Moonstone Bistro

Dear Redding:
Oh, how we love you so.
For 20 years, you have been our Muse.
With the phone calls for late night rendezvous, parties booked in secret, unknowing brides-to-be with rings hidden in cocktails, metal detectors smuggled in as brooms for a surprise gift, singing telegrams and even....Mag The Hag. An absolute legend of chicanery and vile decadence. And when we thought we'd seen it all, the topper came in the form of Santa Claus.
Oh, yeah.
THE Santa Claus!
With the belly and the beard, jolly as could be! No one...not even Mrs. Claus, knew Santa could sing like that!
Spectacles of mirth, friendship and community abound. But spectacles are a funny thing...they cut both ways.
There were the glass tabletops that would occasionally explode on the random Friday nights. Remember those? Showers of glass flinging themselves into every corner of the dining room, guests politely handing us bits of glittering glass extracted from open purses or jacket pockets.
(It's ALWAYS on Friday night! Why is it always on Friday night?!?)
We've tackled water leaks, electrical shorts, sweltering heat, kitchen fires, plumbing issues, and a diabolical ice machine. We've had spills, cuts, burns, heart attacks, doctors jumping up from their dinner to save a random person collapsed on the floor, broken chairs and recently...a pair of nesting pigeons, raising some chicks in our rafters.
We've also had Chefs Tasting dinners, 8 course wine pairings, wine makers dinners, the clink of fine Riedel glasses and the din of a full house, guests laughing, conversing, sharing their lives over a well laid table. Sprinkle in the crash of a broken plate, the clamor of the dish pit, Chefs bellowing, cursing, flailing about, knives flashing and the flicker of 16 burners of fire reflecting off the stainless steel hood, the grace of our waitstaff painting over the chaos with the brush of civility...and you start to get the feel of how beautiful a ride it's been.
Oh, we've had some bruises.
Some real doozies.
Some of them have been our wounds to lick alone, the lessons of business taught fast and cruel.
It is business, after all.
There was also shared trauma of a community in pain.
We were supposed to be evacuated from the shopping center, Carr fire bearing down on our town, breathing fire and brimstone.
We still had power and water...during a time a lot of people were watching their homes burn. So we did what we could.
We just opened the doors. No money needed.
Come and get it.
Served food to our tribe, branded by a tornado of fire.
It seemed the right thing to do.
It seemed the ONLY thing to do.
We've had a lot of experiences like that.
And we have been repaid a thousandfold.
The rug was pulled out from us, our business shuttered and us left shocked and confused.
The whole world wearing masks and standing 6 feet apart...
You were there for us.
Friends, Contractors, Architects, Builders, Framers, Electricians.
A patio rose from the tarmac in defiance of it all.
Our culture is understanding that work is hard, but you do it anyway.
So we spent 20 years doing the hard work.
We've been here.
Through the Recession, the fires, the Pandemic... the good times and the bad.
You know.
You were there with us.
With you behind us, we have provided 20 years of beautiful food and service.
We couldn't be more proud.
But all good things....
So now it's time to lay it all to rest.
Soon the windows will be draped in painters’ paper, the hoods silenced, the fryers cold.
Chairs will be stacked on tables, food donated to charities, and the dust will settle over everything, a blanket of inevitable.
But before that happens...before the locks change and the sign comes down, we have One Weekend Left.
Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
The last weekend of July.
Our Swan Song.
Come join us one last time, to break bread and drink wine, so when Monday comes and we turn out the lights, we, as a community, can say we had one Hell of a run.
Thank you Redding.
Thank you Shasta County.
And California? Well...we'll try to not hold it against you.
Cheers,
Moonstone Bistro.

