This Man Will Drop You

I swear he has a photographic memory. If you ask him anything about food, the most obscure thing, he will go off. He will tell you the history, where, when and why it's grown, the best preparation, and the best producer. He has a wealth of knowledge locked down. He has culinary secrets you could never think of.

When I first met him it was 1989. Just before the earthquake. He was superstar chef. Eddie Jacks was one of the first restaurants to pop up South of Market. It was different back then. There was nothing down there. A couple restaurants and dirty clubs, but nothing like now. This was before the DotCom, before DJs spun into town, before that brief Funky Jazz scene (remember Charlie Hunter? Broun Fellinis). Eddie Jacks hit town in 1986. HERE's the New York Times, 1987. HERE's Sunset Magazine, 1987. I think there was a Rolling Stone article as well, 198?. That's the wayback machine. He's been throwing down organic, local, and slow since before you knew what arugula was.



Anyway, we're both a little older now, or at least I am, he seems much the same. He constantly borders on celebrity, puts out an amazing menu, preaches the good food word, and rides the fuck out of a bicycle. That's the thing really, after all these years, I've been back with him at the Chophouse for seven, After All These Years, he's in great shape, packing guns, will outlive us all. He's logged a lot of miles and will drop any fool reading this. He rides for a local team and crushes mountains into dust. HERE's an article he wrote for Pez Cycling News. HERE's a steak recipe. HERE's a sardines recipe.

Here's one from his stable. Sorry about the non drive side shot. He's rolling sweet Campy. I snuck the Obama spokecard in. He might like it, but you know he can't rock that shit on team rides. or can he?



Meh, needs some tubulars.