"Famous" Paul

[In the late summer of 2001 I was working at a resort hotel called The Bishop's Lodge in Tesuque, New Mexico. We'd just had a very busy weekend with the annual Indian Market Fiestas in Santa Fe. It was a Wednesday night I think that my friend Devan came back into the kitchen towards the end of the night's dinner service. I was wrapping up some food when he came back to me and said,
"Hey dude. Paul is in the bar."
"Who?"
"Paul," he said again, then "Famous Paul."
"Paul McCartney?" I asked.
"Yeah, that Paul."

I had grown somewhat accustomed to celebrities frequenting the restaurants where I worked but their presence and patronage still excited me. For some reason it made me feel like I was in the right place, that I was doing the right things. Even if, at the time, my life was unraveling on a personal level. Even if, the fragile thread that was holding my marriage together was beginning to split and fray.

I followed Devan out to the host stand and non-chalantly peered into the bar. Sure enough, standing at the bar smiling and talking to the bartender was the Walrus himself. I went back to the kitchen to share the news with my staff, all of whom were Mexican.

"Hey! Pablo es en la cantina! Tu saba Pablo? La Beatles?"
"Ohh Si Si..." they answered, unimpressed.

I got the heads up from the restaurant manager that Paul and his date would like to have dinner. The kitchen had just closed and the staff were just finishing mopping the kitchen floor. Anyone else, a non-famous person, or even a famous person who wasn't as cool as Paul McCartney, and it would have been a drag. But I gladly reopened the kitchen for a Beatle. It was perfect timing really. Without having other guests to feed I could focus all of my attention on his meal. The other cooks left and I was alone in the kitchen. I waited for his order to come back. After a short while the waitress sent in the order and then came back to talk with me directly.

"How is he?" I asked.
"He's soooo nice," she replied in her native New Mexican Hispanic accent, "They just want the Portobello plate."
"I'm going to send him out a little vegetarian appetizer too, okay? Be up in a minute."

I'm trying to remember what exactly I made special for them. I recall cinnamon and red chile dusted plantain chips and several salsas. One was the standard pico de gallo, the others were papaya with mango and mint and a rustic chipotle tomato salsa. The waitress took the platter out and I waited for her to fire their entrees. After a short while she returned, said they had loved the salsas and that they were ready for dinner. I plated their Portobello entrees: Grilled Portobello mushrooms served with roasted beets, wilted spinach, sweet potatoes and sauteed squashes.

I lingered in the kitchen while they ate and put away the prep I had used for their dinner. The kitchen was quiet save for the whirring of the dish machine as the dishwasher ran through the last glasses, plates and silverware of the evening. When the waitress returned I asked how they were doing and she said everything was fine.

"I'm going out there," I announced, "He's a Beatle."

Although I'd served lots of celebrities in the past I had never made a big deal of it by going out into the dining room and fawning over them. It seemed in poor taste in my opinion. Also, I reckoned they enjoyed Santa Fe for it's laid back celebrity atmosphere. Everyone here was too low key to get worked up about anything or anybody. Famous people could come and go and not worry about being bothered. I broke my self-imposed protocol this night. I just had to. I took a deep breath, checked my chef's jacket and apron and walked out of the swinging kitchen door into the dining room. The candles on the tables were extinguished save for the one occupied table, Paul's. As I approached the table I scanned their plates to see if they had enjoyed their meal. Their plates were empty and I smiled. They both looked up and smiled.

"Hi Paul. I'm Chef Matt. I just wanted to come out, say hello and see if everything was okay with your meal."
"Hey Chef Matt," Paul said in his distinctive Liverpool accent, "Everything was great, man. This is Heather." He said by way of introduction.
"Hi Heather. Nice to meet you." I said.

She smiled. I wanted to get the hell out of there all of the sudden and said something like, "Well I'm glad you enjoyed your dinner. If there is anything you need during your stay don't hesitate to call on me. It really was an honor to cook for you."
"Pssshhawww." Paul laughed and waved his hands like it was nothing. It put me immediately at ease. Then he started asking me questions. He asked me questions about myself as if he were really interested and then we talked about the American southwest, Santa Fe, Arizona, the climate, geography, the Native American culture and ruins, vegetarianism, veganism (He's not vegan.), local real estate and other things I just can't remember. In all I must have chatted with him and Heather (Mills, his fiancee at the time) for a good twenty or thirty minutes. At an opportune moment I excused myself, saying something like, "Well, here I am hijacking your romantic dinner! I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," which got great laughs and smiles all around, "Seriously though, let me know if you need anything special during your stay." I concluded.

"Cool, man. Good to meet you, Matt." Paul said. I shook hands with him.
"Good to meet you too, Paul."
"Cool." said Paul, smiling and giving me a hip nod of his head.

"Dang! You two really hit it off!" the waitress mentioned in the kitchen afterwards. I was giddy, totally high on the experience. Star-struck. But I had totally handled myself well. I hadn't been all gooey and fawning. It occurred to me that he had spent his life dealing with such encounters, he was a pro. I couldn't believe how unbelievably cool he was. Although dressed nicely in designer jeans, button down shirt and blazer the rock and roller in him came through in his speech and mannerisms. He may have been knighted but at heart he was all rock and roll, a musician, an artist, open to the world and still digging life after all these years.

I shut down the kitchen, killed the lights and walked out into the star-struck New Mexican night. Drove home to the wife I'd soon be leaving and woke her from her sleep.

Still giddy I showed her my hand and said I had shook hands with a Beatle. Things fell apart soon after that (sooner for me than for Paul) but it was a high point in a crazy summer that changed my life forever.]