Aahhhhh...Oregon coast!
Beat the heat!
Head to the ocean!
So.....we did.
Rolled off of I5, wearing just enough to not get arrested, and head down to Florence.
"Wheeeee!!!" Says I.
Hit the coast highway, the sun is shining, no fog and it's time to stretch my legs.
I have NOT been paying attention.
Nope.
The trees all leaning from wind shear, the birds magically hovering in the air without ever flapping their wings....
My truck door nearly rips off its hinges.
It practically flings me out of the cab...if it weren't for my seatbelt damn near cutting me in half...
Shock and surprise...which means my eyes were wide open and my mouth was primed for a choice expletive...which was completely thwarted by the half-ton of sand that blasted my face, scouring my eyes and lungs.
Gasping, wheezing, flailing about for the seatbelt, desperate to exit the vehicle and roll underneath, certain I'm being attacked...
Meanwhile, Tanya is calmly exiting the vehicle, graceful, testing the wind resistance.
I can FEEL her eyebrow raised on her forhead.
"I'm fine.." I gasp.
That's when the sun sets.
The day goes from a perfect 75 degrees to sub-polar in the blink of an eye. Add the wind, and my Redding apparel of shorts and the lightest, thinnest shirt I can find lends itself nicely to the frostbite I'm suddenly suffering.
The campsite backs up to 50 miles of towering sand dunes, bordered by Redwood forest, Ceders, and a beautiful fresh water lake.
Perfect!
I'm revived!!
Out I prance, proper attire achieved, beer in hand!!
I'm two gulps down and the back of my neck is on fire!
SMACK!!!
Blood comes back on my palm.
????
And I hear them....
Like TIE fighters, they scream about my little bald head, diving, pouncing, robbing me of my life's blood.
I'm at WAR!!!
Swinging and swatting in-between swigs of liquid barley,
Tanya once again gracefully appears, and promptly blinds me with some nuclear version of 'OFF' repellant that coats me in a layer of something that numbs my mouth and stings my lips.
But Whoa!! It WORKS!
Sure, every time I accidentally lick my lips I see funny colors and my mouth goes numb, but what the Hell! So does beer!!
Let's do this!
By day 4, our camper has more sand IN it than outside of it.
Between the mosquito spray and the fine grit particles, I actually FEEL like a peice of sandpaper.
No matter how hot it gets during the day, you have to carry a coat and wear jeans, lest you freeze your cahones off as soon as the sun sets.
Whatever. It's the Coast. That's what it does.
Next up, Sealion Cave!!
Right on!
Seals are COOL!
Precariously stuck to a cliff-face, we take the elevator down....descending into the cliff itself.
'It's beautiful' They said.
'Largest Sealoin rookery on the West Coast' They said.
'A site to behold!' They said.
What they DIDNT say was:
"How long can you hold your breath?"
The elevator doors open...and I am punched straight in the nose...my eyes are watering, I'm doing my best to be brave, to not just turn around and leave...but its a struggle to advance deeper into the cave.
Down the passage we go, the fetid stink of a thousand sealoins mating, eating, pooping...it's no lie about the enormity of the cave. It is, in fact, beautiful. But lord....it SMELLS.
I'm a Chef...my nose is how I make a living. I can smell something and know how it tastes.
Which means I can TASTE all one thousand of those Sealoins.
I'm holding my nose, wishing I would have bought the popcorn they sell...not to eat, but to bury my nose in the bag as a defense.
Tanya?
Taking pictures, asking for the binoculars, taking video...
Of course.
So it goes, beautiful hikes in the forest, watching the wind move the sand dunes, the cold nights and pleasant days.
Seafood everywhere, and fresh and delicious.
By day 7...I'm ready to come home.
It's the mark of a perfect vacation.
If you do it right, after a week or so, you miss your routine. The gym, your bed, dressing for only one climate...it's hot, true, but at least when you put your shorts on in the morning, you can wear them at 3 am as easily as you can at 3 pm.
You start to miss your home.
The warm nights.
The bustle and hum of Moonstone Bistro.
The whole Moonstone Crew.
And YOU.

Vacation. vay·KAY·shn. vā-kā'shən. An extended period of leisure and recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling. The action of leaving something one previously occupied.

Wednesday, July 10th - we’re back! We’re tanned! We’re funny again! Come by and say hi! We’ve missed you!❤️ xoxo Your Relaxed Friends at Moonstone Bistro 🥂

Chicken and Waffles for Father’s Day Brunch!

Chicken and Waffles for Father’s Day Brunch!
Just sayin’!

