It was a few minutes before 6 pm, when the Cherry St. Tavern doors were opening for our second annual anniversary Food as a Verb's party on Thursday night.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

We had a grand table set: new merch laid out and folded neatly, musicians setting amps on the stage, Lauren at the bar smiling and ready, the air buzzy and crackly with anticipation.

Was sitting at the bar with our oldest Food as a Verb friend, Sam. We were talking in easy ways — okra, work, family, guitars — you know how the conversation eases like a lazy river over that first beer.

Sam's dynamite. Solid. The way you want good friends to be.

Then Erric rolled up on his bike. Sarah got out her camera. Alex and Rudy started dancing. Nobody was playing music yet, but, in my mind, that interior band in your brain was DJ'ing that old LCD Soundsystem song:

Where are your friends tonight? If I could see all my friends tonight, if I could see all my friends tonight.

Then, the door opened.

It was an old friend, back from our newspaper days, that I hadn't seen in years, if not decades.

"We don't get out much," he said. "But we didn't want to miss this."

For the next three hours, the door kept opening as the taps tilted forward and the music — live and local — fell right on-time. It felt like one big hug, one big homecoming.

Damon Bartos and AJ Jackson walked in, and I hoped they felt like celebrities.

You remember Damon and AJ, right?

Damon's growing food at The Beth; Calliope — just named one of the top 50 restaurants in the US — sources from Damon. And AJ's working on a brilliantly good farmers' market project.

So, the stars aligned: as we all ordered dinner, the food we ate was grown by the man drinking beer next to us. Chef Eddie Bridges — bravo — prepared okra, grits, possibly the best greens I have had in years, and a watermelon and feta salad I could eat in pounds, not plates.  

So, we did folks have been doing for eons.

We ate, drank, laughed, new friends and old.

Then Matt Bohannon plugged in.

And on the eight day, God said: get loud.

Loud like you can't talk anymore.

Loud the way a party's supposed to be.

"THIS IS WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR," one friend shouted. "This is the best band I have heard in forever."

She has this pretty cool rule for parties: three conversations, and if all are lame, she's out, headed for home.

She shut the place down on Thursday.

"Ya'll have created something really special," one friend said on his way out.

Yes. Thank you. Heard and received.  

But what continues to be so bloomin' obvious to us, and we really hope it is equally so to you:

This ain't happening without you all.

None of it.

Not one lick.

We can't dance by ourselves. Nobody had to walk through that door last week. Nobody has to click on this story today. Or buy merch. Or join The Table. Or email feedback. Or sign on as partners, seeing all the benefits we provide. Or stop us on the street and say: hey, thanks.

You don't have to walk through our door.

But you did.

And you do.

"And so it starts," the LCD Soundsystem song goes, "we set controls for the heart of the sun."

If you didn't make it Thursday, it's all good. We have a very long table. There are many ways to sit down with us.

But we're going to keep setting our controls for the heart of the sun — whatever the hell that means — and as we do, we want to  plugged-in-dialed-high-amp shout:

This is why we love you.

You all have created this thing that's something special, too.

Tick-tock.

Back before 6 pm, sitting with Sam at the bar, we didn't know who or what was coming through the door.

But then, it opened. And kept opening.

We're all looking for the same thing: searching each day for this grand table that life continues to set.

One year, two years, three years: without you, there is no us.

Story ideas, questions, feedback? Interested in partnering with us? Email: david@foodasaverb.com

This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.

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