Nobody is going to eat in a place called Dirty Fingers

Fair question.

The answer is pretty simple.

Nothing happened to Lucy.

She is still part of Dirty Fingers, and she always will be.

When Dirty Fingers first opened, it was not the place you see today.

Back then it was live music, cold beer, Tex-Mex, burgers, wings, a pool table, LOTS of tequila and a bunch of friends and tourists hanging out. I already had my steakhouse, so Dirty Fingers was really my man cave. It was the place I would end up after closing the restaurant, having a drink with old and new friends and playing the harmonica.

Lucy fit that place perfectly.

So did the name Dirty Fingers.

Matter of fact, people used to tell me, “You are crazy. Nobody is going to eat in a place called Dirty Fingers.”

Some thought we were just a bar.

Some thought we were a girly bar.

Some just kept driving.

That was okay.

We were having a good time, and to be honest, that is mainly what we were about.

Then something happened that I never planned.

I sold the steakhouse.

The smokers showed up out front.

The smokers changed everything.

People could see we were serious about the food before they ever walked through the front door. They could smell the meat cooking and see the smoke rolling before they even came inside.

Little by little, people stopped talking about the name.

And started talking about the food.

Funny how that works.

Lucy did not go anywhere.

She is still here, and she is not going anywhere.

She just stepped back and let the food tell the next part of the Dirty Fingers story.

Anyway, I just thought I would tell you that because every now and then somebody asks.

“Scott, why in the world would you call a restaurant Dirty Fingers?”

Fair question.

Truth is, when I came up with the name, Dirty Fingers was not really a restaurant.

It started because every now and then I got tired of Vietnamese food. I wanted a real burger, a taco, some chips and salsa and an ice cold beer. Back then there were not many places in Da Nang to have a western lunch. I also wanted a place to hang out after I closed my steakhouse in the evenings as well.

A cold beer.

Too much tequila.

Some live blues and rock.

A burger.

Some wings.

Friends sitting around solving all the world’s problems. Plotting against the public, and talking Tào lao.

That was Dirty Fingers. Just having fun, laughing and cutting up.

Back then, everything on the menu was meant to be eaten with your hands.

Not many folks were bothered by it. But then came my British buddies and they needed a knife and fork.

Matter of fact, for a long time knives and forks were not available.

Just chopsticks.

Living in Vietnam, that seemed to make perfect sense and fun.

Besides, chopsticks are really just an extension of your fingers.

People thought I was crazy.

“Nobody is going to eat in a place called Dirty Fingers.”

Maybe they were right.

But I was not trying to build a fancy restaurant.

I just wanted a place where people could relax, laugh big, eat good food and not worry about getting their fingers dirty.

The name stayed.

The restaurant changed.

These days you will find brisket, steaks, barbecue and a whole lot more than we ever imagined back then.

A little smoke on your shirt.

A little sauce on your fingers.

A wad of napkins on the table.

That has never bothered me.

In fact, I think that is exactly how Dirty Fingers should be.