#i think it was an intentional and impactful move and i think matts ruling reflects that. and its so critical fcg chose it

[sparring-spirals]

OKAY. after some sleep. back on my bullshit lets go.

I think its so critical that F.C.G made that choice, that in their last moments they looked at their friends and felt that sense of purpose and calm. I think it is wildly meaningful of him to know what his last resort would be, what it would end in, and choose it willingly, buoyed by a sense of purpose and love.

I think it's pretty clear the options were bad and worse, and that F.C.G made a strategic call that they perhaps knew would hurt but really, truly believed was worth it, and that call probably did stop their friends from experiencing further losses. I think there is something uniquely beautiful into turning a thing of destruction- perhaps something F.C.G had always seen as a burden or a curse or a worry- into an expression of his love for his friends.

And I think F.C.G, constantly plagued by doubt, getting a sense of crystal clear surety. And F.C.G thinking to themself: they saved me, and now i can save them is.

deeply fucking important.

and also something that makes me. emotional 😭

That said i can still be mad at F.C.G, and I can still want to hunt down a robot afterlife just to grab his chassis and shake him a little. Self sacrifice plays always have a steeper cost than just the person making the sacrifice. Their purpose was never just to lay down their life for others, and I despise a world where F.C.G could think that and not have the thought soundly rebuffed by those that loved them. There was a danger in him, maybe, but there was danger in all of them! A party of running risks!

Its just v important to me that: I don't know how I feel about the idea of it being a foregone conclusion this would happen. That this was the only way it would have ended. F.C.G made a choice, in that moment, that he knew would change things. F.C.G made that choice.

After a campaign of doubt and flipping coins and wondering whether choosing destiny or altering fate was even- possible: F.C.G makes this choice, fueled by love and determination and understanding, and everything changes because of it.

You did it buddy. You did it.

im gonna kick your ass once i figure out how, though, F.C.G. ashton will probably help me.

[runningwithhellhounds]

Pidge is fourteen. She and Keith are pressed against the Garrison wall, both a little breathless despite not having moved for half an hour. The memoir is taking place on the other side of the wall, outside, beautiful day. They can hear everything. This is the first time she's alone with Keith. It's funny how a sentiment brings you closer instantly; a tragedy to call this all-consuming loss a sentiment.

''I could sneak you in, at the end,'' Keith offers, seventeen and blood simmering.

''No. I don't want to see his face,'' she says and immediately feels horrible.

She draws a forever sign in the dry soil and it intensifies her pure agony like she thought it would. She stretches her long socks further past her ankles, hair still long and tied into low buns. She doesn't feel like herself. Her brother was a half of her self-definition.

''It is now appropriate to pause for a moment to reflect on the huge impact the crew will continue to have on humanity’s aspirations. We extend our deepest sympathy to everyone inspired by their spirit.''

Dust is rising from where Keith is thumping his fists on the ground with a devastating frequency. His eyes are clenched.

''Hey,'' she says, lowly. Collecting ignition to continue, firestarter petroleum oozy. But Keith says, ''Yeah.''

He splays his hands on the ground. Looks up, continues looking up. It's too bright for that to be comfortable. She fixates on the bruises on his knuckles and the blood around his fingernail.

''You have blood on your fingernail,'' she says. Keith brings his hands up, stoic and turmoiling at the same time. ''Right thumb,'' she says.

They have come up with a post-mortem communication code, okay? Matt said if one of them died and became a ghost, they would knock three glasses over. It's so so horrible. Keith lays a hand atop of her head.

''Perhaps this is the nature of heroism. Striving to achieve something that is beyond our ability. Even being the best doesn’t protect you from errors. Perhaps that in itself honours space and space exploration.''

Keith clenches his fists again. He had said Shiro would never. He’s too good for errors.

''I guess,'' she swallows, ''I guess we are the only ones who—'' The only ones with this erroneous feeling. This fucking mistaken grief. ''Who believe in them more than that,'' she finishes.

''Well, that's awkward,'' Keith jokes. They smile at each other, vaporous.

''We will now play a special song – the last song recommendation Matthew Holt sent to our station on Earth. Panic Vertigo by The Wrecks.''

Oh no, she thinks. Her mind spills into a stream of no no no, when Keith growls: ''Let's get the fuck away.''

He's already dusting off. He doesn't offer a hand and Pidge is grateful.

At fourteen, the Garrison is holding a memoir for the lost crew and Pidge’s hands feel unstable when she drinks from glasses. On the way to the ceremony, she and Keith climbed off his motorbike at a gas station made for boys like Keith, rogue, creases of their jeans sharp, boots strangely clean. Keith bought them canned coke and she was grateful.

