It was late. Somewhere past three in the morning but not yet four. We were walking home past the restaurant. The city never sleeps but it naps. The sanitation workers were boarding trucks. Our neighborhood cop was sitting in his car with his blue cup of coffee. We had 6 dollars between us. All our money was spent on hardware and travel fare.

I said, “One day we’ll eat there like kings.”

Derek had been there. Jameson had been there. My speciality was naming all the bogeas that gave you overstuffed styrofoam containers of food for five dollars.

The back door was open. The two of you were standing there. You were flicking a cigarette. You both invited us in for sea urchin soup. I was marvelling that you could even eat sea urchin.

“You can make soup out of anything.” You said.

We threw Kitchen Confidential quotes that made you laugh. And then came your Oprah Show jokes. Instead of crying, I’m going to recite Gail King puns.

The food was amazing. You would think being in a high end establishment like that I would dissect every ingredient, but it was all about the company. Your kindness and conversation, unforgettable. The warmth from the people rivaled the stove. You fed half the block that night.

It was more than just cool. We saw the head waiters bringing food down to the shelters. We heard how you stood up for the immigrants breaking their backs in the city. You did it in a time when it wasn’t favorable to do so. New York is more segregated than outsiders realize.

Every big meeting, we came back. People thought we had some amazing super powers to get The Temple. We never forgot how you fed us hungry kids.

Thank you to Mister Tony and Chef Eric. That bowl of soup meant the world to us.