Sometimes I prefer lamps with a little story to tell, like the petite dog lamps I found for my restaurant, Little Jack’s, pictured below. When designing the place, I summoned the preferences of a fictional proprietor, Little Jack, who loved dogs, bought a little bar in Charleston after retiring from his boxing career, and populated it with dog and boxing ephemera.

In the dining room, we deployed tiny table lamps, which provides a little elegance to the otherwise old-school experience:

We also used them at Melfi’s, just across the street:

While these tiny lamps are appropriate for a small dining table, at home, I like what an oversized lamp does for a room.

My appreciation for the monumental lamp began several years ago, after a long weekend with my friend Carl Sorenson, founder of NANZ, at his house in Sagaponack. The place was decorated by Steven Sclaroff, a quirky, under-the-radar designer whose work I have always admired. I’ve written about Steven in the past - in particular his work for Andy and Kate Spade. He decorated both their beautiful New York City apartment, and their palatial Southhampton home.

Carl’s home is funky, collected, elegant, and honest; more importantly, there were oversized lamps deployed throughout, some with delightfully anachronistic shades:

The lamps, one could argue, were “out of fashion,” something you’d pass over in a junk shop without a second thought, like the lemon lamps with black shades, below.

I loved them. In particular, I find these kind of lamps (often Mid-century) a nice anecdote for the tidy, perfectly tasteful interiors I’m fed online. There’s no sex, no fun, no sense of adventure. I find it off-putting. It’s nice to see something a little askew, a little fucked up, maybe even a bit…ugly.

On that same trip to visit Carl, we stopped into Wyeth, the highly-regarded furniture showroom in Sagaponack specializing in the best of Mid-century design. There were plenty of oversized lamps dotting the showroom. I was sold.

In the years since, I’ve collected several large lamps and can confirm: they change a room, bringing a bit of drama.

The lamp below was a recent find, mixing a bit of Art Deco lines with a lucite base:

It replaces a massive earthenware lamp that sat in the same place for several years. We love it, but it’s in need of some repair and is being sent off to the local “lamp guy” for a tune-up:

And in our cozy room - a colorful den littered with toys and plastered in a Josef Frank wallpaper from Svenskt Tenn, I leaned very heavily into the “so ugly it’s cute” school of decorating, with matching lamps that looked straight out of my grandmother’s basement:

If you’re considering the potential of a monumental lamp, I suggest starting with Chairish, Etsy, or the dangerously addictive LiveAuctioneers, where deals can be had on these overlooked luminaries.

Happy hunting.

Including kids necessitated a menu leaning heavily on simple crowd-pleasers like hot dogs (bratwurst for the parents), a couple of salads, and ice cream - plus plenty of Champagne. The only wrinkle is that we have several vegetarian/vegan friends, and I am told they don’t eat meat. I still don’t know how a person with dietary restrictions slipped into my friend group, let alone several people, but what’s done is done - they did, I love them, there’s no turning back, and I wanted to be a great host.

This is what brought me to carrot hot dogs.

I thought, I’m gonna blow these fuckers away with something they’ve never seen before. I understood carrot hot dogs to be a wholly original idea until a quick search online corrected my assumption. BUT: as with many things on the internet, there were shades of inspiration combined with more ideas of what NOT to do.

I borrowed the best ideas (including marinating them overnight in the cooking liquid), introduced a few of my own (simmering them with kombu, reducing the liquid and glazing the carrots with the reduction) - the result was a savory, punchy, very delicious carrot hot dog that I would (and will) make again, even without vegetarians/vegans on the guest list.

You’ll have to make your own vegan friends (they’re honestly just like us), and when you do, here’s the recipe to let them know you love them, too:

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Autocamp is a growing glampsite concern. They’ve got 8 locations, with another on the way, each a gathering of Airstream trailers with a small couch, kitchenette, and full bath and shower. The site in Sequoia also offered a scattering of robust canvas tents, and a small selection of proper rooms for people who don’t like fun, adventure, giving high-fives, or having sex.

While the design of the trailers was woefully bland and soulless (so bad!), I found the experience of staying in them a lot of fun. They’re more spacious than you’d think, and the shower and bath situation was not as uncomfortable as I thought it might be. (In fact, it wasn’t uncomfortable at all.)

Every night we would light up the grill at our site, cook dinner, and hang out at the picnic table while neighboring kids popped in and out to play with our son.

