. My friend, John T. Edge, who runs the Southern Foodways Alliance, is an evangelist against their extinction. His team is involved in many projects, but all share a common thread. They try to preserve things that, once gone, can never be recreated.

The surviving little mom-and-pop spots are frontier outposts. I think of Pete’s Famous. I think of Vinny’s at Night in the back of a Somerville, Mass., superette. I think of the Old Saloon in Emigrant, Mont., where I had hash browns and Budweiser for breakfast, and then played their upright piano. I think of all the places we’ve lost already. When I was a child, I loved fried chicken at Arnold’s in Clarksdale, Miss., and a hamburger at Chamoun’s Grocery. They’re gone. We all remember our favorite places like that. We fiercely romanticize those that remain. We hunger for them when we move away to find work or start a new life.

Websites direct visitors to places that are “authentic.” People pay to FedEx pieces of a former life to themselves. I’ve done that more times than I count. Books are devoted to the grease palaces of the American roadside. Television shows visit and beam nostalgia to orbiting satellites. The producers don’t expect people watching to actually visit. That’s not what they are selling. They expect you to watch and remember longingly a past that perhaps you never had at all. They are selling you a vision of what a simpler life might be.

In Birmingham, the hot dogs aren’t simply for nostalgia … and, by the way, I am a wildly nostalgic person. They’re for lunch. Lawyers in ties slip in between depositions. The poor count out change. They go because it’s close, and it’s cheap, and it tastes good. They go to one of the handful of restaurants still specializing in Special Dogs. I always preferred Pete’s Famous, mainly because of Gus.

You’d walk in, and he’d be there, just to your right. You’d order and he’d fire back a question: “All the way?” The dog would be prepared in several practiced motions and there it’d be, steaming in front of you. Gus’ dad sent him to work in January of 1948, just for three months. “I’m waiting for the third month,” he’d said.

Gus worked hard. He worked every day. He carved out a place, walking a thin margin, grinding because he cared. He could have cut corners. He didn’t. He could have charged much more. He didn’t. He could have hired someone to do the back-bending work for him. He didn’t.

Now he’s gone.

I count off the miles and the blow-through towns. Social Circle, Ga. Cook Springs, Ala. Leeds. Iron City. I wonder who’ll be working the counter. Maybe it’ll be a family member, so I can tell them how much Gus meant. Down the exit, winding through the maze of one-ways, finding a parking spot. It’s a few minutes before 11. Pete’s Famous has opened at 11 every morning, seven days a week, except Thanksgiving and Christmas Day, since Gus graduated from high school in 1948.

I park and run across the street.

There’s a white ribbon on the door. There’s a black wreath to the right. There’s a closed sign in between. I open the outer door and peer in through the window. Boxes of Grape soda sit stacked along the wall. An empty cardboard Coca-Cola box is there. A stack of Flowers Foods buns are wrapped up. Some of the packages had been used. The last hot dogs Gus ever made. I look at my watch. It’s now 11. Maybe someone is just late. Maybe they are in the back.

I dial the number and press my head against the window.

The phone rings and rings, the sound echoing off the narrow walls. Gus died a week ago today, and he’s not creaking over to answer it. I look around and find a meter maid. Officer Mitchell. I ask about Gus.

“He will be missed,” she says.

“Are they keeping it open?”

She looks sad.

“No,” she says. “I don’t think any of those kids really want to do the business.”

I don’t know what to say. What will take that space? Another store selling cell phones? Will people remember a man who worked so hard he became permanently stuck in the position of work? How long until people forget? I start back across the street to my car.

Officer Mitchell looks down at the closed storefront. “He took his recipe to the grave,” she says.

Order

admin_harrison — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 22:32:47 +0000

Order. What is it about order for a man that resonates so deeply? It’s like it is part of our DNA. We want our world to be in our order, and my order is not yours, nor is yours mine, and mine is most assuredly not my wife’s. My closet, your desk, my Dad’s workshop (one only fails to return a borrowed tool to its rightful place once… if you know what I mean) – we want them the way we want them, and if said order is interrupted, irritability is likely to ensue.

At Harrison Ltd., we believe in order, the kind described above, and we love to help bring it to the lives of our friends and customers. For us, there really is no greater satisfaction.

Music to Our Ears

admin_harrison — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 21:45:48 +0000

Tell us yours. We’ll post it.

For Scott’s Playlist, click here.

For Wilson’s Playlist, click here.

For Alex’s Playlist, click here.

My Old Friends

admin_harrison — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 21:05:08 +0000

I love these shoes. Now, you must know I have a nice collection of shoes. And as one might expect, I see a lot of great shoes. But these shoes, of all my shoes, are my favorite. I call them my old friends, and like old friends they are always there for me. It’s like they know me. The rough, stinky, clumsy part of me. And in spite of all this, they make me feel comfortable. I always go to them for that reason. Sure, I have prettier shoes, more expensive shoes, even fancier shoes, but these shoes never try to be anything other than what they are. Steady. When I am tired and just want to be myself, they are there. Old friends. Loyal and steadfast. They are like 2 a.m. friends. You know those friends you could call and wake up at 2 a.m. How many do we have? These shoes are my 2 a.m. friends. Actually, they always make sure I feel better. Physically and emotionally. I know, come what may, they are there for me. To support me, to comfort me, to guide me. Step by step. They are my old friends. And perhaps, step-by-step, they do something even more. Perhaps, just perhaps, they remind me of the friend I am called to be myself.

–Scott Pyburn

A Wise Man Saith

admin_harrison — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 20:58:44 +0000

On a recent trip to Napa, my wife and I visited the beautiful Domaine Carneros Winery. Elegantly displayed on the way was the above quote by Mr. Franklin.

Now, I am not trying to look for a justification for my love and passion for good wine. But I must admit, when a man of such wisdom drops a thought like this on me, well, it frankly makes it seem like a higher calling. Is that over justification? I don’t know. I will say this: It made a pinot that much more heavenly that day.

LBJ Orders Pants

admin — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 17:00:34 +0000

Put This On: LBJ Buys Pants from Put This On on Vimeo.

LBJ was a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And we mean exactly.

In August of 1964, he called the Haggar Clothing company directly to request six pairs of slacks. Lucky for us, the president was recording this particular phone call.

He makes specific requests regarding colors and sizes. And he pleads that he needs “extra room” in certain areas. You probably get our drift here, but you have to hear it to believe it.

It was classic LBJ—complete with that famous drawl and even a belch—and it’s one of the funniest things we’ve heard.