Love that guy. Years ago when the wife and I did nothing but travel to wonderful restaurants around the globe before children and life killed that fantasyland we were eating at the bar at Frontera just to eat his molé (which was fantastic). This was a bit before he blew up so he was in there and next door all the time. Rustic cut chicken in the molé meant a small bone or two here or there, no big deal, more flavor I say. So here he comes out of the kitchen to talk to the few of us at the bar and he stops over to us just as I’m spitting a big ole chicken bone into my napkin.
He smiled and walked directly to the couple next to us. I still kinda laugh about how that played out.
Lol. Too true.