The experience had me seeing Airstreams in a whole new light, and I went down a rabbit hole looking at Airstreams for sale. They are surprisingly affordable! I started thinking about their potential use as a guest room, office, or even (risky move that could go very wrong, but also very right) a funky pool house.

Doubters only need to look to the late Paul Fortune (a very iykyk decorator - buy his book while you still can!), who deployed Airstream-adjacent, mid-century trailers to excellent effect on the Ojai property he shared with his partner, sculptor Chris Brock, who used one for his studio.

The other, a guest room, had walls clad in wood paneling, linoleum covering the floors, stainless steel cabinetry, and inexpensive pleated window shades - the nerve!

I never met Paul Fortune, but I have several friends who knew him well (one, who provided a few of the interior images above, said he was “above decorating,” and was “a connoisseur of atmosphere”). When it comes to interiors, he is my North Star.

What I love about his entire oeuvre is that it always had a little dash of something passé, lowbrow, or déclassé. He loved an anachronism. He was known for his penchant for carnations - a lowly grocery store flower - and he used linoleum floors not only in his trailers in Ojai, but also in his exquisite Laurel Canyon home (along with Formica counters):

Paul understood that these things could be elevated in a delightful way - and anyway, the best interiors are a mix of the high and the low, the gaudy and the graceful. Very few designers working today are able to achieve this mix, pushing the uncool and overlooked into the realm of fashionable.

Readers looking for smarter intel would be much better served subscribing to Rory Satran’s excellent newsletter, The Hamptons Chronicle, or perusing NY Mag’s recent Hamptons Issue for all the palace intrigue and in-fighting expected from a place where the ultra-rich bump up against one another in hilarious ways.

Prior to this past weekend, I had visited Montauk once, for a blustery spring excursion with my wife and youngest son. It was a several years ago, in late March, when the roads, beaches, and businesses were empty. We spent a week at a rented cottage out by Crow’s Nest, cooking, walking on the beach, sitting by the fire, and exploring.

Highlights from that particular trip were beers at Shagwong, lunch at Carissa’s, browsing at Wyeth and the now-closed Tiina the Store, visiting Parrish Art Museum in Water Mill, and hiking out to the bluff’s edge at Amsterdam State Park for a glimpse at some of the Seven Sisters in one direction, and Eothen, Warhol’s old compound, in the other.

Two years later, I spent a long weekend at a friend’s beautiful house in Sagaponack. He may have lived in the Hamptons, but he was not of the Hamptons (a popular refrain, I’m learning). We mostly spent our time going on morning runs, thrashing about in the ocean, cooking, and playing Backgammon.

Both visits were out of season, but I was left with a strong impression of the beauty that attracts people to this stretch of Long Island - the old growth trees, thick canopies, lush hedges, dense grasses, and dancing dunes - but not much understanding of the social dynamics at play beyond a drive down Lily Pond Lane and the glimpse of a particular breed of rich beyond my comprehension.

This is A Poor Man’s Guide to the Hamptons, because in the Hamptons, even the rich are poor. No matter what you’ve got - someone else has more.

We spent the weekend between East Hampton (in an overpriced Bed & Breakfast) and Amagansett (hosting a trunk show with 180 the Store), with a visit to the vaunted Maidstone Club, plus jaunts to Montauk and Sag Harbor for private events, the best way to eat when you’re a poor man “out east.”

Here’s my take:

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If you find yourself in the Hamptons this weekend, please join Erin and me at our trunk show with 180 the Store in Amagansett. We will have core pieces from our men’s and women’s collection.

This is a post about bags, wallets, totes, and packs. I use and love all the recommendations below.

I’m drawn to utility, durability, and design. I prefer things that are quiet, unassuming, and don’t telegraph wealth. Perhaps my Rimowa carry-on is an exception, the rigid case its calling card, but I plaster it in stickers to fuck it up a bit.

I still have some things I bought when I was younger and just beginning to travel, like my black Tumi dopp kit. I don’t particularly love Tumi as a brand, but the kit is well-made, understated, and extremely robust. It’s been on the road with me for over twenty years. There are more beautiful options out there, but I also don’t believe in getting rid of something that works well in favor or something “cooler.” It’s just not practical.