 *

 She's pulling a yellow pepper apart, thinking, quite uselessly: maybe the illusion of strength stems from weakness. She squished it until it cracked and now the seeds are falling on the counter.

She's a half of a person. But, in contrast to the missing half, an idea is forming within her. In contrast to the missing half, Enceladus is still her favourite moon. It helps her think: Keith, from whom she hasn't heard for weeks, is a cyrovolcano. And she won't remain a flyby. She'll be a rover.

She calls the Garrison three times to reach him and carries her phone as a weight in her pocket for three days before he returns the call, bleeding apprehension.

''Hello?''

''Keith,'' she says, solemn. ''Keith. Can you steal something for me?''

 *

 Pidge is fifteen and a boy called Lance makes her doubt her insight all over.

She stops in a corridor when she sees him now, well past sleep-time. Lance hovers two fingers above the skin of a girl's hand.  His eyes flicker to hers, watchful, intent.

''How does that feel?'' he mutters with a ghosting smile.

''You're not touching me,'' the girl says through the teeth of her grin. Lance smiles elastically in a way that makes Pidge feel like she can snap.

The girl clears her throat, mouth a contour of a smile, and then Lance, too, turns. The girl pulls her hair in a tail, then releases, and Pidge watches it swing behind her back.

''Hi,'' Pidge says, ''Lance.''

''Hi, Pidge.'' He grins, pulls the girl's hand behind his back and holds it there with both hands. ''Look at that. Won't tell if you won't.''

Pidge runs her fingers through the hair at her nape. She thought familiarisation would come more slowly. Not letting go of the girl's hand, Lance pulls a key ring from his pocket, spins it around his finger. It's something kitsch, lowbrow and vibrant and nostalgic. She isn't like that. He's vibrant and she compares herself to extraterrestrial objects.

''Won't tell if you won't,'' she repeats.

 *

 She can't fall asleep, just keeps thinking, defined, almost geometrical thoughts. It's often like this. She just lies frustrated.

She thought it would be easy, that she would uncover the assembly of concepts of her and re-cover them with a new sheet. Instead, she is stuck. What drives science forward is the universality of laws. Eyes open, duvet light on her chest, she is stuck. Can't go forward. She can't develop herself, no universal laws apply.

A week ago she broke a plastic fork without meaning to and didn’t know what that meant.

 *

 Lance walks into the dark dining hall where Pidge sits slouched and they both start.

''Oh, uh, hey. Pidge. Wow, right? I didn't know the dining hall was unlocked at night, but looks like you've known. What are you reading?''

She glances down at her tablet. She's coordinating outputs of Garrison detectors. The device on the backside of the tablet is reading the academy’s data analyses. Lance comes close enough for its light illuminate him and she tilts the tablet away from him, towards her stomach.

''Wikipedia,'' she lies. He grins.

''Is this referring to your, what it that, a tablet?'' he points at the special offer sticker in the corner of her tablet that she scraped from a sandwich wrapping.

''No,'' she says, ''It’s referring to me.''

''Yeah? How so?''

How funny that a person so whole is asking her this. ''You want me to tell you why I think I'm special?''

''Sure,'' Lance crosses his arms.

Her neck cracks when she tips her head up. Maybe this: she has, in a way, cracked all the joints in her body, cracked her everything, new shape recuperating under the always-loose clothes. Who is she? Primordial soup of a person. Chemically potent. An isomer inverted. And can’t stop thinking about that. The transition, the hoax, has made her the embodiment of metacognition.

''I cognise about my cognition,'' she says. Lance’s eyebrows shoot up and it makes her want to cross out her answer. ''I’ll find aliens,'' she covers up. Something less irritating, less out of reach, and no less sincere. Lance beams, whole body moving illogically with enthusiasm.

''Me too! Man,'' he says, closer now, and Pidge concludes magnetism attracts him to things, never repels. ''Please tell me you have a plan. Humanity has lived so long without aliens, it’s time.'' He straightens up with intent. ''Are you going to cognise something for the Garrison? Or, I mean, if we can reach Kerberos. I mean. Maybe we’ll have the tech to go further just when I’m allowed to fly higher than fifty thousand feet.''

''Yeah, well. Icarus only flew too close to the sun because his wings were shit.'' Lance grins, but then tilts his head.

