prepare the office. Just punched up the lighting and changed the position of my chair so that Dann and I would be facing each other.
And everything happened that way.
Then, with the camera and Lily’s hawklike eyes on us, we began our interview.
At one point, a pretty waitress arrived with a bowl of puff potatoes, two dipping sauces (one catsup-based and one avocado-based), and a sampling of Dann’s specially brewed pale lager. Both food and drink were pretty darn good.
And so was the interview, if I say so myself.
We went into the kitchen, where Dann took us through the preparation of the puff potato. Though he said he was showing us everything that went into the appetizer, my guess was that he’d probably kept mum on an ingredient or two responsible for his version’s unique taste.
We returned to the office for food talk, and I assisted him in blatantly plugging his establishment—we restaurateurs can be clubby—but the part of the interview that turned out the best involved his reminiscences of four years with the Bears.
I told him so once the camera and lights were turned off and the sound guy was removing the mikes and wires from their hiding places on our bodies.
“I love telling the stories,” he said. “I better. I been doing it for over twenty years.”
“Well, it was a pleasure,” I said, as we walked to the lounge.
“You ought to stick around, Billy. Check out our happy hour. In about twenty minutes this place is gonna be packed.”
I explained that Lily and the technicians would be staying for a bit. Just to pick up footage of the bar action, focusing on customers eating the puff potatoes. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to meet with my morning show producer.”
“Well, come back anytime.”
As we passed the bar, the young guy in the onion jacket hopped from his stool and stuck out his hand. “Hi,” he said to me. “I’m Jonny.”
I shook his hand. “Glad to meet you, Jonny. I’m Billy.”
“I know that. Billy Blessing.
Wake Up, America
! Weekday mornings at seven.
Blessing’s in the Kitchen
, Thursdays at nine-thirty p.m., Central Standard Time.”
“Billy, this is my … my sister’s boy, Jonny Baker,” Dann said, a bit sheepishly.
“I’m Jonny,” the young man repeated. His smile was friendly. His eyes were as guileless as a baby’s. “Jonny.”
“What’s the deal with the pearl onion, Jonny?” I asked.
He frowned and looked where I was pointing. When he saw the embroidered object, his face brightened. He turned around and showed me the back of the oversized jacket. It read: “
The Thief Who Stole Trump Tower
, an Onion City Entertainment.”
“You work with the company?” I asked.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I, ah … helped make the sets for the movies. I love movies. And television. Almost as much as the Bears.”
Dann gave me a tentative smile. “Jonny helped out with the sets. Nothing to piss off the union.”
“I’m a good carpenter. Right, Charlie?”
“Very good.”
“I saw you on
Midday with Gemma
, weekdays, noon, Central Standard Time,” Jonny said. “We watched because of Carrie.”
“Did you like the show?”
“Carrie is beautiful,” Jonny said. “And she’s nice. Not mean like Madeleine.”
“That’s enough, Jonny,” Charlie Dann said.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Jonny said.
The young man looked stricken. He took a backward step toward his bar stool.
“It’s okay, Jonny,” Dann said. “I didn’t …” He turned to the bartender. “J.R., Jonny can have another cola. In a full glass.”
“I heard you talking about the Bears, Jonny,” I said. “You sounded like a real fan.”
“Yes, I am,” Jonny said, smiling again. “Charlie takes me to the games at Soldier’s Field.”
“Soldier,” Dann corrected. “Jonny knows more about the stats than I do.”
The boy rewarded him with a proud smile. Then his attention was distracted by the bartender exchanging his small empty tumbler with a full glass of cola.
“So
And everything happened that way.
Then, with the camera and Lily’s hawklike eyes on us, we began our interview.
At one point, a pretty waitress arrived with a bowl of puff potatoes, two dipping sauces (one catsup-based and one avocado-based), and a sampling of Dann’s specially brewed pale lager. Both food and drink were pretty darn good.
And so was the interview, if I say so myself.
We went into the kitchen, where Dann took us through the preparation of the puff potato. Though he said he was showing us everything that went into the appetizer, my guess was that he’d probably kept mum on an ingredient or two responsible for his version’s unique taste.
We returned to the office for food talk, and I assisted him in blatantly plugging his establishment—we restaurateurs can be clubby—but the part of the interview that turned out the best involved his reminiscences of four years with the Bears.
I told him so once the camera and lights were turned off and the sound guy was removing the mikes and wires from their hiding places on our bodies.
“I love telling the stories,” he said. “I better. I been doing it for over twenty years.”
“Well, it was a pleasure,” I said, as we walked to the lounge.
“You ought to stick around, Billy. Check out our happy hour. In about twenty minutes this place is gonna be packed.”
I explained that Lily and the technicians would be staying for a bit. Just to pick up footage of the bar action, focusing on customers eating the puff potatoes. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to meet with my morning show producer.”
“Well, come back anytime.”
As we passed the bar, the young guy in the onion jacket hopped from his stool and stuck out his hand. “Hi,” he said to me. “I’m Jonny.”
I shook his hand. “Glad to meet you, Jonny. I’m Billy.”
“I know that. Billy Blessing.
Wake Up, America
! Weekday mornings at seven.
Blessing’s in the Kitchen
, Thursdays at nine-thirty p.m., Central Standard Time.”
“Billy, this is my … my sister’s boy, Jonny Baker,” Dann said, a bit sheepishly.
“I’m Jonny,” the young man repeated. His smile was friendly. His eyes were as guileless as a baby’s. “Jonny.”
“What’s the deal with the pearl onion, Jonny?” I asked.
He frowned and looked where I was pointing. When he saw the embroidered object, his face brightened. He turned around and showed me the back of the oversized jacket. It read: “
The Thief Who Stole Trump Tower
, an Onion City Entertainment.”
“You work with the company?” I asked.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I, ah … helped make the sets for the movies. I love movies. And television. Almost as much as the Bears.”
Dann gave me a tentative smile. “Jonny helped out with the sets. Nothing to piss off the union.”
“I’m a good carpenter. Right, Charlie?”
“Very good.”
“I saw you on
Midday with Gemma
, weekdays, noon, Central Standard Time,” Jonny said. “We watched because of Carrie.”
“Did you like the show?”
“Carrie is beautiful,” Jonny said. “And she’s nice. Not mean like Madeleine.”
“That’s enough, Jonny,” Charlie Dann said.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Jonny said.
The young man looked stricken. He took a backward step toward his bar stool.
“It’s okay, Jonny,” Dann said. “I didn’t …” He turned to the bartender. “J.R., Jonny can have another cola. In a full glass.”
“I heard you talking about the Bears, Jonny,” I said. “You sounded like a real fan.”
“Yes, I am,” Jonny said, smiling again. “Charlie takes me to the games at Soldier’s Field.”
“Soldier,” Dann corrected. “Jonny knows more about the stats than I do.”
The boy rewarded him with a proud smile. Then his attention was distracted by the bartender exchanging his small empty tumbler with a full glass of cola.
“So
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