Perhaps this list provides you with some ideas for your own needs, or can be a resource for gifting. A young man, when he becomes a teen, always needs a good wallet. A college student might need a great backpack or weekender for road trips and adventures. And when a child is old enough to carry his own bag on family adventures, it’s always nice to find an option that can carry them through the coming years.

Here are my favorites:

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In my thirties, I began traveling to London to connect with distributors, bartenders, and retailers who were supporting our company, Jack Rudy Cocktail Co. Thrillingly, the Tonic Syrup and Bourbon Cocktail Cherries were being adopted in some of the toniest bars and restaurants across the city, and it provided an excuse to spend a week eating and drinking across town.

On my first trip, I visited Hawksmoor, a new-ish British steak restaurant, and an early supporter of our brand. At the time, there were only a few locations across the city. It was known for its British beef, great design, and a best-in-class cocktail program developed by Nick Strangeway, one of the world’s great barmen.

This was during the era when interest in cocktails was at a fever pitch, and bartenders had taken to calling themselves mixologists. Nick went on to create Second Sip, a low-proof London Dry Gin (bartenders get old, too), Hawksmoor spread across the city - and into the US - and mercifully, those in the bar trade grew out of the obnoxious, self-aggrandizing title. (I was a bartender for many years, and I never once referred to myself as a mixologist.)

It was at Hawksmoor where I first tried a Marmalade Cocktail, a 1920’s recipe from London’s famed Savoy Hotel. The drink was self-assured in its brevity, an elemental combination of gin, orange marmalade, and lemon. I’d never thought to sweeten my cocktails with marmalade (or any of its ilk: jam, preserves, conserves, etc.), and I was an immediate convert.

Since then, I’ve deployed this trick both at home and in my restaurants. Currently, we serve a version at The Bell using Tiptree Orange Marmalade. At home, I’ve long kept my fridge stocked with jams - less for eating, and more for cocktail-making. With so many inventive jam makers working today, you’ve got an easy, back-pocket shortcut to complex cocktails whose flavors belie their ease.

My favorites are London Borough of Jam (try saying Chuckleberry Jam without an English accent), and Sqirl in Los Angeles, who produce batches like Candy Stripe Fig and Elderflower, Blenheim Apricot, and Black Mission Fig and Red Wine, and Jamboree Jams out of New Orleans.

Just last week, while visiting San Francisco, I emailed June Taylor, whose jams were once the toast of Berkeley until she closed her eponymous shop in 2021. Fortunately, Christine Muhlke alerted readers of her SF Guide that June was still making jams, and they were available by emailing her directly, paying her via Venmo, and picking them up on her doorstep.

Reader, you already know what I did next. I like a cottage industry.

My haul of June’s jams included flavors like Lemon, Yuzu, and Rose Marmalade; Santa Rosa Plum, Mulberry, and Rose Conserve; and Fig & Pluot. California sunshine, preserved in a jar.

Jams like these are great for eating, of course, but the pristine, concentrated snapshots of seasonal fruit captured at the peak of ripeness will knock your cocktails socks off. I mixed the Yuzu and Rose Marmalade with Mezcal and lime for a complex, floral variation on a Margarita. My wife looked at me anew, a sparkle in her eye.

It couldn’t be any easier:

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We are in San Francisco and celebrating with dinner at Rintaro; it’s been on my list for years. I’m a poor planner and it’s perpetually booked, but the brilliant part about being in the restaurant business is you’re only ever a few degrees of separation from someone that knows someone that knows the owner. (Thanks, Andrew!)

I spent the first part of July in Ojai, cooking things like avocado pasta on a brilliant blue, restored Wedgewood stove. I loved it so much I went and bought my own vintage stove for our house, an O’Keefe and Merritt.

Like last summer, we stayed on a large ranch/conservancy a few miles outside of town. It is my Shangri-La, and I would tell you more, but it’s the kind of place that requires an intro, they prefer to stay under the radar, and I don’t want to ruin it for myself.

Before Ojai, we were in Montecito, checking out Rosewood Miramar Beach for Yolo Journal, in addition to two other California hotels: Autocamp Sequioa, and The Huntington Hotel in San Fran - if any of these are on your list, stay tuned.

When we first arrived in Ojai, we spent two nights at Caravan Outpost, a funky collection of Airstream lodging on the edge of town, and one night at Hotel El Roblar, the Bowery Hotel of Ojai. I’ve still never been to the Ojai Valley Inn.

