"He made me feel like I was the best thing that had happened to him all day..."

We lost a dear friend this week. You did too. I don’t have the words for this, and feel inadequate eulogizing a man who was known so well, and meant so much to so many here in the East Bay and beyond. I met Jonathan ("Jonno") seven years ago, while Max, and countless other Chez Panisse alums, industry professionals, restaurant patrons, and neighbors have known Jonathan Waters for decades. 

And if you didn’t know Jonno, I might humbly suggest that in someway you did. Perhaps you never directly experienced his unique charm, his light lyrical cadence, his quick wit, his gentle presence - but somewhere when you experience true and genuine hospitality, and felt or feel your presence so utterly welcome… as a guest, as a stranger, as a human being - then, in some way, you know Jonno.

My earliest and most meaningful memory started with a poem. An invitation to a dinner party with him, several months before we opened the wine shop. In an industry where many prepare faces and façades- he was immediately welcoming, curious, and encouraging. I was lucky to spend time with him in these ways, brought into his circle through Max and Julia and their close friendship with him. A day or so before the dinner party, Jonno sent a note proposing that everyone bring a short poem to share. At some point during the meal these were read aloud - some sharing favorites, some their own original words. It was one of his many simple magic tricks, but no illusion - just a way of levitating hearts, of transforming a dining room to a space where each individual is seen, their voices heard.

And his generous spirit did not require reservations. Walk-ins were welcome. Julia has stories about going on runs with Jonno, and him addressing every random passerby with a smile, a hello...always connecting.

Like the quote at the top, from Kermit Lynch in yesterday's remembrance in the SF Chronicle, reflecting on such a loss, I’ve read so many other quotes and memories and observations the past few days and I keep thinking: So everyone felt this way about him too. But rather than quoting all the others, I'll leave you with this poem, which came across my feed (via Ramen Shop). A poem that Jonno himself chose to share with company at a recent dinner gathering. 

Small Kindnesses 
Danusha Laméris 

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”



Julia has organized a fundraiser to help support Jonathan's daughter, Hazel. With Jonno's passing, it is up to us-- his community-- to take extra care of her. Please join us in doing what you can to support Hazel's college education.
Click HERE to help.


All love,
Daniel