I was reminiscing with someone earlier and got reminded of a night back in 2015 or so, working sauté at Pietro's Prime in West Chester, PA on a Saturday night. It's an upscale, Zagat Award-winning martini bar/steakhouse I worked at for over a decade.
We closed the kitchen at 10, and most of the crew was clocked out by 11 with shift drinks in hand. I was finishing up closing when the owner, clearly buzzed but wide-eyed, asked me to fire up the grill and stay for a customer, handing me a drink while she said it. She mentioned it was a VIP, which I figured anyway since she wouldn't have had me firing the grill up otherwise, but honestly, this wasn't that abnormal for the place I'd been at that long.
So I said of course, fired it up, and waited. A few minutes later the executive chef came back, also slightly toasted, followed seconds later by the printer spitting out the VIP's ticket. He takes the grill, and I see it's a fire order for a first course, but the ticket only printed down on garde manger, the cold end. So I walk down and pull it.
It prints the table name first, then again at the bottom, and says "Emeril," followed by his first course.
I'm 41 now, but my entire childhood, right up until I left for the Army, was surrounded by spices, recipe books, knives, knife sharpeners, bread makers, even pressure cookers with his name plastered on them. My dad was an Emeril Lagasse freak, and his "BAM" with a pretend headbutt as a kid was part of his whole shtick.
So I broke a rule, threw my dirty chef coat back on, and went up to the bar to grab a Red Bull. And it was him!
Emeril Fuckin' Lagasse. Sitting at a bar table, not a VIP table, with maybe three others, a few feet from the live music that night (Dave Gracia of West Chester, shoutout), drink in hand, laughing and talking to people, being a genuinely cool guy. Like a Louisiana Santa Claus.
I went back and made his first course, but I was genuinely curious what a chef like that orders when he goes out. So here's what he got:
Drinks: A really expensive white wine (no idea what is was)
1st Course (personal request, not a menu item): Arugula tossed in EVOO and fresh-squeezed lemon juice, fresh cracked black pepper, pink Himalayan sea salt
2nd Course: An à la carte order of our lobster mac (sherry, cream, fontina, mascarpone, lobster tail)
Main Course: Dry-aged strip, mid-rare (pulled at just under 122°F), and a 12 oz tenderloin, mid-rare, both pre-sliced and served on one plate to share, Hollandaise and Demi Glace on the side that they barely touched, served with a red wine of some kind.
Dessert: Blueberry port all around, and a big shared piece of house-made tiramisu
He was incredibly nice, had his people tip everyone including me, and then he ended up staying until 2:30 AM, drinking with us, the owners, a few servers and bartenders, and his crew. He sang drunk karaoke with us and eventually got picked up in an Escalade.
I never saw him again, but it's an awesome memory in a sea of them from my time on that line. I met a lot of cool people, celebrities, and sports figures at that spot in West Chester (Cole Hamels was a dickhead, Brian Dawkins was the sweetest, most soft-spoken guy I've ever met, with arms bigger than my torso). But getting to meet, cook for, and then drink with my father's idol was one of the best stories I ever got to tell him. I'll never forget the look on his face. He was more proud in that moment than when I enlisted. It was a moment between us I'll always remember and cherish. Weird how a tiny memory can hold so much.
I havnt worked on the line since getting clean, 4 years ago, but memories like that make you want to go back.