We watched Ojai’s charming 4th of July parade from a perch at the Roblar bar, and started our day at the annual Lion’s Club Pancake Breakfast. After the parade, a friend invited us to lunch at one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen - a home I had seen small glimpses of online, but was even more soulful and spectacular in person. Salads were served in our favorite large Peterman bowls and the table was strewn with David Mellor Provencal cutlery, the same we use at home - these were people with exquisite but unassuming taste.

My drink of choice during my stay was Madre’s Desert Water - the Prickly Pear and Lemon - and something I took to calling “Orange Beer:” Skyduster Super Dry Lager on ice, mixed with the juice of half an orange, plucked from the surrounding trees.

The highlight of my time in Ojai was getting to know Serge Becker. Serge has been a creative force in NYC nightlife and hospitality dating back to the late 1980’s, and he’s been one of my idols since my early twenties. Now he lives in Ojai, where he operates Radio Roma, one of my favorite spots in town (go for the Frozen Paloma and the crispy lamb carnitas.) I had the chance to sit with him on the patio of his taqueria and hear first-hand about his experiences, his journey, and his incredible stories, all while I got loaded on his frozen cocktails.

Not only is he incredibly gracious, Serge has exceptional taste. At Radio Roma, he designed a very sexy room out of peg board, linoleum tiles, and roofing shingles from Home Depot, which were affixed to the front of the bar - a move I intend to steal. Lately, I’ve been inspired by humble, inexpensive, hard-wearing materials, and when I brought up the book High-Tech, which I’ve been referencing, Serge said years ago “it was my bible.”

In addition to spending lots of time in Ojai (by ourselves and with friends), this time we ventured further afield to Ventura (home of Patagonia and great Mexican restaurants), and the very cute and laid-back town of Carpenteria - home to Ryan Gosling, Kevin Costner, and the hunkiest of them all: my friend Dewey Nicks. Dewey and his wife Stephanie had us for drink at their beautiful Barbara Bestor-designed home, and when Dewey told me that Paul Fortune (my favorite decorator) had done the interiors, I nearly lost it.

There is an easy-going energy I really love about this part of California. Ojai, specifically, is a place I could see myself living if my life weren’t so firmly established in Charleston. There are avocados from the heavens and lemons the size of your head.

Here are some of my favorite spots in the area:

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I considered calling this dish “Pink Moment Pasta,” in a cornball homage to Ojai’s inky pink-hued sunsets, and a nod to the California Pepper Tree, invasive and abundant in the area, whose rose-hued peppercorns are ground atop as a finishing touch.

In the end, I like the straight-forwardness of just calling it what it is: Avocado Pasta.

The idea of an avocado pasta might strike you as odd, as it did me when I first tried the Avocado Spaghetti at Tomi Jazz, a Japanese jazz club in midtown Manhattan. Their version, built on a creamy, blended sauce with avocado as the base, is only spiritually linked with mine, a more elemental approach that celebrates restraint.

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Making breadcrumbs at home - ideally locally purchased from a praticioner of the bread arts - is a simple act, but the outcome is a thing of beauty.

First, there is the utility: you are resurrecting bread that has passed the time for fresh slicing and eating. This avoids waste, saves money, and encourages a bit of frugality in the kitchen, which serves a cook well, I think.

And second, the taste: slicked with olive oil, golden brown and craggy, crunchy but yielding, these homemade breadcrumbs are primed for drive-by, mindless snacking. But using them to build a new dish entirely - say, a panzanella - is a way to really appreciate them more fully.

This is exactly what I did when, last week, I rescued a fading loaf of benne-crusted sourdough from Brandon’s Bread, a vendor at Hampton Park Farmer’s Market. After a few days, I took what was left, made breadcrumbs, and engineered a broccoli rabe panzanella that was way better than it had any right being.

Here’s the recipe:

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Cases of the stuff were stacked to the ceiling inside Jumbo’s Win Win, a burger joint in the area that might be one of my favorite restaurants in America. Jumbo’s owner, Scott Baird, created Donna’s, too.

On my first visit, I dismissed the drink as a gimmick. The Pickleback, a shot of whiskey chased by a shot of pickle brine, had already had a moment in the sun - a passing fad that burned bright and faded away. To me, pickle beer fell into the same camp: designed to grab attention, little staying power.

But I kept seeing the stuff.

