This is gonna be a long one.

When I was 8 years old, my mom took me to our favorite fish shop, as one does on a Friday during Lent. I remember sitting there, eating my fish cakes and fries. A man walked in, and everyone said hi, and greeted him by name. Handshakes all around. It was clear that this man was well loved and appreciated by the community. I asked my mom who he was, and why everyone was so happy to see him. She said “He’s the owner.”. That moment put me on the path that I have followed for my entire life. My goal in life was to be “The Owner”.

I taught myself basic cooking skills. Before I was even nine years old, I was making full meals. By the time I was a teen, I was writing my own recipes. I got kicked out at 14 (long story), and the woman who took me in (now my MiL) helped me level up my knowledge by teaching me all about authentic Mexican food. We would spend a lot of time in her kitchen, cooking together and just generally having a good time.

Fast forward to 19, and a broken condom meant that my wife and I had to get Serious about being Adults. I saw a Help Wanted sign in a restaurant window, and I walked in and asked for an application. The manager asked me if I could cook, and I said yes with confidence. He went into the back, and when he came out, he threw me an apron, told me to get to work, and that was it. This was my time to sink or swim. And good God did I swim. Within a year I was running that fucking kitchen. I was making good money, and I loved my job. Cooking is my passion. I love watching someone take their first bite of a meal I made and smile.

I used the income from that job to put myself through culinary school. I used that education to jump up to a better restaurant, with better pay. I worked my way up to Executive chef, and my wife (who is basically an investing wizard) put every extra dollar we had into the market. We bought our first house. Our money was stacking up. The real estate market where we lived exploded and suddenly, our house was worth a lot more than we paid for it. It was time.

We bought some land in another state, with a much lower CoL, and built a bigger house on it. We sold our old house and bought a failing restaurant nearby our new house. I had done it, I was The Owner. I turned that failing business around, and business was booming. We were packed every night for dinner, and weekends were a blur of plates flying through the pass.

I could have retired a decade ago. My wife’s investing magic has made us more money than we can reasonably spend. All of our kids and grandkids have/had college funds and some money in trusts. But I am still driven to do what I love, and that means working 12 hour shifts in my restaurant every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. It means knowing our regulars by name. It means getting excited to see new faces walk through the door, and turn into regulars. Feeding people. Turning fresh, high quality, local ingredients into beautiful delicious meals that bring people joy. Providing my employees with a fair income, health insurance, and a genuine pride in what they do.

In short: I don’t cook to live, I live to cook. The day I can’t cook anymore, take me out behind the barn and shoot me. I always joke that I will work in that kitchen until I drop dead on the line. Many people have inspired me, too many to list honestly. But it all goes back to that day when I was 8 years old, eating my fish cakes and fries, when I met The Owner. He was my first inspiration to get into the restaurant industry. RIP Frank Grubie. My life would not be what it is if not for him.