''You look upset,'' Lance says – because he seems to live on the outside of himself. She shakes her head. Typing tempestuously from her home floorboards, she thought: the Garrison would be a she-unknown zone. She’d be a hoax, and people wouldn’t know her. But actually, no. She can give what she can give.

''Some officers don't take girls seriously,'' she says.

''Oh,'' Lance sounds surprised. ''Is there someone you like?''

''No. That girl, what's her name? Do you take her seriously?''

''The one from the hallway?'' Lance asks and it makes her feel infinitely worse. ''Whoa, dude. Yes, I take Alleine seriously. I'm not just, I don't know, playing. I have respect.''

She sweeps her electronic chips into a pile on the tabletop. She’s not trying to be inflammatory. She just feels her bedrock being attacked.

''They have internal worlds too, you know.''

''Dude. I know.'' He folds his arms and she doesn’t know what to say. He half-laughs, looking to the side, arms unfolding. Okay, adventure over for tonight. See you around. Nice talking to you, Pidge.''

''Lance,'' she calls. He turns, tilts his head a little. ''I like your confidence. Keep it up.''

''I like yours,'' Lance smiles, just by the door, when the door swings open, an officer stepping in.

''Ah,'' Lance breathes. Straightens up. ''Sir.''

''Good evening, cadets,'' an officer Pidge doesn’t know barely glances at her before settling on Lance. Crypsis, she thinks. ''McClain. Are you testing the admissions?''

Lance takes in the scattered electronics, glances at Pidge. ‘’I — Pidge was teaching me, sir. About – structural aircraft repair procedures. After today's simulation I thought I could benefit from it, and I feel – devoted—'' he stumbles over devoted three times, and she feels her body jerk. Lance looks horrified.

''Bring your devotion to class tomorrow. And don’t test academy rules. Two minutes to clear up.'' Lance keeps his eyes on him as he leaves, breathing in slowly. Shiro was a Garrison commander and she has met him twice. She’s sure Shiro would use euphemisms.

''Jesus fucking Christ,'' Lance says.

''Whatever you want to believe in,'' she replies. Lance huffs.

 *

 In her head, she once calls her inner voice her articulatory control system. Then thinks: that’s enough. Her insight told her that this person-creation would lead her further than any human has ever been. And her insight is good: she’s picking up data she doesn’t know what to do with. That’s good. Her insight was a carefully crafted thing and she absolutely loves that Matt and Keith are the two people who'd never tell her you're overthinking this. It’s for them. She doesn’t own three glasses, because she believes: in Matt, in herself.

 *

 It’s her foresight that can’t be trusted much. She talks to Lance and doesn’t feel very real. Maybe she should start listening to music.

 *

 ''Hunk,'' Lance says, back straight and voice loud, ''do you know Pidge? He's a romantic.''

''I'm not a romantic,'' she snaps, climbing carefully over the bench with her tray. Hunk is sitting opposite of Lance and now scoots along the bench and ends up in front of her. His relaxed arms, elbows on the table and hands clasped, look warm.

''Sounds like a compliment, but. Lance, you dick, what did you do?''

Lance grins while chewing. Like Michael Jackson. ''I meant it positively. But I still trade these bad boys—'' he lifts a bottle of juice, ''to compensate. Want, Pidge?''

''No. Yes,'' she snatches it Lance’s hands. She likes the knowing between him and Hunk. It’s different from her, and from Keith. They are both somehow not old enough for it, maybe; don’t have enough real niceties.

''These were out when I was a child, can’t believe I’m getting them in my dream school, too,'' Hunk says. ''Like, the smell. Smells like childhood.''

Treat and threat are such similar words, she thought while drinking coke on a curb with Keith, smelling her way into childhood. And now she thinks it again.

''Good god,'' she jerks, her fork screeching against the plate.

''Whoa. You doing okay?''

''Yeah,'' she clears her throat, a cover-up, a swallow-down. Before her insides disseminate. ''I just lost track of – time,'' she finishes lamely.

''Oh,'' Hunk says. ''Track of time is a good thing to lose. If I were to lose something,'' he smiles.

 *

 Lance chews like a Hollywood star and isn’t afraid of heights and she is volatile. But maybe she’s past the impact-heavy stage of moon formation. Pidge is fifteen, her hair is short, and she’s the first microorganisms bursting to life. She’s the detection of some geothermal activity. Still uncertain, but onto something.

 *

They are perched and tense above the extraterrestrial sample curation building. It's the most perfect of surprises. It's Shiro.

