Mariano brings me to Viola's Southern Kitchen—a Black-owned restaurant near Lincoln Square on the North Side of Chicago for lunch. It's a small restaurant that's casual and homey.
He introduces me to Viola, a seventy-year-old woman who is very active in the kitchen as the head chef and owner. She appreciates Mariano's presence, but she doesn't hug him—though she hugs me—and only clasps her hands to her chest as she looks up at him. She's a small, round woman of about five foot three.
Then she faces him, her hands on her hips. "You don't visit me as much anymore. Is my restaurant not good enough for you, is that it?"
"I've just been very busy with work," he reassures her.
Viola tuts as she walks away without taking our orders, but then she glances over her shoulder and asks me, "Do you eat seafood?"
"I love seafood!"
To that, Mariano adds, "She doesn't eat chicken."