Journalist Hunter S. Thompson paid his final tab two years ago today, in his kitchen. Here's a quasi-local remembrance, thanks to South Sound chef Gordon Naccarato, who recalls feasting his eyes upon Thompson's addled acrobatics in his own Aspen restaurant years ago:
To my horror I saw a male customer doing somersaults -- one after the other -- throughout the dining room.
Even more amazing than that -- I noticed my manager standing in the dining room, watching and doing nothing.
I ran up to him and asked, "What in the hell is going on?"
He casually replied, "Relax, it's just Hunter."
I would like to think he was overjoyed at the potato pancake & caviar he had been eating ... but I think it most likely due to some other injested substance, besides the copious amounts of champagne and booze he fueled up on...
To say the guy had an appetite for life is an understatement, but whenever he came in to eat I was always impressed that he knew his way around a menu. I would never have guessed that he'd be the type to enjoy fine caviar and champagne...
But, of course, Thompson was the type to enjoy everything. Man cannot live by Gonzo alone. David McCumber, the managing editor of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, was Hunter's friend and editor. McCumber was my editor, too. McCumber e-mailed me his memory of Hunter S. Thompson, foodie:
He always ridiculed what he called the "white wine and pesto crowd" but that doesn't mean he didn't love to eat. He used to order everything on a room service menu, just to see if they were on their game.
Rest, and eat, in Gonzo.