For years I've seen his name and face about town. The dashing restauranteur with a set of skills in the kitchen that were matched with a great sense for business. I had dined at a few of his restaurants and enjoyed watching him from a far. He's a tastemaker in the region and someone known on the tips of every foodie's tongue.
But, he came here because he wanted to do his part. He also came here with a heavy heart. His dog had just passed away and in his eyes and words I saw someone mourning a loss I fear and anticipate. He was funny and optimistic, opinionated, and excited about what was next in his life with an upcoming football game and beaming as a father of a sane, normal 18-year old. Being mid perimenopause, I'm fairly emotional and started crying as I was having a hot flash. It was cool (but hot) to see someone being in life and the flow of it all. Recognizing where he was at and what he all bits of life. It's how I roll these days. Yet, we (I hope so) enjoyed our time and I like to think we captured a little essence of the man, the myth, the knife-wielding, food-making, dog/human