Moonstone is going to the birds!
Pigeons, specifically.
A breeding pair, beautiful, fat, with the little cooing noises and the sideways glances, looking down from their perch, head cocked like they are trying to listen but can't quite understand.
Problem is, their 'perch' is my $1,200 high pressure mister sytem, now repleat with pigeon....goo.
Perfect. Cause I need more to do.
They moved in about 3 weeks ago, evidenced by a smattering of twigs that kept showing up every day.
So, dutifully on the ladder I go.
"What now?" Says I.
And as my little bald head crests the top of the concrete pillar holding our patio roof, I'm met by a Pigeon who stares me directly in the eye.
He/She/It doesn't move.
Doesn't even blink.
It's less than 10 inches from my face, standing on a (very poorly constructed) litter of twigs.
So there we are.
Me, an advanced ape, and the Pigeon, which is our oldest model of telephone.
Staring at each other, less than a wings reach away.
Sooooo....
I do what any idiot male would do.
Cause we're kind of stupid like that.
I try to touch it.
Of COURSE I do.
Because I want to pet it.
I'm instantly involved in a whirlwind of fluttering, flapping, squaking, wings and feet, not so much attacking as just trying to get away, but not having anywhere to go.
Me and the Pigeon become one indistinguishable life form of feathers, twigs, swear words and spit.
While ON A LADDER.
Oh, yes.
Wouldn't have it any other way.
It occurs to me that this is how I die, killed by (very) undercooked squab.
And then...
It's over.
It just sits it's ass back down on its one remaining twig, c***s his head at me, stares me dead in the eye!
Daring me!
This the moment it's mate rolls up with a fresh twig in its beak.
Flys in from behind me, LANDS ON MY ARM, and hops right over to its mate.
It struts about with its little twig like "ooooo were gonna make some babies now" and fluffs, then sets the twig down, ready to get on with the egg-making.
So, here I am:
A Chef, with a pair of free-range squab looting twigs and bumming free rent on my patio, rearing young and stealing French fries.
Oh, I'm going to evict them.
Just not yet.
I'm going to pet them first.

We turned 18 today.
Moonstone, I mean.
Birthed on June 12th 2006.
She was a dirt floor when we first met, as humble a lady as you've ever seen, but all we saw was promise.
We stood in the middle of her raw shell, looking out the dirty floor to ceiling windows, and breathed all that promise in.
And then...we made promises of our own.
I spun tales of gleaming metal, knives so sharp you could slice parchment, 3 rivet All-Clad pans so tough you could fight a bear with them...and she spun pictures of soft corners, gentle colors, good lighting and fine stemmed wine glasses.
We made these promises, expelling them into the dirt of her floor.
Then came the blood, the grind, the shell shock of expense, hours grinding into days into months into years.
There was the Great Recession.
We lost people in that battle.
We also lost a day.
We had been running 7 days a week, lunch and dinner, for two straight years.
Then people started losing their homes.
We kept whispering promises, working, pleading, working more.
We had a mantra:
'Lights are on, doors are open'
Because we honestly did not know if, when we came to work in the morning, whether our key would unlock the door.
When it did, the next test was if the lights would come on. If they did...we were open!
This is when Lake Day was born.
After 4 years of pure grind, it became obvious we were going to make it.
That was 2010.
We needed a day off.
A REGULAR day off.
So we picked Monday, told our crew we were going dark one day a week, and we would see them all at the lake.
That lasted another 10 years.
6 days a week, lunch and dinner.
These were the golden years, making connections with farmers, Chefs Tastings, Venge wine dinners....Moonstone became part of Redding.
Moonstone was all stainless steel, granite bar, open kitchen, a bank of stoves with enough fire to roast a whole pig AND bake a cake. There was candles and flowers and wine.
No more dirt floor.
Then 2020 hit.
You remember that.
Masks.
Chaos, confusion, anger and...closed.
Just....closed.
????
We lost another day after that.
We whispered new improved promises, pleaded, and survived that one too. Things had changed. It was near impossible to fill the schedule...part time work?
No one was intrested.
What to do?
5 days a week!
Full time work only!
And we took off running.
Again!
With a new, gifted patio beyond our wildest dreams!
A new lease on life!
So here we are, 18 years later...battle scared, stainless scuffed....but still sturdy.
All-Clad pans? Carbon scored, but still heavy and strong as the day we bought them.
The tables are still set with delicate stemmed wine glasses, the bread still made fresh everyday, the pasta still rolled by hand.
And after all the long nights, caterings, proposals, anniversaries, birthdays, babies growing into men and women, children leaving for college, celebrations, date nights and holidays, we STILL don't have a microwave or heat lights.
Some things will never change...and some things have changed a lot.
Moonstone has shaped us as much as we have shaped her.
One thing remains true.
A unbending, unwavering truth.
Moonstone Bistro belongs to YOU.
It's one of the many promises we whispered onto that dirt floor, waaayyy back when.
We built it for you.
It's our 18th birthday because of you.
All of you.
Redding.
Friends, families, passer-thru's....all of you.
We would'nt BE 18 without out you.
So Happy Birthday Redding!
Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
Yours,
Moonstone Bistro.