Jumbo’s was so good, we visited multiple times over the course of our few days in the area. One day, we ate both lunch and dinner there (the fries! the burgers! the soft serve!). On each visit, stacked high at the register, and sitting on ice along Jumbo’s long bar, I was blasted with the visual of Donna’s distinctive can. At one point, I thought fuck it, and ordered one.

I was enthralled. The beer was crisp and punchy, beautifully balanced, and incredibly craveable. The pickle juice was precise, a dill pickle zing with the faintest hint of a bread-and-butter sweetness. When we got back to Charleston, I sorted out a distributor, brought it into my restaurants, and started proselytising on the virtues of the heady brew. I was a pickle beer convert.

Clearly, Donna’s is out front on a trend I think we’re going to see a lot more of in the next few years; Pabst even launched their own copycat version. I think it’s clear: pickles are about to invade the beverage aisle in new and exciting ways.

Stateside, you’re seeing this with new entries like Mr. Pickles Dillicious Lemonade, launched last year. I just clocked it in Matt Rodbard’s recent Instagram roundup of highlights from the Fancy Food Show.

And just this morning, I saw an announcement for Yew, a new beverage brand out of England that includes this Pickle sparkling water. Jesse Jenkins, one of a few cooking influencers I can tolerate, is involved in the project. His reach bodes well for the future of Yew, and for the wider acceptance of pickle drinks, a category I think we are poised to see more of.

I’m a believer in leftovers, and these salads tend to improve after 24 hours, making for a good two day stretch of meals (or more) after a session in the kitchen.

In search of protein, I often combine our salads with a small steak, cooked hard and fast on a hot grill, sliced and finished with good olive oil and flaky salt. Or, I’ll grill thinly sliced chicken breast marinated in olive oil, salt, fennel powder, and cumin. The packages of thin, pre-sliced breasts, which seem to be more common at the grocery, are quick cooking (5-6 minutes on the grill), and have none of the problems associated with the inflated, dry chicken breasts of my childhood.

If I’m really in a rush, we always have several packages of Hodo Extra Firm Tofu on hand, which I’ll slice and serve on the side, finished with olive oil and this mushroom powder. Ugly as hell, tastes great.

Here are four salads I’ve had in my rotation recently:

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It arrived last week.

Inside, Sachs includes an exhaustive look at his studio: the organizing principles, his output, and the philosophies underpinning his work. I loved the section called “Tools,” in which he chronicles the gear he uses to make his art. The section includes his choice of the 3M C25 Desktop Tape Dispenser (the same one used at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab) and his resin preference (West System 105 Epoxy Resin - great logo - the same one used on America’s Cup yachts and NASA spaceships).

The book also includes his “essential bricolage tools list,” seen below.

I immediately looked up the DecoColor Fine Line paint marker. If it’s good enough for Tom Sachs, an obsessive labeler, it’s surely good enough for me.

We are living in a recommendation culture world, and I don’t trust most people. When most people recommend a restaurant to me, I act interested, but I’m not; there are only a few people whose taste I trust. The rest of the time, I prefer to make my own discoveries - use my own judgement, find out for myself - except in the case of artists. I respect artists, I trust them, and I love having an insider’s view to the tools they use.

A few days after receiving the book, my wife and I watched Célébration (now known as YSL: The Last Collections) on MUBI. The documentary is an insider’s glimpse into the work surrounding the final collections of Yves Saint Laurent, who, at the time of filming, was Paris’ last living courtier. In the opening scene, YSL is seen sketching as his desk using a Staedtler Mars Lumograph Pencil, his pencil of choice.

I know Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen favor Blackwing pencils (they’ve gifted them to fashion show attendees in the past), but for me, YSL is the guiding light when it comes to this discussion.

William Eggleston, one of the coolest living Southerners and perhaps the most famous living photographer (certainly my favorite), shot almost exclusively on the Leica M3. He is known for his deep collection, seen below. If Eggleston swore by it, then as far as I’m concerned, no other camera exists.

The Eggleston photo reminds me of a recent post on Sofia Coppola’s Instagram (perhaps inspired by Eggleston, who she’s called one of her heroes). The picture is of her small collection of point and shoot cameras, including the now iconic and wildly priced Contax T3. The photo, which got a lot of love (and a bit of hate) online, was the thing that put me over the edge; I bought a T3 that same day. (It’s embarassing to admit, but I also bought the same pink Caran D’Ache pencil, too.)

