There is a quiet kind of satisfaction in building something that no one quite sees, but everyone feels. It starts long before the first guest arrives. In the room's stillness, before the chairs are pulled out and the glasses catch the light, there is a kind of listening. Not to people, but to possibility. What does this evening want to be? What does the room need? I move through it piece by piece. The menu first, always. Not just what sounds good, but what makes sense toget