My Restaurant Adventure: Gone Fishin

My Restaurant Adventure: Gone Fishin

Not knowing is most intimate, the Buddhists say. Not knowing is also most nerve-racking. A week went by, and then a second. March marched on. Todd Jacobs assured me that a deal was imminent.

It felt like a stall. I gave him until the end of the month. I couldn’t get a straight answer. Was it a lack of money? Of chutzpah? Of counsel? The chef’s lawyer was a solo performer from Sag Harbor and had to be in court one day and at a funeral the next. His caseload was overloaded. If the past four years had taught me many things, chief among them was to count no chicken before it hatched, organic or otherwise. So when I got a text on April 1 asking if we could meet the following week, I stopped smiling and nodding and pacing. There is no next week, I texted back, there is now and there is never.

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