These little glimpses remind me of the glory days of the GQ ‘10 Essentials,’ when they would ask interesting people - like Andy Spade - about the things they loved the most. Sadly, that feature, much like our culture, has gone into the shitter. Recent entries have included Travis Kelce and Joe Burrow. Um, no thanks?

From time to time we might still get lucky with New York Magazine’s “What I Can’t Live Without,” but the pendulum swings pretty aggressively on quality of guest contributor.

I do love what is happening over at Secret Strategist, and not just because they’ve featured me in the letter. I think the editors are doing a great job at tracking down random recommendations (like a recent post featuring Chloë Sevigny’s summer footwear) and unpacking random but useful products from across the cultural landscape.

After all, it was SS that led me down the path to Sofia’s pink pencil, and now I’ve got one to call my own, hoping that perhaps I can channel a bit of her magic in my day.

Parts of my hometown are aggressively ugly. The main artery in and out of town, United States Highway 41, colloquially known as “The Strip,” is a treeless vein of fast food restaurants, cell phone shops, car dealerships, and rotten, decaying husks of commerce. Here, the death rattle of late-stage capitalism rings its shrill pitch.

Beyond this hellscape are boundless expanses of cornfields, farmland, and a mostly unspoiled, undeveloped river bank abutting the massive Ohio River. This is the same town where John James Audubon, America’s premier naturalist painter, lived and painted for close to a decade.

Henderson was home to Sights Denim Systems, a family-owned concern that revolutionized the way raw denim was washed, aged, and patina’d. For decades it attracted many of America’s brightest and boldest designers, who made their pilgrimage to commune with the Sights family. The next generation has continued to be outsized in their impact on the global denim landscape - daughter Carrie went on to found Nashville-based Imogene + Willie, and son Bart leads Levi’s famed Eureka Innovation Lab in San Francisco.

I know a lot of people who hate going home. Not me. My visits are mostly spent indulging in the many delicacies and traditional foodways of the region:

We are known for our Western Kentucky barbecue, specifically mutton, the meat of a fully adult sheep. (As opposed to lamb, which is a sheep under one year old.)

Grippo’s, a sweet and spicy BBQ potato chip based in Cincinnati, Ohio, has its strongest following in our area - you’ll see a bag at every summertime cookout.

Across the river in Indiana, there is a strong culture of Germanic taverns that survive to this day. We always visit our favorites for lunch, quaffing beers poured into massive frozen goblets called “fishbowls.” These same taverns are known for their deep fried pig’s brain sandwiches, and thick-cut German bologna, seared on a flat top.

The region is also home to many pizzerias serving a style known as “Una Pizza,” a humble kin of the beloved thin-crust, square cut pies of Chicago bars and New Jersey taverns. We vacillate between favorites (RocaBar, Deerhead, and Turoni’s), debating who offers the best.

Here are some photos:

This notion has been top of mind since I clocked The New Antiquarians, published in 2023. The book highlighted a burgeoning class of young collectors creating delightful interiors in a new, antique-laden language. The overall impact was a departure from the previous generation’s notion of how antiques should be deployed; the new collector has an understanding of history married to an embrace of the weird, the wonderful, and the overlooked.

In the scant years since that book was released, it feels like this energy has only increased. The best interiors (at least among the design cognoscenti) make their case in response to the scourge of open floor plans and plasticine, assembly-line internet furniture with a richer, textured, personality-laden, antique-hued design. These rooms have a patrician, old money DNA (my favorite aesthetic) that collides with a vein of minimalism and an appetite for the absurd - they are looking to the past, but feel undeniably fresh and modern. This is Parish-Hadley meets Gummo - like a marriage of chintz and tramp art - and I love it.

Here are the people doing it well:

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For the first ten years of its existence, my restaurant Leon’s followed only one person on Instagram: the artist Tom Sachs.

I’ve always admired Tom’s practice, a marriage of rigid discipline with a ragtag, DIY aesthetic I find appealing. His art and objects, including paintings, furniture, and sculpture, reveal the labor involved via exposed rivets, duct tape, and juvenile, hand-lettered labels.

This output is the product of his workshop and studio, what he claims to be his “greatest work of art,” run with exacting standards. In photos and video, the space is visually freewheeling - lots of handmade tool chests, custom jigs for storage, and a deep, exhaustive system of labeling and organization. It looks like a teenager’s bedroom if they suffered from intense OCD.