Pasta Carbonara. It’s not the most photogenic pasta. It requires a crazy method of eggs, crispy pancetta and fresh herbs. You have to be very careful not to scramble the eggs and don’t over salt it because the pancetta and the Parmigiana-Reggiano has salt too. Of course we make our tagliatelle pasta from scratch too. And it eats! All you need now is a glass of wine…(we have that too!)

NOW it’s summer!🌞

The doors open at 9...but at 8:40, the whites of their eyes were at peering at us from behind the glass...then the ticket machine erupted into a ceaseless beacon of need, wanting, more, more, demanding, pleading and finally ruthlessly punishing all in its path.
The servers started off as soldiers, in formation, battle lines drawn, but by hour three they were like startled deer, every man for himself.
The cooks were blinking back pure salt, trying to keep the crust of dry and burn from getting in their eyes, then, when the fourth turn erupted upon the restaurant, the siren call for eggs wailed across the plains.... blood was in the water.
Still, we all held our ground, reloaded, re-stocked, pushing back until finally, the ticket machine had nothing left to give.
When the last guest left, we collapsed into sobs of joy, holding each other like combatants on a field of fallen peers.
We ate the last pancakes.
Drank syrup from the bottle.
Every peice of bacon was rounded up and became extinct.
We were covered in batter, flour, egg, grease, the blood of sausage and bacon, and the tears of a million fallen Memosa's.
In short:
It was Mother's Day....we were epically busy, and it went as well as it could.
It's never pretty....but we slammed out 241 covers....and felt like veterans afterwards. Bonded by a shared trauma.
Oh, Mothers Day.
We shall meet you again next year....

I lost one of my tribe today.
Or, rather, I paid my respects.
Tribes are interesting things.
Everyone has to find their own.
First though, you have to discover who you are: what tribe you belong to.
We met 25 years ago.
Kennett Diamond Brewery.
I was the Chef there.
We spent a year and a half in the trenches together.
I make my living with knives and fire...and him?
A salesman, a pitchman, a comedian, suave, fit, handsome and charismatic.
That's not what made us from the same tribe though.
Takes way more than that.
He bounds in the door, all furrowed up in his face.
"What the Hell happened to you??"
He looks at me, grins, and says:
"Nothing I can't fix."
I smirk. That's man talk.
Tanya lets him know we're short-handed, rese's stacking up...
"Gimme a double section! I got you!"
And he's off.
Waltzes up to the table like cat, all whiskers and confidence, and starts...
"I need a beer, which means YOU need a beer, and good news, this is a brewery, so I'm guessing you all need to start with our beer sampler, and that goes great with our beer battered onion rings, and you can't leave without trying the wings, so we should probably start there.. "
And the guests just nod their heads. They don't dare interrupt. And of COURSE they want the beer flight.
And wings? Well, they didn't know they wanted them, but now he's mentioned it, they definitely need those too....
And that's his game.
Charming, charismatic...he prowls about the dining room, selling ice to Eskimos.
The problems he walked in the door with?
He just flicked the 'ON' switch....and they disappeared behind his smile.
We became good friends....work will do that to you.
You learn who can rely on. Who can shoulder the load, pick up the slack.
His fight or flight instinct was always 'fight'.
And that's when we knew we were of the same tribe.
Most of the time, some disaster would be unfolding (it was a brewery-restaurant. No end to chaos...) and it was always me, Andy, Tanya and a few others in the middle of it.
You know those people who run TOWARDS trouble?
Something bad is happening and they go try to find out what?
Those guys.
You know the ones that jump their bicycle into a pond? Or do backflips off the rope swing?
Yeah.
They become Firefighters, or Cops, or Indy Car Drivers, or Astronauts.
Explorer's.
You can find their type working in any restaurant.
Constantly poking the Bear.
Yes. Idiots. Danger Monkeys.
Drive too fast, talk too loud, cuss, spit, and think hiking out into the woods just to climb up a waterfall and jump off...is FUN.
Those guys.
That's us. My tribe.
If your twitchy, can't sit still, clever and curious... you might be one of us.
If you break things just to see if you can put them back together BETTER than before...you probably ARE one of us.
If you see a group of people standing at the mouth of a cave, all scared of the Dragon that might be lurking in the black...
Don't worry.
One of my tribe will hop right in that sucker just so they can say they saw a Dragon.
Sure.
It can get you killed.
In fact....it probably will.
I've been to quite a few funerals for my tribe.
I'm surprised one of them hasn't been for me, honestly.
So I'm going to say good bye to my friend, the way my tribe does.
I'm going to get a couple tacos, a shot of tequila with a beer back, and I'm going to salute everything wild and beautiful in this world.
If your part of my tribe...you know the world's not worth living in without the dangerous, without the wild, without the chance to conquer and overcome.
Here's to Andy.
When it's my turn.... do the same for me.
I'll see you soon enough, old friend.
Cheers.

