George's

As the sole chef of George’s, Umy brings decades of experience to each plate he crafts. But he wasn’t trained at Le Cordon Bleu, Le Bernardin or even The Olive Garden. Umy taught himself in kitchens around the world, sometimes in front of a television camera.

For a short stint while growing up in Thailand, Umy hosted a cooking show. It’s true. I’ve seen it. I didn’t understand a word, but the same confidence that radiates from Umy like freshly ground peppercorn was unmistakable, even 20 years ago.

While Umy is the executive chef of George’s, Stephanie, his soon-to-be-wife, is maître d, hostess and (I suspect) co-dishwasher. I’ve never stuck around long enough to solve the weekly mystery of How the Dishes are Done, and I’m never made to feel guilty about it.

After all, George’s is a restaurant. While we might bus our own plates, we are guests, first and foremost. George’s even has reviews on social media sites (although it’s not open to the public). And we pay for our food and drink (although I’m fairly certain Umy has spent far more than we’ve ever collectively given him).

The recipe for George’s is simple: mix equal parts food, friends and alcohol

George’s started as a simple, weekly gathering of friends around a long dinner table in a newly purchased home in Far East Austin. (That’s not an actual Austin locale, but the name seems fitting.) Umy hand-picked the seed group of roughly a dozen people, spiced with the occasional out-of-town guest to add a little intrigue and keep the romance alive.

As I recall, we used to meet on Tuesdays. Then, Umy introduced the concept of Blood Thirstdays, a weekly event that starts with dinner and ends with a horror movie. The meals are often themed to the movie. I would give you examples of this fun concept, but my wife and I have never actually made it to the movie. We hurry home shortly after the meal, ostensibly because we have a five year-old son who needs his rest, but everyone knows it’s because we, the adults, are tired.

While searing a steak with a tiny blowtorch, Umy once told me, “You’d make a good cook.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s like jazz. You’d figure it out.”

I am not a musician, much less a jazz musician, but I get his point as I watch him toss vegetables in a sizzling circle of oil while slugging Bordeaux with his free hand. There are at least four items simmering, boiling, warming or cooling in the kitchen, all at various stages of readiness.

There are no timers. There are no cookbooks.

Like jazz, there are rules, though. Lots of them. Ask Umy why he does something in the kitchen, and you will get a detailed answer, one involving chemical reactions and cultural traditions. There’s plenty of improvisation, but it happens within an ornate latticework of tempered principles.

Maybe, if I could get over my profound hatred of doing dishes, I would come to love cooking someday. But when Umy is eager to dream up a new menu every week, do the requisite shopping, supply us with wine and cocktails, cook an unforgettable meal and then clean up after us—why would I ever want to start cooking?

But what about George?

George is a regal Australian-Shepherd mix with the personality of a 50 year-old man who has traveled the world, slept with countless partners and mastered the art of living The Good Life. George is the friend you’re proud to have but also wondering if you deserve.

But I should be clear: George is a dog. If there was every any doubt, you only need to put on the Star Wars theme song and wait a few moments until he begins howling in near perfect unison with the horn section. (He also does the Rocky theme song and several Taylor Swift tunes. It never gets old.)

While the house in which George resides technically belongs to Umy and Stephanie, he is clearly its rightful ruler and natural namesake.

I grew up watching a lot of Cheers.

That show embodied most of what I hoped adulthood would deliver: laughs, beer and a place “where everybody knows your name.”

As an actual adult, finding my own Cheers has been harder than I imagined. Like, way harder.

Maybe it’s because my wife and I have moved so much. Or maybe it’s because I’m more of an introvert than I realized when I was a kid. Or maybe it’s because I’m more socially awkward than I’m willing to admit as an adult.

Whatever the reason, I’ve long searched for a place I could trust every week, a place where I’d be surrounded by the love of good people, where I could laugh or argue or listen and not worry about judgment or rejection. A place where the food is delicious, the drinks strong and the company exquisite.

George’s is that place.

Justin Cone
Austin, 2018