She breathes in. She sends the location to Keith, the rushed word: Shiro. Coordination and causation are her blood type, after all. It's nothing new, to be an in-group spy. An infiltrator. They all start at the explosions.

''No way,'' Lance says, strained, hype-high. ''That guy is always trying to one-up me!''

The desert-night wind cools the sweat at her hairline to a suggestion of a headache. It's all happening very fast. When she speaks, it's taut and dusty.

''Who?''

(on ao3)

[thethagtochina-blog]

Digesting Blogs:

It’s strange what decides to bring people together. What twists and turns they have taken in life to bring them to this very moment. Inevitably we all have one outstanding connection here and it is our writing. The love for it, the loathing of it and our insatiable itch to just do it. Our blogs are diverse in the way we ourselves are but these little thematic similarities are there to remind us of perhaps a culture we are creating. It has all taken something for each of us to be here, and with each person’s unique bravery also comes their unique vulnerabilities. Being a creative of any kind requires you to place yourself in a situation to be scrutinised in some way shape or form. It is clear from each of the blogs that we are finding ways of expressing, overcoming and just embracing this feeling of being vulnerable.

In Matt’s China Tour Blog there is emphasis placed on moving past ‘inevitable’ differences and moving focus towards what we will be able to create ‘We will be striving together for something beautiful, and that is enough to bring us together. Or at least, that is all I can hope for.’ In Ella’s Salty Living and Salty Writing she too noticed the emergence of a theme of self doubt. ‘As writers, we approach vulnerability in a number of ways, many of which are unusual. At times we loathe to put ourselves out there.’

Taylah’s post entitled Reflections delineates the struggles we have of finding suitable content, how do we have the right to something we know nothing about? ‘How can I write an honest blog post about these things without having seen the city ((Guangzhou)) beforehand?’. Then not only content but truthfulness, authenticity, Kat discusses this thought in her blog ‘I sometimes get stuck. Am I writing the truth? I know something can be true to me that isn’t true for others’. Ashley’s Take Me Away further explores the position of being faced with another culture that is both inspiring and terrifying, and how exactly we should approach it. ‘The main issue: confusion. what to write about? how to write about a foreign country without seeming offensive?’. Our own sense of otherness is warped into a newfound vulnerability. We don’t want to, mustn’t offend.

However we need to remember to not only move past this sense of vulnerability, our hesitations, but to harness it, as regarding, and acknowledging our weakness will only solidify our strengths. Mentioned in Jacinta’s Ocean Crossing is how we each bring a flair forward that is solely our own ‘I was surprised to find that each of my classmates had injected their own personality into the aesthetics of their blog. This highlights that we each have something different to contribute to this process’. It is important to remember everyone feels this at some point. A hesitation, a pause, but it is something we must learn to ignore in order to move forward. Georgie’s Words/Pictures/Junk expresses that hesitation ‘I think a lot of my own life has been lived in fear of making an idiot out of myself. I have shied away from voicing my opinion and tend not to volunteer for opportunities that require me to put myself out there.’

Lets all start making idiots out of ourselves!

This is a collaborative process, one which would not work if we were to shrivel in self deprecating madness. As stated in Lauren’s Wandering ‘learning is about mentoring and friendship’.

Perhaps the truly special thing about these blogs is how they work as a cohesive whole. In Nat’s Transit she mentions the lingering self doubt when placing her blog comparatively against the class ‘I don’t feel confident in how my blog looks, how it feels to touch visually if that makes sense. It appears two dimensional at the moment, and everyone else’s seems four or even fifth dimensional’. We may need to cease viewing it in this manner. Perhaps none make sense on their own and we must bring them together as a whole to truly appreciate our work here.

As writers we accept a sense of isolation: These are my thoughts, my feelings and are my burden alone. This studio pushes us to move forward, not in a messy disarray of literary angst but as a solid unit that has the ability to work cohesively in order to create something truly magical.

Travis notes in his blog that ‘we all have different reasons for writing’. We may write to make sense of our world or our place within it. We may write simply for the enjoyment of it. Maybe we write because not writing is an intolerable alternative. Maybe writing keeps us sane.

When we collaborate we are forced to ask questions of each other. We are forced to offer small pieces of ourselves in the process. Writing is solitary, but the sharing of writing is not. Yes, there is the fear, the overwhelming, sometimes crippling, fear. As Jess B. remarks in her blog Leaving Footprints, often we question whether we have anything interesting to say. But even as many of us profess to be struggling with how we present ourselves and our writing, our blogs demonstrate a deep passion for our craft.