This marriage, a union of art and science, seems to me to be the ideal way to run a restaurant: protocols, standard operating procedures, and immense clarity on the mission, with a dose of personality, a DIY sensibility, and a tension of high/low.

In my early twenties, when I was working for other people and developing my own sense of management, I saw a video about Tom’s studio principles and standards - required viewing for members of his team - outlining what he referred to as “the code.” In it, he outlined ten principles for the proper functioning of his studio, dictates he refers to as the “Ten Bullets.”

It included guidelines like:

In the full video, he expanded on each of the dictates, providing background and examples of real application in his studio. It was incredibly influential in developing my own practices. (And I suggest it to anyone running a business that employs people.) I filtered key pieces of his philosophy and reworked them for a restaurant environment.

One standard in particular, #8, had to do with his philosophy on organization - a mandate to “Always Be Knolling.” Watch it below:

Knolling as a verb was coined in Frank Gehry’s furniture fabrication shop, where Sachs worked when Gehry was designing furniture for Knoll. The janitor of the shop, another artist named Andrew Kromelow, had taken to arranging the workshop tools in strict 90-degree angles, in an effort to keep things tidy and easier to locate. He called the process “knolling,” and Sachs clearly adopted the approach when he founded his own studio.

Knolling was particularly of interest to me because I saw the potential in a restaurant environment. Restaurants are inherently chaotic, fast-moving, high-intensity environments. Order, organization, systems, and standards are incredibly important in ensuring a team can deliver a consistent experience amidst so much external pressure. I adopted the term for the restaurant I was managing at the time, and it eventually became a part of our lexicon.

My goal was for our front-of-house staff to have a clearly defined system of organization so they always knew where something was located, even with their eyes closed. Silverware would be lined up neatly, and service would always begin with a particular amount of back-ups so our marking trays (used to reset silverware after courses) were not overflowing, as they tended to be. Water pitchers were expected to be set down a certain way, always with the handle at 5 o’clock, so anyone passing by could grab them without looking.

In the beginning, there was pushback and eye-rolling, as there often is when launching a new system within an established organization - especially in a restaurant, where there are so many stakeholders on the front lines. Gererally, service staff doesn’t take kindly to sweeping changes (or even minor adjustments) to their workflow. But changing the culture of a restaurant (or any business) is possible if you have someone at the top championing the change, cheerleading the effort, and holding everyone accountable to delivering on the goal. In this particular case, it was me.

In the years since, I’ve referred back to “Ten Bullets” many times, and have referenced it in conversations with managers, chefs, and other restaurateurs. To this day, I think Sachs’ video is a masterful distillation of how to organize a team, communicate standards, and deliver results.

I tend to cut the heads down to florets, tossing them in olive oil before going into a ripping hot convection oven to get crispy, a little charred at the edges. A few times a year, I might make an old-school, mayo-bound raw broccoli salad with bacon, as well.

Lately, however, I’ve been cooking them on the stovetop with lots of garlic and shallot, adding a bit of water to help them steam until tender. This technique has unlocked two new broccoli preparations I love. In both cases, the cooked broccoli is paired with roasted hazelnuts. There are few dishes that can’t be upgraded with the crunch of a nut, and I keep a pantry full of different types to deploy at dinnertime. For some reason, hazelnuts feel like the best fit when I think about broccoli - and these dishes, I think, confirm that notion.

Broccoli with Hazelnuts and Gouda

I like this dish best as a side, perhaps with roasted chicken or a sliced Bavette steak.

Start by removing the thickest part of the stalk at the bottom, and then roughly chop the entire head of broccoli into pieces, putting them aside into a bowl. There should be very few full florets, unless they are quite tiny.

In a pan, cook lots of chopped garlic and some diced shallot until soft and perfumed, and the garlic is starting to develop the faintest color at the edges. Add the chopped broccoli into the pan, stir to combine, season with salt and pepper (and chili flake, if you like), and add 1/2 cup water, and cover.

Cook, stirring and checking occasionally, until the water is evaporated and the broccoli is tender but still vibrant in color. Remove from the heat, and season to taste with more salt and olive oil as needed.

To plate, pile the cooked broccoli into a bowl and top with roasted hazelnuts and shaved Gouda. I like this dish at room temp, too - if you have the time to allow the broccoli to cool.

