I love restaurants. Some of my fondest memories are of eating in or cooking at a bustling restaurant. To me, they’re places of whimsy, culture, commotion, combustion and endless enchantment. They’re sharply designed habitats of make-believe, temples whose holy promises are fulfilled with tantalizing plates of food washed down with an infinite variety of elixirs. In these houses of worship, one can feed the soul, at times to the detriment of the body.
I grew up working in restaurants, eventually owning a chunk of one. Most of my life has been dedicated to the idea that restaurants and bars are where a society’s pulse is felt the strongest. Restaurants, at their best, are where people from many walks of life huddle shoulder to shoulder to feast, booze, cheer, debate, break up and make up. They’re where countless have met lifelong partners or found comfort in a partner for the night.