“Man. Rick Talerico, you know….everyone who knows you…doesn’t not like you," gushed a completely sober Ellensburg native, struggling verbally to express the essence of Rick.
But it goes even deeper than being liked or not NOT liked. Rick is an icon in the underbelly of Ellensburg night life. He has been feeding and entertaining Ellensburg for 25 years.
He is a riddle, wrapped up in an enigma, and you can see this as he steps away from his work or play for a smoke, and a visit.
His low, Taurean bearing exemplifies his character--stubborn, unforgiving, and potentially dangerous. Whereas, his charming, gruff voice and impish, chin-tucked grin combine with his thick, luxurious chuckle, to draw you into the warmth of his persona, immediately. Intellectually, he has a direct and startling connection between the topic at hand and his own funny bone. Then there is the sensuous and symbolic quality of the way he half-closes his eyes to protect them from the smoke he makes. He turns cautiously away from the group so as not to be rude with his habit. He is complex.
While he loves competitive games and has forged long friendships, Rick is essentially a loner, and a bit of a genius when it comes to movies and music. He draws his words and his convictions from the well of popular culture. He would be happy to see most people… never, and some lucky people, occasionally. A special someone, a loved one in his life, will know for certain that there is a delicate and perpetual place for her in his life, somewhere between his well-guarded private time and his kitchen. In the kitchen, he is the boss.
He is the lone puppet master in the kitchen at The Tav, but he doesn’t abuse or treat others unfairly, as you hear cooks or chefs will do. He is efficient and unafraid of hard work, and expects the same from others as well—which may not be a reasonable expectation in a job offering such low pay and high stress.
The college students working there have their eye on life after The Tav, and hold their upcoming graduation as a carrot to get them through the night. If they work hard, they tell him apologetically, it is to make sure they don’t end up like him, 50 years old in a job at The Tav. But he has a degree in Graphic Design that came from the same college they fervently hang their hopes on. A degree offered him stability but came with creative bondage, and he trudged that route for a few years before returning to his kitchen
What they may not realize is that—this was an easy and deliberate choice for Rick. His creative needs are fulfilled by the rhythm of orders coming in, the juggling of unexpected demands handled deftly and with surprising alacrity. His reward is timing and style and the appreciation garnered.
He is essentially free here, at the Tav, and he is content.
I am proud to have been a special someone in his life for 17 Thursdays, and before. When I was 12 and he was six, I taught him to draw a horse, and then ride one. He taught me how to care for a bloody nose and a feisty boy. And now, 43 years later, I see the same feisty boy who throws his hands in the air to signal victory, now a man. I watch him from this silent side of the wall between us. Immutably, he is living his life with a unique combination of humble acceptance, self-deprecating pride and bitter self-preservation.