Dear Redding!
It's not my fault!
It's AT&T!!
(Not surprising, really.)
It started a month ago....AT&T is no longer offering land-line service.
Phasing it out.
You may have heard about this....made National News.
So AT&T rolls in, switches out my phone to VOIP (Voice over internet processing) system, which is a cell phone, and just like that....
Everything is Hell in a Handbasket.
Suddenly...people can't call us!!
If you have T-MOBILE....YOU CAN NOT CALL MOONSTONE BISTRO!!!
??!!!???
WTH????
It's true!!
T-MOBILE customers cannot reach Moonstone!!
I've called AT&T twice (Good luck getting a human...trust me, we're in no danger of A.I. taking over the world anytime soon)
But still not fixed!
T-MOBILE customers get a 'This number is not available.' message.
Everyone else can call NO PROBLEM.
?????!!!
One of the many, many joys of owning a business is dealing with random idiocy like this.
Why T-MOBILE??
Haven't the faintest idea.
I just want my phone to work!
But it doesn't.
It's been a month.
I'm still working on the 'Repair Order' filed with AT&T.
How to fix it??
Well....I can't give out our personal numbers for reservations, that would be a disaster...so, for the time being, if you have T-MOBILE, borrow someone's phone??
Call AT&T and ask THEM to make a reservation??
Maybe that will get their attention....
You can email us....that will work, temporarily.
Just know we are OPEN, and I am fighting with AT&T to get the problem resolved.
Heck, it took a couple of weeks to figure out what the problem even was!
I am terribly sorry, and don't have a good answer. This is one of those 'Completely at the Mercy of a HUGE Corporation that doesn't give a Squat' type of situations, and worse, it's a really weird problem, so the hapless "How can I help you" person that I did manage to talk to had no idea how to fix it.
Trust me, I am working on it!
If you have T-MOBILE, I am sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope to have it fixed.....
Soon?
I hope.
I'm terribly sorry.
Please bare with me!

I know it's the kitchen that has the reputation.
Well earned, true.
Scallywags, land-pirates, temperamental, loud, inappropriate....sure.
But that's cause we cooks wear our hearts on our sleeve.
We are OBVIOUS.
it's not us cooks you need to worry your mind about.
Nope.
Sunday Morning:
It's 8 am.
2 hours before service opens for brunch.
I unlock the door and notice I'm a cook short.
"Shouldn't there be 3 of us?"
My Sauté Chef just shakes his head.
10 min later, I get a call.
"Car won't start! Trying to jump it! I'll be there as soon as I can!"
Ok. Good. So they are not dead or in jail. That's a good start.
I kick into high gear and start setting up both stations, get the biscuits made, soup on, egg station set up...
And the clock reads 8:40.
???!!???
OoooOOOooooo....
That is VERY late.
I'm doing me best to keep both stations from falling in the weeds, but it's getting sketchy....
About now, the wait-staff starts rolling in.
They need about an hour to prep the dining room and bar, so they appear about 9 am.
He comes in the door, right on time, and notices he is alone.
"Where is everybody?"
I look up...
It's 9:05 am. 55 min before we open for guests.
"Ooohhh...this could be rough..."
I mutter.
I'm about to go into panic mode, call in reinforcements, when I see them:
Our bartender...and my Patisserie Chef.
They hit the door, and they both have the suppressed grin of a criminal who Got Away With It.
Sure enough...
"God, help me, I am sooooo hung over.." our bartender mutters.
She's grabbing ice, prepping the bar, and shushing anything to loud.
Bar gun?
"Shhhhhhhh..."
Coffee machine cycling?
"Shhhhhh..."
When she dumps the ice in the well, she simultaneously winces, then giggles....
And my Pattisserie Chef?
She is literally pulling sticks and twigs out of her shoes...
Oh, yeah.
Cause apparently, she was at the drag strip all night, then cause that wasn't frisky enough, went MUDDING in a field IN HER CAR,
Sticks and twigs and mud everywhere, wound up getting pulled over by the boys in Blue, talked her way out of it, (Must be nice to be a cute girl. My ass would still be in jail...)
and left her car in her driveway as a warning to the neighbors.
Of course it didn't start.
It was to scared to MOVE.
No amount of electricity was gonna jump start that poor thing.
It needs counseling.
Meanwhile, my Bartender and Patisserie Chef realize they had the SAME NIGHT, and are now recounting their exploits like a couple of vikings counting skulls.
They are moving like lightning, hung over, laughing, bitching, occasionally taking a moment to suck in a deep breath (Gotta keep the stomach down!) but they are getting it done.
It's 9:52 am.
5 min to showtime.
They disappear into the bathrooms, and at 9:58...they walk out looking like proper ladies, all primped and pretty and looking harmless and sweet.
Don't fall for it.
I'm warning you....
If it works in a restaurant...don't trust it.
It'll break your heart and wreck your car.
But at least it will make you breakfast....

