Acknowledgments

I want you to know that none of this would have seen the light of day had it not been for the persistent, but kindly, egging-on of my wife, Jeanne, my biggest fan; my sous-editor of all of this; the love of my life.

Jeanne will tell anyone who cares to listen that she thinks I’m a pretty good writer (she says, “He’s a fabulous writer,” but that’s Jeanne). Whenever we’re with friends or acquaintances, that’s what she says when someone asks me what I do.   

I struggle with my prose—it’s never easy to write things that make sense and that communicate things sensibly—but knowing what Jeanne thinks of my writing and what I write about, I asked her a couple of years ago what she thought of my idea to collect some of my columns (essays) as a website. Didn’t hesitate: she encouraged me—no, that’s not right—she insisted I do that. “Your columns still have relevance today, way past the dates when they were published,” she said. “There’s no doubt in my mind you have to do this.” That’s about all it took to convince me. No sooner had I begun working on this project then she, too, began with her occasional cajoling and goading, throwing a badgering into the mix every once in a while. She never stopped doing any of that. I was grateful for her support and for every one of her badgerings that pushed me to complete this.

Jeanne read and reread copy. She uncovered typos and grammatical faux pas—the most flagrant, the hideous subject/verb “disagreement.” She read for content, making sure that my arguments, regardless of what I insisted was an “infallible” point of view, were valid: “You can’t make that assumption based on the facts you’ve cited,” she’d tell me more than once.  She uncovered conclusions that had meandered from premises, arguments that were inappropriate, stupid, bad, or just plain wrong. She reviewed content for unreasonable preconceptions, unsustainable assertions. I’m not sure how crystal clear my arguments, assertions, preconceptions were, but I assure you they would have been a lot less unambiguous were it not for Jeanne’s help. She read everything, reassuring me along the way that this was good stuff. “Just for you,” I asked her, “or good enough to share?” Good enough to share, she said, no questions asked. Onward.
 

This website—this remarkable construction, the framework for its content—is the work of the Blossers, Kristi and Bob, owners and operators of What’s Your Technique, an Avon Lake, Ohio, boutique agency specializing in digital marketing. In the process of giving extraordinary service to clients, Kristi and Bob understand better than most the nuances of cyberspace, how it works, and how its myriad components are best applied to their client’s projects. 

Bob designed this website, never once complaining of changes or having to tweak or redesign the whole goddamn thing because I thought it would be a good idea to do that. Kristi told me how to manage the website so that rather than having to negotiate a maze jam-packed with puzzles and quirks I was able to ease my way through it without much, if any, hairpulling. If at anytime I hairpulled, both Kristi and Bob were around to tell me what to do or not to do, reassuring me that all was right with my world and the website and that ultimately it would be a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Or, so I hoped.

With the help of Kristi and Bob, I never ever would’ve gotten this far. They were indispensable, a pleasure to be with and to drink and laugh with. They are very good friends. They saved my ass; I owe them a lot.

My dear friend, Ferdinand Metz, the man who singlehandedly was responsible for creating the best culinary school in the world, The Culinary Institute of America, found out about my project when Jeanne and I were in glorious wine-country Temecula, California, where he and his wife, Lily, live. He invited us to join them for lunch at their home. It was there I told Ferdinand about the website. He asked if he might see some of it. “I have an idea,” he said. “Call it a hunch. If what you are about to publish is what I think it is, might it not make sense, in addition to sending it to everyone on your list, to offer it to teachers of culinary schools—be they high school or college—to use in the classroom as a teaching tool? I’d love to read parts of it.” The lunch was a hit, Ferdinand’s hunch its lagniappe. When I returned home, I emailed all of the Essays and Afterthoughts to Ferdinand. He loved them. I asked him if he’d like to write a preface about his “hunch.” He said he’d be happy to.

This website of Essays and Afterthoughts is a regeneration of 85 of the 320 or so columns I wrote while editor of Restaurant Hospitality where I worked with and enjoyed the company of kick-ass co-workers and associates, each and every one of them a good friend—writers, artists, managers, salesmen, publishers and bosses. All excelled at what they did. We learned publishing from each other; we listened and counseled. We were all mentors one to the other. We made the magazine work. We had after-work or on-the-road drinks together and were absolutely brilliant (was there any doubt?) solving the problems bedeviling foodservice and those that bedeviled the management of our company. We even discussed strategies—impressive, we thought—for  bumping off the competition once and for all. We laughed and kvetched. We had the world by the ass (of course we did) and loved every minute of it. Had I worked in a vacuum, isolated from the dissonance and nonsense of the workplace (a writer, let’s say, in a padded cell) I never would’ve achieved what I did whenever I was doing it: writing, mentoring, advising, persuading and wheedling, capturing the moment, chatting about irrelevant matter, staring out of a window contemplating the split infinitive and other dastardly solecisms.

These are the people I remember fondly and with whom it was a joy to work; every one of them, good and kind. They rarely spared me their dissonance and nonsense. Absent deadlines, screwing around was our pleasure; dissonance and nonsense, the charm of our workplace. Of those I’ve listed below who are still knocking about (some have passed on), there isn’t one of them I wouldn’t love to have a beer with right now.

Wally Patterson, Bob Williams, David Kinsler, Mike Nasiff, Pete Sheridan, Charlie Teach, Tom Dempsey, Katie Smith, Nancy Rager, Gail Festa, Carol Lally, Kate Oatis, Craig Henrich, Daryl James, Carlo Wolff, Ivan Weinstock, John Lawn, Janet Spiegelman, Jack Tetelman, Tom Huth, Michael DeLuca, Nancy Reese, Carl Musacchio, Carolyn Watkins, Mary Pritchard, Betty Leighty, Roger Morton, Don Walters, Preston Vice, Gerry White, Sue Apple, Lou Grasso, Sal Marino, Rob Dorfmeyer, Ed Watkins, Bud Goodman, Gene White, Ronna Averbach, Bob Krummert, Phil Moorman, Jim McDermott, Donna Boss, Dave Farkas, Eddie Joseph, Cecile LaMalle, Jeff Salkin, Katie McFadden, Jeff Christerson, John Davis, Myrle Finn, Paul Collander, Paul Rolnick, Dave Tatai, Larry Davis, Susie Stephenson, Scholer Bangs, Hank Lefer, John Soeder, Marge Swyt, Dick Plank, Jeff Forker, Nancy Taday, Tom Dempsey, Edie Gauvin, Leo Donohoe, Chris Roberto, Pat Wroblesky, Dan Ramella, Jim Maddox, Leo Donohue, Robert Slaughter, Bob DeSan, Dave Brodowski, Joan Marston, Tony Madda, Tobi Goldoftas, Chuck Berka, Cindy Creecy, Nick Dankovich, Lynne McLaughlin, Bobbi Moran, Donna DeFranco.