Grief is a motherfucker so if this doesn’t make any sense, oh well, he deserved some kind of a tribute and he wasn’t exactly a well-oiled machine himself. What kind of creature refers to himself as “Brown Beard the Butt Pirate”? I mean seriously, who the fuck comes up with this kind of shit let alone would actively encourage people to call him that? He did, and he was one of the most genuinely good people I’ve ever met.
Not to mention he was such a gifted Chef that people didn’t mind losing to him in competition. You couldn’t hate the guy, you could try but within 20 minutes you’d be smoking a blunt and laughing your ass off with him. In an industry notorious for its high turnover rate, he was the guy that others would follow from one Kitchen to another out of respect and loyalty.
I was 17 when I first met him and for some reason, boredom, maybe pity, he took me under his wing, literally taught me how to roll a joint and trained me how to run a Kitchen. I’m not exaggerating when I say I could write a book on what the guy taught me, in fact it’s coming out in September. More than cooking, he was the one who picked me up from the bus station with a blunt rolled every time I showed back up to town.
It wasn’t just me, the guy saw the best in everyone. If you needed to borrow $10, he’d spot you $20 even if he knew he wasn’t getting back but because of this, you always did since you didn’t want to disappoint the guy. This is how he ran his Kitchen, he didn’t really need to raise his voice since his crew respected him.
The rule was, if you got fired, you got 86’d from the place and over the years he had to fire a few people. When he passed, the owner lifted the ban and these folks that he had fucking fired over the years still showed up to pay respects to the motherfucker.
When he got sick it broke my heart but he always kept his head focused on the future when anyone else including myself, would have thrown in the towel a hundred times. I wish I was joking but at one point the guy was going to the Hospital more often than I got to the dispensary. Despite this, he never sat on his pity pot or felt sorry for himself, he just kept cooking. At first, I was pissed that he refused to take time off but I just didn’t get it. Now it makes sense and I’d probably do the same thing. Even if he was too weak to hold a knife, he was still able to lead and guide others and this gave him purpose and kept him going.
The few times he did break, it was real and this made it that much harder. At the same time, I was grateful that he trusted me and that the rest of it wasn’t just a front for all of us so we didn’t worry.
He didn’t deserve to suffer the way he did. I still hate going to Golden Gate Park since that’s where I was the last time I talked to him. He was high as a motherfucker and trying to find a cheeseburger he’d lost. Three days later, shit went sideways and there was no coming back. This doesn’t mean he didn’t he stopped fighting. Even after they pulled the plug, his heart kept going for another 30 minutes.
So how the fuck do I close this out? You either knew the guy or you didn’t. If you did, you get it, you have your memories and stories about the guy and you know how lucky you were. If you didn’t know him, sucks to be you since no matter what I write, you’re just not going to be able to understand what a fucking savage the guy was.
In a life filled with chaos and heartbreak, one of the things that I will forever be grateful for is that I was lucky enough to call this son of a bitch my Brother and Chef.
Light a blunt and rest easy my friend, I’ll make sure the fryers are turned off…
