Hey, chief. There’s the guy. How you doin’? Got your friends here, party of six. Lady in the hat. Great to see you. My name is Joe Biden and I’ll be your server tonight. Lemme tell you a story. (He pulls up a chair and sits.)

Miguel Gallardo

Folks, when I was six years old my dad came to me one night. My dad was a car guy. Hard worker, decent guy. Hadn’t had an easy life. He climbed the stairs to my room one night and he sat on the edge of my bed and he said to me, he said, “Champ, your mom worked hard on that dinner tonight. She worked hard on it. She literally worked on it for hours. And when you and your brothers told her you didn’t like it, you know what, Joey? That hurt her. It hurt.” And I felt (lowers voice to a husky whisper) ashamed. Because lemme tell you something. He was right. My dad was right. My mom worked hard on that dinner, and it was delicious. Almost as delicious as our Chicken Fontina Quesadilla with Garlicky Guacamole. That’s our special appetizer tonight. It’s the special. It’s the special. (His voice rising) And the chef worked hard on it, just like my mom, God love her, and if you believe in the chef’s values of hard work and creative spicing you should order it, although if you don’t like chicken we can substitute shrimp for a small upcharge.

Thank you. Thank you. Now, hold on. There’s something else you need to know.

Our fish special is halibut with a mango-avocado salsa and Yukon Gold potatoes, and it’s market-priced at sixteen-ninety-five. Sounds like a lot of money, right? Sounds like “Hey, Joe, that’s a piece of fish and a little topping there, and some potatoes.” “Bidaydas,” my great-grandmother from County Louth would have called ’em. You know what I’m talking about. Just simple, basic, sitting-around-the-kitchen-table-on-a-Tuesday-night food. Nothin’ fancy, right? But, folks, that’s not the whole story. If you believe that, you’re not . . . getting . . . the whole . . . story. Because lemme tell you about these Yukon Gold potatoes. These Yukon Gold potatoes are brushed with extra-virgin olive oil and hand-sprinkled with pink Himalayan sea salt, and then José, our prep guy. . . . Well. Lemme tell you about José. (He pauses, looks down, clears his throat.)

I get . . . I get emotional talking about José. This is a guy who—José gets here at ten in the morning. Every morning, rain or shine. Takes the bus here. Has to transfer twice. Literally gets off one bus and onto another. Twice. Never complains. Rain, snow, it’s hailin’ out there. . . . The guy literally does not complain. Never. Never heard it. José walks in, hangs his coat on a hook, big smile on his face, says hello to everybody—Sal the dishwasher, Angie the sous-chef, Frank, Donna, Pat. . . . And then do you know what he does? Do you know what José does? I’ll tell you what he does, and folks, folks, this is the point I want to make. With his own hands, he sprinkles fresh house-grown rosemary on those potatoes (raises voice to a thundering crescendo), and they are golden brown on the outside and soft on the inside and they are delicious! They are delicious! They are delicious!

Thank you.

Now, folks, I gotta do a table touch on 17 and get some more breadsticks to 26, so I’m gonna wrap up here. But there’s something I want you to think about. I want you to think about something. You, me, José, Lord love him, Donna, Pat . . . we’re in this thing together. We’re in it together. You order the food, I bring the food, you eat the food. . . . That’s America. That’s America. You know, my folks had some ups and downs. My dad started out doin’ pretty good, you know, but then, way of the world, things got tough there in Scranton. And we had to move in with my mom’s parents, the Finnegans. It wasn’t easy for any of ’em. My dad was a proud guy, and it wasn’t easy for my mom to see him struggle so hard. Cleanin’ boilers, sellin’ cars. But he worked and he worked, and my mom was right there at his side, and eventually things got a little better. That’s all they wanted, you know? Just for things to get a little better for their boys and for my sister, Val. And they did. They did. Now, we lost my mom a couple of years ago. But if she was here you know what she’d say? I do. You wanna know what she’d say? She’d say, “Joey, I hope your friends saved some room for dessert, because the Molten Chocolate Explosion Cake with Burnt-Caramel Gelato is outta this world, Joey. It is literally out of this world.” And lemme tell you something: she may have just been little old Jeannie Finnegan from North Washington Avenue, but that woman knew about quality food at reasonable prices, and if you believe like my mom did that desserts should be sinfully delicious and big enough to share, then you must tell me, right here, tonight (raises voice to a thundering crescendo and pounds the table), “Joe, we’ll take the Molten Chocolate Explosion Cake, and bring us a couple of extra plates and some forks!” Thank you! Thank you! God bless America, and don’t forget to validate your parking! ♦