Inevitably, there are moments when we all write ourselves into a bleak headspace—or perhaps it is the inability to write that causes us distress. And yet, writing is also capable of elating and inspiring us. Writing is a task, like any other, and it can be alternately gruelling and stimulating. Lisa concluded her post about editing with the line: ‘reminding everyone ((myself)) that writing is fun most of the time.’ Sometimes as writers we need to be reminded of this because it is all too easy to simply put down the pen and walk away when it gets tough.

These blogs are a wonderful insight into the processes of our peers. Without even meaning to, we give away so much of ourselves in our posts about writing and our expectations about going to China. The way in which we weave elements of our own personalities and interests into our interpretation of what is happening around us is endlessly fascinating. Through our blogs we see the process of collaboration from so many diverse points of view.

For Shona, learning about Chinese culture has brought to mind the science-fiction film Arrival. For Jess Z., part of the process of preparing for the study tour is reading relevant literature such as Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie. Despite attending the same classes and doing the same tasks, we all absorb and react to this collaborative process in different ways. As Pallavi writes in her blog The Backpack Journal: ‘What kind of thoughts I have largely depends on the music I’m listening to’. All of us are influenced by what we read and watch and listen to, and this is apparent in our unique individual processes.

This collaborative program enables us to each bring our own special insights and skills together, and in doing so we are able to create something pretty darn great.

When perusing everyone’s blogs, I noted that many of us found the act of writing a blog post to be a moment of reflection, consolidation and meditation; a space offered as a blank canvas in which we can share our thoughts, feelings and anxieties. I think that the blogs have been important in this way as they work to cement our different experiences throughout this shared journey as well as something to look back on. They also reinforce a connection between not only our writing, but with each other. Connection seemed to be a buzzword that featured in a few posts including Pallavi’s post about culture shock. She stated that she ‘wanted to connect with people across the world looking past language barriers and the foreign’ to create a common understanding. Sophie suggested that authenticity played a big role in connecting with others. Perhaps this is something to remember when editing the works of our Chinese counterparts – to be authentic and to allow the authentic experience of the Chinese work to shine through. While yes, there are barriers, we must instead focus on overcoming those barriers – of language, of inexperience and of culture. But also the barriers that we create. Many mentioned how anxious they were in the lead up to this trip and, to reiterate Travis’ latest blog, we must ‘be brave, be honest and allow ourselves to be vulnerable.’ Another common thread was that of empathy: the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. Jess Z has written a whole post on empathy as an editor, with a focus on editing cross cultural work, which requires additional sensitivity. She says: ‘although empathy will not impart the practical knowledge of how the rules of grammar differ between cultures, or how their cultural ideologies, values and communication differ from our own, empathy will still give the incentive to the editor to feel. And when we feel, we will invest. And this means investing in how to work with the author and navigate the barriers between cultural differences.’ Jules, while she hasn’t spoken about it directly, employed empathy when communicating with her student, going ‘beyond the written’ as she says, exchanging emojis and images and using google translate.

A few others reflected upon Paula’s anecdote about her friend John and the interest, attention and listening skills he employs while overseas developing cross-cultural relationships. She says in her blog post that ‘a person’s disposition is critical, the inner stance we take – our attitudes, intentions and motivations, our hopes and expectations, our fears and prejudices – have a major impact on our experiences and interactions with others’. I think that this ties in with empathy and reinforces the fact that sensitivity to others, particularly in regards to helping our Chinese friends ‘save face’, will bridge the gaps between cultures.

We look forward to continuing to read everyone’s blogs as we move closer to our departure date and our very own cross-cultural experience. :) Thank you.

Authored by: Me (obviously this is my blog) Georgie Young- https://wordspicturesjunk.wordpress.com/ Jacinta Walsh- http://oceancrossingblog.tumblr.com/

[miamibeerscene]

Michael Schwartz Reflects on 10 Years of Michael’s Genuine Food & Drink

That’s a lifetime for Miami restaurants

On March 13, 2007 Michael’s Genuine Food & Drink officially opened its doors to the public. Located in the then obscure Design District neighborhood — which has since transformed into Miami’s high-end shopping destination — it racked up buzz and accolades from the start garnering international attention, a James Beard award, book deals and launched the Genuine Hospitality empire, which now owns and operates multiple restaurants throughout the country including Harry’s Pizzeria, Fi’lia, Cypress Tavern, and ella cafe.

