01/25/2024
๐ญ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
,
๐บ๐๐๐๐ ๐ท๐๐๐, and
The first time we met was 2013 for a job interview at your restaurant, Frankโs. I was 25 years old and used a rubber band to tie up my hair, and when I walked through the front door of the parlor, I remember thinking, if mama knew about the rubber band, Iโd be dead.
Nemo, The Most Handsome Boston Terrier, walked in from the dining room to greet me with an air of ownership because you raised him roaming the restaurant corridors, up and down the 55th street hill between Pair and Frankโs. Itโs a route that would become a bold line in my identity mapping, too, seven years, a five block micro-universe of champagne dreams, belly aching laughter, and an unprecedented style of hospitality that taught me not just how to serve food, but how to be an impeccable host no matter where I was as I journeyed through my career in restaurants, my business now, and my many homes.
Sarah, you changed my life. You were my mentor in a way that felt missing from my young adulthood, as a kid who was forced to grow up fast. You showed me that work and play could be a beautiful symbiosis of things, that we were serious and committed to excellence and that included building an indestructible foundation for our own joy. Some might call us indulgent but Iโve never felt more wild and deeply in love with life and friendship more than when we were closest. You normalized splits of Deutz and Dickโs fries in the parking lot. You took us up onto the roof of Pair on a freezing New Yearโs Eve for fireworks we couldnโt guarantee would even be seen because we were already luminous from the dinner we shared beforehand. You made aperol spritzes out of the trunk of your car on the rocky shore of the hood canal. When we camped on Lopez Island, you rolled out an Afghan rug for our fold out chairs so we could watch the sunset barefoot and at home. And in the deepest moments of loss, which we navigated together and apart, you gave us all permission to be free from scarcity. Even throughout your illness, that part of you was so clear.
Through elephant tears, reconciling my own grief and lost love, I am so glad you are free. You are profoundly courageous and you went out with a rare warm, winter sun. There is no doubt that you orchestrated that, too. I am so grateful to have walked through your doors, that you took me in even with the rubber band on my disheveled head, and that I got to experience over a decade earthside with you. I cannot wait to see you again.