ISHPEMING — The waiter was busy, the chef was overwhelmed and the cashier was swamped. And that’s because all of these people were Dylan Larson, the kid who bought his own restaurant when he was only 18 and who’s the only employee there.
“It’s a lot of work,” said the tall, skinny Yooper, now 21, while peering through eyeglasses as he hustled around his restaurant, the Rare Earth Goods & Café, in quiet downtown Ishpeming. “But I love it.”
It was an early weekday morning. Larson had been here since first light, getting ready for another busy day in his small restaurant, which seats maybe a couple dozen. It was quieter than during the bustling summer months. But it’s always hectic when you’re all alone.
“I do all the cooking, serving, accounting, taxes,” he said as he was doing the baking too, making chocolate caramel turtle brownies before opening for breakfast. If he gets sick, the restaurant is simply closed until he feels better.
What makes things even more challenging is he has no stovetop and no real oven. There’s just a tiny electric countertop griddle, a lone four-slice toaster and just one quarter-size countertop convection oven. He’s limited by local codes that prevent him from expanding without tearing the whole kitchen up at an unaffordable cost. That means he can make just two omelets at a time, or four pancakes, or four panini sandwiches. And that means a half-hour or 45-minute wait for meals on most days.
“I can only do four customers’ toast at once, so if you get five people coming in, someone’s waiting an additional two minutes just for toast,” he said. “I can’t add anything really bigger. But that’s fine. We make do.”
Yet there’s often a line out the door for the privilege of waiting to be served one of the kid’s meals. The people in Ishpeming know about the young restaurant owner and his challenges, and they want to make sure he succeeds.
But those challenges are nothing compared to the biggest one he had to overcome.
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Larson was born and raised in this faded former mining town in the northern Upper Peninsula, the second of three boys to a soon-to-be single mom battling money and health problems. Now she had another serious issue to face.
“I knew when he was about 6 that something was different than my other child,” said Angela Olin, Larson’s 44-year-old mother. “Just watching him blink all the time, he seemed very agitated. He was making a lot of vocal noises, very repetitive noises. I blamed it on caffeine at first. I took away sugar, I took away chocolate. I mean, we tried everything, thinking maybe it was just him acting out. And it turns out it wasn’t.”
After rounds of appointments, her son was diagnosed with Tourette’s syndrome at just 8 years old. At least they knew what to call it now.
“My Tourette’s is a major part of my life,” he said. “Being diagnosed with Tourette’s at a very young age, I was always just a little different than some people. I was noisier or a little bit more, I don’t know, just louder than other people. I was like, shouting in class. And when I got excited about something, my first word would be like, yelling at you. Sometimes, it would scare people.”
So began rounds of visits to behavioral specialists, occupational therapists and personal tutors at school. His mom enrolled him in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program so he’d have a male role model in his life, since his father wasn’t around. All these things helped control his symptoms somewhat.
But nothing calmed him down the way cooking did.
“It’s been a dream my whole life to own a restaurant,” Larson said. And he wasn’t exaggerating.
“He’d come over to the house as a little boy, and he’d play kitchen with me; playing that he was cooking, making stuff,” said Cathy Larson, his 71-year-old grandmother. A photo taped by the cash register shows him as a toddler standing in front of a toy stove. “And he always told us that, ‘When I grow up, I’m going to have a restaurant of my own.’ And I believed him, because that’s all he’s ever said.”
In grade school, he’d make hundreds of cookies by himself to hand out to friends. At holidays, he’d help the adults make the big meal. He started volunteering in the kitchens at nursing homes and service organizations like the Elks and Lions, just for the chance to cook for someone. And he always strove to include people who had different needs.
“Since he was 6 years old, he’s had a dream of opening up a restaurant,” said his mom. “He had already had a whole layout. He already knew he wanted to cater to people that were gluten-free because I’m gluten-free. He spent all these years in my kitchen trying to perfect all these gluten-free recipes. My oldest son is lactose intolerant, so he was already learning this kind of stuff and he wanted to be able to cook for people who had any type of dietary restrictions. Even at 6 years old, he wanted to make sure that these people were included.”
When he was 17, a local social services program that places special needs kids in beginner jobs found him an internship as a cook at Rare Earth Goods & Café, an art co-op and natural foods store.
Pam Perkins, the café’s original owner, had met Larson a few years earlier. She remembered him because of his unrelenting drive.
“He and his big brother volunteered at this Lions Club breakfast and he so wanted to cook, but he was like 14 at the time,” the 64-year-old Perkins recalled. “He really, really wanted to cook, but I put him on dishes. He did all the dishes. He’s like, ‘What can I do next? What can I do next? What can I do next?’ He’s a young entrepreneur, for sure. Driven. He wants everything perfect. I’m like, ‘You ever want a job, you come see me.’ ”
Within months, he became head chef at the cafe. Within a year, Perkins decided to retire and Larson offered to buy it, even though he was only 18 years old, even though his life savings consisted of only a few thousand dollars. They worked out a deal. His dream of being a restaurant owner came true. Only thing was, he was its only employee.
Yet, the busier he was, the calmer he became. “When I’m in the kitchen, I just don’t feel like I have Tourette’s anymore,” he said. “Some people say I’m like a chicken with his head cut off running around, but I love it. I do better when it’s busy. I’m just hands-on all over the place. I don’t have time to stress.”
He doesn’t drive or own a car, so he rides his bicycle to the bank to make deposits. He lives next door to the café in an old house he bought on a land contract, the same way he purchased the restaurant, making him a businessman and homeowner when he was barely out of his teens. He’s up at 4 a.m. most days so he can walk next door and begin prepping for the day. He has a catering business too, but customers have to come pick up the food since he can’t deliver to them. And he’s not online at all, so his mom runs his social media for him to promote each day’s dishes.
