It's 11AM, I'm working away trying to figure out how to piece together the puzzle that is the Klondike Rib & Salmon Restaurant when I get a text from our fearless leader Dona, rife with exclamation marks, ordering me to 'get my ass down to the "98". Okay, where the hell's the "98"? Apparently I can see it from my window and to just follow the line of ne'er do wells. Being the ever obedient employee, I follow orders and end up at the "98". The "98" is one of the original Yukon bars and a place where you'll find every four legged creature that once lived north of the 49th parallel skinned and nailed to the wall. The rest of the denizens ( some furry, some not so much ), are milling about the place being soothed by amber filled glasses of something they refer to as beer. This was Yukon culture and I was enthralled. Dona had just won the city lottery for a food truck spot and we were celebrating. I feigned drinking a beer, but the gals form the restaurant were in fine form. I feel very fortunate to be working with these salt of the earth, balls to the walls ( sorry, it was only fitting ), gals. Here's to you ladies ( I'm hoisting a cheeky Malbec, 'cause the beer sucks ).
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