I remember stepping into HLAY for the first time and feeling an energy that I had never experienced before. It was magnetic, a touch chaotic, and it immediately assured me that I was in good hands with its low, steady thrumming. I had the time of my life. It’s been almost six years since then, and HLAY has been there for every birthday, anniversary, holiday, or excuse to celebrate. I have told anyone that would listen for years that it is my #1, and among the best and most creative restaurants in the city. It is one of my favorite places to be. The last couple of years I’ve had the opportunity to moonlight at HLAY, alongside Chef JW and the team. I hosted, managed, tended bar, and expo’d. No matter the cover count, the work felt important. There is an easy reverence to HLAY, and I felt a trust that hung over the room when JW and LT were not there. It’s hard to imagine the hole that JW leaves behind at his restaurants as well as the dining scene of LA. Hard to imagine I’ll never hear him both excitedly and totally nonchalantly (because it’s no big deal, he just threw it together) explain a dish, or see his silhouette in the kitchen window of HLAY. Here’s to the man that showed me and countless others how to best enjoy frogs legs, turkey tails, and steak tartare. The man who continued to captivate us with a menu that was always fun and creative, but felt effortless and grounded. The man who shepherded into being two restaurants that have made folks feel at home when they arrive, and rejuvenated when they leave. The man who said of the Junglebirds I made him post-shift, “Not bad, but what the fuck did you put in there?” Shine bright, space cowboy. We’ll see you on the other side ❤️