It was the middle of the dinner rush tonight (I use the term "rush" loosely, it wasn't all that busy) and I was busy in the well making way too many frozen margaritas when I heard a server say, "Isn't that Terrell Owens at table 40?" I looked, and sure enough, it was. The NFL's favorite million-dollar brat was enjoying a plate of ribs and a glass of iced tea with a female companion. He seemed to be relaxed and enjoying himself. No one asked him for an autograph or interrupted his meal to offer either praise or condemnation. In fact, nothing exciting happened. I had heard that he's the money behind some downtown bar; perhaps he was here to check in on his investment. His server said his tab was $35 bucks, and he left her a $15 tip. Good for him. My opinion of him has risen incrementally -- as long as he doesn't sign with the Falcons. They have enough problems already.
I never intended to blog about celebrity sports gossip, but it's not every day that T.O. walks into your restaurant. At least not if your restaurant is in Birmingham, Alabama.
3 hours ago