Something Different Grill: Our Story

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In 1999, with a small budget and hearts full of hope, two freshly graduated, just-married college kids — Christy and Leonard Vandenberg — found themselves in Portales, New Mexico. The plan had been to move away, chase careers, maybe land somewhere big. But the job market had other ideas. Stuck in a small college town, unable to find steady work, we had a choice: settle, or build something from scratch.

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We had experience in the restaurant business — both of us had spent years serving and bartending at the Cattle Baron. But running a restaurant? That was a leap into the unknown. We didn’t have investors or savings. What we had was a single credit card, a modest bank loan (probably because Christy’s dad was friends with the banker), and the kind of stubborn belief that comes from having nothing left to lose.

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At first, we tried to lease the old Burrito Express building. But the owner didn’t believe we’d make it. He told us so. That rejection stung — but it led us to the old Mac’s Drive-In. That place had been everything from the Pizza Mill to a string of short-lived restaurants. It had history. It also had a leaking roof, broken equipment, and a layout that made no sense. It was all we could afford.

We remember sitting in a Cattle Baron staff meeting when Edward Miller — one of the building’s owners — walked in with a lease. $500/month. One year. That was more than our apartment rent. I remember my hands shaking as I signed it on the hostess stand. That wasn’t just a lease — it was a promise, a gamble, a line we couldn’t uncross.

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We had nothing. We rented a U-Haul and drove to Albuquerque to buy secondhand restaurant equipment. Not the nice kind — the kind with rust, wobbly legs, and missing knobs. We scrubbed grease off grills, rewired refrigeration, and painted every wall ourselves. Christy’s parents, John and Connie Pugh, came to wash dishes. Orlando Ortega and his crew helped with the remodel, basically lattice on the wall and painting the outside. There were nights we laid tile until 3am and collapsed in each other’s arms, wondering if we were making the biggest mistake of our lives.

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The roof leaked so badly we had to put 40-gallon trash cans in the lobby. Customers sat beside them. We started calling it the Rain Forest Café — not as a gimmick, but to make ourselves laugh so we wouldn’t cry. That’s how raw it was.

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We set a simple goal: make $300 a day. That would cover food costs, electricity, and maybe rent. We had two employees. We still thought we’d work part-time at the Cattle Baron. That dream died the day we opened.

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We didn’t even have a name until the last minute. We debated names like “Taste of Teriyaki” or “Something Special.” But back in college, broke and tired, we used to say, “We just want something different.” It was a joke at first — but it stuck. On the day we opened, the sign guy called. He needed a name. So we said, “Call it Something Different Grill.”

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October 15, 1999. Opening day. At 12:07pm, we pulled the string on the Open sign. By 5:00pm, the place was packed. By 7:00pm, we were out of food. People waited. We ran. We cried. We yelled. I think a fork might have been thrown. But no one walked out. And somehow, they came back the next day.

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We went to every grocery store in town to restock. Food trucks weren’t scheduled to deliver for days. For two weeks, we opened every morning and ran out of food by nightfall. It was chaos. Beautiful, exhausting chaos.  Oh and we hired another 12 people.  But as soon as the open sign was off, they went home, and we stayed and cleaned up.  We were afraid we would not be able to pay them and minimum wage was only $5.15.

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There were nights we didn’t sleep. Mornings we wondered how we’d make it another day. We were scared. We were broke. But we were together. And the town — Portales — they kept showing up. They gave us a shot. They gave us more time than we deserved. They gave us life.

 

Now, we’re celebrating 25 years of Something Different.

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From that leaky little shop on 2nd Street to seven locations across Eastern New Mexico and West Texas — including Clovis, Levelland, Lubbock, and Cannon Air Force Base — we’ve grown beyond anything we imagined. But we’ve never forgotten how we started.

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We still serve every meal like it matters. Because it does. Whether it’s a $6 Teriyaki Chicken Bowl, a giant loaded spud, or a wrap before your shift — it’s not just food. It’s a relationship. A memory. A moment.

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To the guests who gave us a chance, to the employees who became family, and to the towns who embraced our crazy dream — thank you.

Here’s to 25 years of flavor, hustle, and heart.

#SomethingDifferent25