If you’re smart (you’re reading this, so you must be a fucking genius), you will track down Jake’s Gouda. I first tried it (and fell in love) at Stissing House in Pine Plains, NY. Owing to the efforts of some friends, our favorite cheese shop in Charleston now stocks it.

Long Cooked Broccoli & Hazelnut Pasta

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Longtime readers know my affinity for smoothies. In these pages, I’ve written about my Mint Chip smoothie, Banana Miso Date smoothie, and recently, a Black Sesame Banana smoothie. If you haven’t tried them, you must rectify immediately!

This variation owes its unique flavor to the interplay of flax, cinnamon, almond, and salt - like the best salty graham cracker crust on a great pie.

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Memorial Day is nigh, and summer is about to pop. I’m thinking about shorts, swimming pools, mid-day naps, summer feet, margaritas, cold pilsners, and grilling. We will be welcoming the summer season with a couple of nights at one of my favorite places in the world.

I grill most everything this time of year, in an effort to keep the oven off and the house cool. My dad bought me a perforated pan for my grill, and it’s perfect for smaller vegetables that might fall through the grates, like asparagus and scallions.

This salad exemplifies what I love about spring and summer eating: it’s healthy, flavorful, and easy. It is focused on the ingredients, with little more than olive oil and lemon to bring them to life.

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There has been much ado about the recent New York Times 100 Best Restaurants list, with plenty of discourse on Substack about which restaurants were absent (and why), which restaurants may not have deserved a nod, and plenty of ruminating about what even is a restaurant?

I read these lists, but I take them with a grain of salt. There have been some absolutely rubbish "Best of Charleston” lists over the years, and even though my restaurants are usually peppered in the mix, I remain skeptical. From day one, I’ve always said the mission of our restaurants is to be the favorite, not the best.

By gunning to be the favorite, we focus on the customer experience; when gunning to be the best, we focus too much on someone else’s (usually a journalist’s) idea of what is good.

Linoleum Floors

We are in the midst of a home addition and renovation, and as you might imagine, are carefully considering the kitchen. My wife and I agreed we wanted to have linoleum floors, a humble material I’ve always admired. (We will have stainless steel countertops, as always.) In looking for vendors, I came across this great photo of the late Paul Fortune, the last man in America to have good taste. His choice of linoleum confirmed for me that we were on the right track:

I can’t help but notice that kitchens have become sickly over-designed - far too many floating shelves and fancy tiles. We are designing a simple, humble space made for cooking meals. I often think about this straightforward, gimmick-free kitchen designed by Steven Scarloff (an unsung genius and one of my favorite designers) for Andy and Kate Spade, below.

Open Tabs

Manoucher Yektai

i-D Creative Writing Competition

stainless steel garbage can

rubber flooring

They say you can’t go home again, but this week I’m heading to my hometown, Henderson, Kentucky, where I’ve been invited to speak at their inaugural hospitality summit. They have a mission to become the most hospitable town in America, and apparently, they are trusting me to be a part of communicating that lofty mission. Will Guidara, who makes his living writing and talking about this topic, is the keynote speaker.

Operating restaurants is my primary source of income, and keeping them relevant, busy, and well-liked (ideally from a combination of great service and thoughtful hospitality) is what keeps me up at night. I’ve spent over 20 years developing the framework for what I think is the optimal way to manage people, develop talent, build a culture, communicate with guests, fix problems, and run a respectable organization.

Several years ago, I began writing what I refer to as my “manifesto,” an in-depth manual for our team on topics like “Managing the Vibe,” “The Power of Keeping Your Restaurant Clean,” “Controlling the Flow,” and “Court Vision.” I like to think our brand of hospitality prizes kindness, professionalism, clarity, and connection - things that are in short supply in far too many places in this world.

What interests me lately is how these tools can be deployed to improve experiences and outcomes in other arenas: the doctor’s office, the airport, the DMV, schools, and even cities. I think the future of hospitality is not necessarily in restaurants, bars, and hotels - although the best of these will continue to sharpen its application - but instead lies in its potential for impact in other areas of our lives.

Imagine if your airline of choice acknowledged your birthday with a free upgrade, or your local bookshop comped you a book to thank you for the support, just like a regular patron might get a free round at a favorite bar. What if a hospital waiting room was lit in a way that softened the surroundings, and put you at ease? Or if the airport played good music? (I would start here.) Hospitality, whose only real requirement is paying attention, is not difficult to deploy, but the impact in the world could be transformational.