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It was early 1991. Two years in at The Wooden Spoon Restaurant. I’d worked to be a faster, better cook. I’d learned to fish. But not necessarily in that order. Of course, the fishing was the easy part. There was a monster-size learning curve on how to cook eggs on an electric flat-top, greasy griddle. Especially in front of a steady stream of customers whose personalities hailed from an episode of Gilligan’s Island to a CEO of a multinational bank. [...]
Scratching the surface on friendship and budding love.