Ahhhh...The Shuffle.
Like a deck of cards, people are always in motion.
Sometimes you can keep crew for years. They are stable, in solid relationships, housing, have pets.
Having reliable transportation helps.
A lot.
Remember those days?
With the crappy car?
The little drive-prayers you would make?
"C'mon, baby, just get me home, just one more time, I'll get you fixed, I PROMISE!"
And you say it with a depth of passion and truth that seems to propel the vehicle on sheer will alone.
But it's exhausting.
Frustrating.
It saps your strength, knowing you face constant uncertainty.
Not having steady income does the same.
Arguably, it's worse....
Now, not only are you in a precarious state of near collapse, but there is a very limited amount of options.
No money SUCKS.
I know this as a hard truth in my life.
A LOT of people do.
I started washing dishes in High School. Not cause I was a 'Good Kid' or 'Had Promise'.
Nope.
I needed MONEY.
I needed a job!
I wanted to move into Melody Trailer Park, in Redway, which for me, was a step up.
Job was essential.
And I never looked back.
I found that working was the solution to most of my problems.
The more I was at work, the less problems I had.
I like work.
I like my crew.
I see them more than I see anyone else...they become my defacto family.
Our 'Work Family'
There is such a thing as 'Work Wives' and 'Work Husbands'.
Having a job is important.
It helps you pay rent and lose that crappy car that keeps leaving you stranded.
And I happen to have one.
A job.
Available, I mean.
On my nighttime cooks line.
Gone are the days when I had a SINGLE job I had to think about.
Now, as a Chef, I have 14 of them. (!)
It's true.
And everyone of them is important. I need to put the right people in place, because my crew works in concert with each other.
Right now, my nightime Patisserie station has an opening.
Making fresh pasta from scratch.
Knife work.
Ganache and caramel and cream.
It's a good, steady, full time job with a good crew in a good restaurant.
It's an opportunity to come and ply your skill and learn new ones!
A bit of stability in a sometimes chaotic world.
If you are made of knives and fire, if you consider a full table and full belly true wealth, if you can't sit still, are a little too loud, work with your hands, laugh at inappropriate things, yell at the TV and are mouthing the words as you read this.....
You're one of us!
If you're curious, figity, feed stray cats and secretly hope you come across someone with a flat tire just so can help them....
I want to hire you.
Roll on up to Moonstone Bistro and drop off a resume.
I'm looking for a cook to plug into my team. My family.
You can drop off your resume anytime between 11 am and 5 pm, Weds through Sun.
We can show you around, teach you new, cool stuff, and feed the people.
There's nobility in that.
A sense of purpose.
So if your looking for work, I have a home for you.
And if you get a flat tire on the way, if any of my crew sees you...there's a good chance they'll be stopping to help you out.

