![]() ![]() I remember buying cups of it from her stall at the Broadway Farmers Market back in its bootstrapped days, before I really knew her. That’s also where she became inspired by British-style ginger beer-bracing stuff that truly tastes of ginger and lemon. Rachel mostly grew up on Whidbey Island she and Adam met while living in Germany. Once she had pointed out the details that made a restaurant great-or less great-I couldn’t unsee them. I genuinely forget the restaurant, but once we went out to dinner and Rachel was scandalized that the place had dusty HVAC vents. She instilled that at her own businesses. She told me once that Kelly Ronan at Lark makes sure her staff greets customers when they walk through the door, and bids them farewell when they leave. “Everything okay?” Her years waiting tables-at Lark, Oddfellows, Delancey-gave her a bionic vision for hospitality. “You’ve been quiet lately,” she might text. As someone who keeps my emotions measured, at least on the outside, being the recipient of this gale force love was uncharted territory. She reserved special ire for anyone who shortchanged (or opened a competing business near) any member of her band of friends. ![]() She had fierce mama bear energy and was protective of people in her orbit. But here I’ll write about our conversations, which could wind from King County politics to New Yorker articles to discussions on the definition of hospitality about how she was a low-key prolific home cook, whipping up rhubarb cake and vegetarian soup on weekend afternoons about how she and her dear friend and business partner, Kate Opatz, always threw each other dinner parties on their birthdays. Because of that personal connection, I seldom wrote about Rachel or her businesses.
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