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I was not in SF in person last Sunday. I wish I was. But my account has been taken over by Joe's loyal comrades who wish to go on record here, his favorite place on the webz, with their acts of love, appreciation, remembrance and inebriation.
Their reporter on the ground, SFST, contributes as follows.
A summons, heard only by the initiated, gathered a tribe to mourn and honor their beloved elder. No single soul presided. Favorite stories were told and countless special bottles opened. Ancient club garb was revealed. Buster and Mao squinted over wine glasses. Shorts too. Especially shorts.
Well-tuned offerings Huet alongside cheery vin rouge. A certain chef spoiled us, reminding us of previous events here in this clubhouse.
The event went into double overtime. Member after member told me how Joe touched them deeply. As one said, “Joe meant a great deal to me. I can’t imagine I meant as much to him as he did to me.” He is, of course, terribly wrong Joe’s friends are everything to him. The very air he breathed. His most precious gift to all of us.
From its founding six years ago, Terroir was one of Joe’s favorite places on earth. An apt place to begin to move forward. Retell the stories and start a few new ones.
The Lore: If you haven’t heard it, check out Dagan’s story of meeting joe, Luc’s story of brushing aside Eric Asimov, Dagan’s story of Ana Louisa’s visits in her Wine Therapy shirt.
Disclaimer: Many present were not photographed and some photographed were not present.
Their reporter on the ground, SFST, contributes as follows.
A summons, heard only by the initiated, gathered a tribe to mourn and honor their beloved elder. No single soul presided. Favorite stories were told and countless special bottles opened. Ancient club garb was revealed. Buster and Mao squinted over wine glasses. Shorts too. Especially shorts.