Aaaahhhh...
Spring!
Finally!
With the 80 degree Monday and the snow and hail on Weds.
"Oh!" You say. "What a beautiful day!"
And off you go, picnic basket in hand.
You roll up, unfurl the blanket...
That's when the rain starts.
Before you make it back to the car, 30 mph gusts are turning your blanket into a sail.
You know....Spring!
And the ITCH!!!!
Everyone wants to get outside!!
Shorts! Tan! Mini skirts!!!!
Yard work! Mow! Clean!Everything is green!
Quick!!!!
Wheres my Lake Body??
Lose 10 pounds!
Eat healthy!
More produce!!
Salad for a week!
Believe me.....I get it!
I'm right there.
I want spring peas! Strawberries! Broccolini and basil and elephant garlic and tomatoes!!
Aaahhhh!!!!
Tomatoes!!!
Every year at this time, all I want to do is change my menu!
But there's a catch.....my farmer isn't quite ready yet.
Just cause there's sun in the sky doesn't mean the vegetables are done. They are GROWING!
Patience!
(Not my strong point.)
Relax!
(What does that even MEAN??)
I scramble for the phone:
"Tomatoes, peaches, strawberries, basil, garlic, apricots and peas!" I blurt.
She laughs.
"Easy, killer! We'll be ready late May."
"Late May??" I stammer...
She huffs and laughs.
"Yes...it takes a minute for a vegetable to grow, you know!
Chefs! All knives and fire. You need to play in some dirt to keep you grounded!"
And she's right. As usual.
So.....
It's mid April now. I have 30-ish days to write a new spring/summer menu, then the moment the Julia's Fruit Stand van rolls into town, POW!!!
I'll be ready!
Heck!! I'm ready NOW!
In the meantime, me and the crew will make new appetizers, run some specials...test the waters so to speak.
But never fear!
Spring is here, summer on the way, and new menu coming soon!
I just need the farmers to put a little extra hurry into hatching those tomatoes....

Dear Redding:
I am hearing some funny things!
Whispers on the wind!
Rumors floating about!!
Which is usually fine, because I usually start them.
For example...
Did you know I opened Moonstone with an ankle braclet gifted to me by Shasta County?
It's true!!
(It's ok...we've made up since then!)
Seriously though!!!
You can't be a Chef if you haven't been arrested.
No one will take you seriously.
You have to have street cred!!
Artists have to suffer for their work!
Cut off an ear!
Be banished by the king!
In trouble with the law!!
It's how art is BORN!!
So rumors floating about concerning my greatest muse, Moonstone Bistro?
No problem!
It's how we stay in the public eye!
Except...
Not this time.
Nope.
This rumor I didnt start .
It grew all by itself.
Something about Moonstone Bistro being in Escrow!
(??!??)
Now, it's no secret Moonstone Bistro is for sale.
Has been for awhile.
It's a tricky bit of business, trying to legacy a restaurant.
But if Moonstone was in escrow...Redding...I promise I would tell you!
You would hear it from me first!
I don't want you finding out from someone else!!!
After all we've been through??
No....
That's not how I'm going to let this go down!
See, the thing is....I'm old.
No, it's true.
I'm not as good as I used to be.
The 30 year old me would kick my 52 year old ass!
I'm of the age that I can tell the weather with my knee!!
Jump out of bed, full 90 degree bend?
It's summertime! Low relative humidity! 100 degree day!
But...
If I drag my self to the bathroom, leg locked out like a bad mummy movie?
It's cold and rainy outside.
Plus, I'm bald.
That alone is a sign of the apocalypse!
I used to be a hippy!!
(Ankle bracelet, remember?)
So Moonstone needs a Youngblood to come in and move the old dog out!
But....I do have a responsibility to my town and my community.
Moonstone is bigger than me now.
Bigger than Tanya and I both.
Moonstone Bistro belongs to the community of Redding! We know there is some hungry, young talent out there, and they are looking for opportunity. Waiting for the chance for to gun us down!
As it should be!
When the right gunslinger(s), capable of leading a kick-ass crew of knife wielding, classically trained Chefs, AND have the Velvet Glove touch of our front of house....
When that person, or persons, rolls into town...
Well!
I'll let you know!
I'll introduce you!
We're going to have to approve of them!
Not anybody will do!
We're hoping it will be someone local, close to our hearts already.
But....
Its just a fantasy.
A rumor.
Nothing more.
There is:
No buyer.
No offers.
No escrow.
The ankle bracelet, on the other hand?
Yeah.....
That one is probably true....