It’s owner and chef, Michael Schwartz, has been credited amongst many in the Miami restaurant scene as being a pioneer of the farm-to-table movement — well before it was a buzzword, or even now, the norm. And in a city where there’s a new restaurant on every block, and most don’t last more than a few years, Eater Miami sat down with Schwartz to learn about the first 10 years of the restaurant, what he has learned and where he plans to go from here.

Can you believe it’s been 10 years?

Yeah, no, maybe. [laughs]I mean on the one hand it seems like it’s been a 100 years. On the other hand it seems like it’s been 10 minutes. I mean 10 years is a long time in our business. Yeah, I could believe it, I lived it.

What is your overwhelming emotion looking back on what Michael’s has accomplished over the past 10 years.

The overwhelming emotion I would say — there’s a lot of them. I don’t know if I could pick one emotion, it depends on my mood. It depends on the day. I don’t know I would say, “Relief, no.” I would say mostly, “proud.” You know I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished there. I mean far and above from what we’ve set out to do, which is just have a place where we could cook what we want, in an environment that we’re comfortable in. I guess, proud of how it resonated with Miami, and that it had an impact on the dining scene. I’m proud of that.

How would you say the Miami restaurant dining scene has changed in the past 10 years?

It’s changed a lot. I mean it’s evolved, it’s legitimized itself, it’s gotten better. People embrace local products more, chefs branched out and opened their own restaurants. I’m encouraged by how the dining scene has evolved in Miami.

To try to stay current, you know it’s not easy. We’re not the shiny new, flashy restaurant anymore but hopefully what stands out is hospitality and the ethos that we hope to create.

How has Michael’s changed, or forced to change in that time? How do you think it has evolved?

That’s a good question, and we ask ourselves how we’re going to innovate and stay relevant all the time. I think we’ve done a pretty good job of sort of innovating and creating, and evolving but within keeping within the framework of what made Michael’s Genuine successful.

Every couple of years you have to look at what you’re doing, how you’re doing it? What it looks like and tastes like, and smells like, and sounds like. Over the years we’ve figured out a way to maximize the space. We went from dinner only, to occasional lunch, to full-time lunch, to brunch, to afternoon service, it’s pretty hard core there at this point. Then the space too, you know so we took the room next door, which was a private dining room and then we blew that space out, and extended the bar.

To try to stay current, you know it’s not easy. We’re not the shiny new, flashy restaurant anymore but hopefully what stands out is hospitality and the ethos that we hope to create.

What do you think the things are that have helped the restaurant survive and flourish for this long?

I think being — and it sounds stupid — but being genuine. When we opened really that word became the measuring stick for everything that we did, and so whenever we talked about anything, it was always in the context of you know, “Is that genuine? Does it feel right? Is it authentic? Is it sincere? Is it thoughtful?” I think that is what has maintained the simplicity thought out the restaurant.

Hospitality, luck, being in the right place, at the right time. I had no idea that to Design District would blow up like it did. While it hurt for a while, and still, there’s so much construction I think the area has transformed in a way that nobody ever expected.

What are you most proud of about the restaurant?

One thing that comes to mind for me, is that the extended family that it’s sort of has created for us and our family. It has created other families, people that met there, people that worked together that wound up being married and having kids. I think the sort of a, in some regards a breeding ground for talent, that then went out and spread around Miami a little bit. I think I’m proud of that.

We felt confident in what we did and what we set out to create, but you never know. I mean you can draw it up and then it can just not work.

What has been your scariest moment?

The scariest moment? Was probably opening, you know my family had everything riding on the success of that place and we just weren’t sure. We felt confident in what we did and what we set out to create, but you never know. I mean you can draw it up and then it can just not work. I would also say the time Matt Kingsley the wood iron grill cook almost burnt the restaurant down, that was scary.

Do you think Michael’s would survive opening in today’s climate?

That’s a great question and I have no idea. It’s a different world, and a different set of rules, and I don’t know but we’re still opening restaurants, so I would have to say, “Yes, for sure,” because of what the intentions are in the restaurant. It’s just serve simple, honest food in an unpretentious setting, and have some cheer, you know have some ideas about hospitality. That should always ride and be successful in our society, I hope.

Speaking of hope, what do you hope you accomplish with Michael’s moving forward?

More of the same I would say, to navigate through the changing times, and the demographics of the Design District, and new rules, and regulations, and guidelines, and mandates, and minimum wage. Hopefully be able to sustain success, and running the business, and the times are changing like crazy. For us, our intention is to keep doing what we’re doing. Continue to try to innovate, make friends, and relationships with our suppliers, and farmers, and you know all that stuff.

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