09/15/2026
I just got back from Alaska to catch silver salmon.
And I did catch salmon as you can see here. Beautiful fish. Strong fish. The kind that makes you feel briefly qualified to tell a story that begins with, “You should’ve seen the one that got away.”
But here’s the thing. When people ask me about the trip, I found myself starting with the people, not the fish.
The crews who knew the water. The deck hands who had everything ready before we understood what we needed. The people who answered questions, solved problems, made us laugh, kept us safe, and somehow made a group of travelers feel less like customers and more like guests in their own home.
They had one week to make an impression. And they did.
That got me thinking about Epi’s.
Most people come here for dinner. Maybe they have heard about the croquetas. Maybe it is an anniversary, a birthday, a first date, or a long overdue night away from their own kitchen. Maybe they just drove past that little red house one too many times and finally decided to find out what’s going on inside.
Whatever brought them through the door, we may only get ONE shot. One meal. One opportunity to show someone what we do, how we do it, and why we still do it this way.
The food has to be right. No question about that. But a great plate of food is only the beginning.
People remember how they were greeted. They remember whether someone made room for them. They remember the server who knew the menu or remembered their drink order or the person who noticed a birthday, the warmth of the room, the smell coming from the kitchen, and the feeling that—just for a couple hours—they were somewhere that cared about getting things right.
That’s what we try to do at Epis.
We are not just serving dinner. We are being trusted with someone’s evening.
That’s the strange thing about running a restaurant. You can measure food costs. You can count reservations. You can look at sales reports and labor numbers and all the other things that keep a small business honest. But you can’t put a number on the people who decide your little red house is worth coming back to.
And like that crew in Alaska, we know we may only get one chance to make it count—and we take that opportunity seriously. ❤️💚