But his food needs no publicity. His story is widely known, and his customers are devoted and loyal.
“We want to see him succeed,” said Sue Johnson, 73, of nearby Negaunee. She sat in a booth with a friend, patiently waiting for their usual: a chicken artichoke panini that’s off menu, but which he makes special for them. “It’s a nice little place. The food’s good. He’s very accommodating to your meal. He’ll do anything any way you want it. And he’s a local. You like to support your locals.”
His mom brought them their order from the kitchen. She lives nearby and sometimes helps during the busy rush, cleaning tables or taking orders from customers. Sometimes, she’s just answering questions from people who discover this unusual little café.
“They all want to know how did he get here? Because we started with nothing,” she said. “When he came into this, it’s not like he had all this money. We don’t have all family money. I’m in a rental. I don’t work. I don’t even have my own car. So to watch him, you know, take these steps and get here, they all want to know, ‘How did you guys do this?’ And it’s like, he just worked really, really hard. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t giving up until he got it.
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The café is as distinct as its owner. Every seat is different from the others, a hodgepodge assembled organically over the years before him. There are lacy doilies on the tables made by a man who was a chorus teacher at Ishpeming High School, while others are covered in a tablecloth quilt made for him by a local woman.
“Winters are very long up here, so you’ve got to find a hobby,” Olin explained. “We have like nine months of snow up here.”
There’s a bookshelf with free books. Paintings on the wall by local artists. Toys in a corner for kids. And poking out from nooks all around were smiling scarecrows and autumnal wreaths, fall decorations put up for him by his mom, who does this at Christmas and Easter, too.
A map of the Upper Peninsula tacked to the wall by the door shows the local sources of his ingredients: the bakery where he gets his breads, the farm that provides fresh eggs, the farmstead gift shop where he buys honey and maple syrup, the roasters where he gets fresh coffee grounds. A note next to the map urges customers to buy from these small businesses, too.
“It’s a small community up here, but it’s a nice spot,” Larson said. “People here are really nice, really amazing. They got each other’s back. We’re all friends and family here. I’ve been in Ishpeming my whole life. I love the Ishpeming community; they helped me growing up and now that I own a business, I aim to help the other community and support people that lost their houses or are struggling with food.”
He’s taken part in Toys for Tots since he bought the restaurant. Donated profits and tips to a local family whose home was destroyed in a fire. Collected money for Sister Stockings, an Upper Peninsula organization that gives stocking full of gift cards and self-care items to women in need. Funded local haunted hayrides at Halloween. Given out free coffee mugs to anyone bringing in canned goods to donate to the local food pantry. He learned about need firsthand while growing up, his mother said.
“There was times when we were down on our luck,” she said. “I’ve been out of work for 10 years. So when it was just me and the kids, he’s gone to these food banks with me and stood in those lines and waited. He’s gone to these, you know, pantries with me, and we’ve gotten food off these shelves. So now to watch him … give back to the people that gave to us, I couldn’t be more proud.”
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On a chilly autumn morning, customers began arriving at sunrise. A young married couple. A pair of old friends. Retirees who’d just moved to the area and made this their favorite restaurant. A lone woman who read a book as she ate.
“We’re so proud of him,” said Steve Taylor, 73. “He’s so personable and such a cute kid, you know? We asked him, ‘How did you learn to do all this?’ And he says, ‘My mom taught me.’ And that’s just so cool.”
They were waiting for two orders of a three-meat burrito and two slices of thick-cut wheat walnut raisin toast with butter and homemade Georgia peach jam on it. “The food is delicious,” he said. “It’s all local. And we’re into sustainability and local life, and so we want to invest in Dylan doing well.”
“He’s very relaxed,” said Steve’s wife, Nancy Taylor, 65. “He’s not stressed. And that’s really weird because he’s running this whole place by himself.”
Bob Tasson could get oatmeal at home but he wants to support Larson, so he came here to order some for breakfast.
“I’m a business owner myself, so it’s good to see somebody at his age being able to do what I do,” said the 53-year-old, who owns a feed store down the road. “Took me a long time to get where I’m at. He’s almost by himself, he doesn’t have a lot of help. And the food’s excellent. It’s pretty impressive. I just give him credit and try to help him out.”
Taylor Ruotsala came in for a latte. “He’s a sweet little baby,” the 29-year-old said about Larson, who was doing several things at once behind her in the kitchen. “He’s kind and he’s really hardworking. He’s a perfectionist. That’s part of the reason that he cooks everything by himself.”
There was a lull after breakfast. The café grew briefly quiet before the lunch crowd would arrive. Only Larson and his mom were there. She was clearing tables while her son used the short interlude to bake as much as he could, since he can make only eight cookies at a time, or four cinnamon rolls, or a cake small enough to fit inside his mini countertop oven. That meant no break between rushes. But that meant he was content. And he was smiling at nothing in particular while he worked.
“I’ve always wanted to cook and make people happy as much as possible, and I love food,” Larson said. “It gets everyone together. There’s no one mad, sad, or upset when they’re eating food. It gets different types of people, cultures, religions together. Food brings happiness out of people.”
His grandma and grandpa came in to see him, as they often do. And now it was just his family gathered, and he could cook a meal for them in his very own restaurant, the way he dreamed when he was just a unique little boy trying to find a way to do what he loved.
“The usual, dear,” his grandma said tenderly.
“You got it,” he told her.
John Carlisle writes about Michigan. His stories can be found at freep.com/carlisle. Contact him: jcarlisle@freepress.com. Follow him on Twitter @_johncarlisle, Facebook at johncarlisle.freep or on Instagram at johncarlislefreep.
This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: U.P. teen buys restaurant, becomes its only employee
Reporting by John Carlisle, Detroit Free Press / Detroit Free Press
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