Feeling Fine at Food & Wine 09

"Hosea is really stressed out and he's not taking any more interviews today. You'll have to wait until tomorrow," the PR Witch Lady said. She wore black rimmed glasses and had short spiky black hair and narrow eyes and she didn't like me from go.

"Do you have a problem?" she asked, giving me a look like she was trying to light me on fire with her eyes.

"Nope, it's all good. No worries," I said, doing my best hey-NYC-bitch-mellowthefuckout accent.

I was in a mild panic waiting for the interview, since my story, which I was writing for the Boulder Daily Camera, was entirely focused on Boulder homeboy Hosea Rosenberg, the winner of this season's Top Chef.

Never have I been so nervous in anticipation of an interview, and I couldn't figure out why. I'd interviewed celebrities much bigger. I've been face-to-face with the likes of Heidi Klum and Seal, Mariah Carey and Barry Bonds, who let me tell you, is one intimidating motherfucker. So what was my problem?

The night before our original meeting time (The Wicked Witch of the East put the kibosh on that one), I couldn't sleep. I had nightmares that I was stuck in Steamboat and no one would help me get in touch with the right person to get the message that I'd be late, and to make matters worse, my tongue swelled up.

The next day my nightmare became a reality when I couldn't remember if I was supposed to meet Hosea in the media tent, or the media room inside the St. Regis Hotel? Now sweating, i ran back and forth between the two venues only to get shut down by the City Bitch on Wheels. So I had a beer, and had a few words with Hosea, who seemed as down to Earth as I'd expected him to be. What, with him being a Colorado boy and all. What, with him not being from NYC, and therefore not having any stick up his you-know-what that should be removed.

Sunday at around 1 pm I showed up at the location where Ms. Cat Claw told me to go and when I arrived there the guys with all the television equipment said, "Hosea just left."

So I called her, now in a more-than-mild panic and learned they were across the street. She could see me from where she was standing, and I had the distinct feeling she'd been watching me all the while, cackling to herself and making jokes to her friends at my expense.

I tried to be extra nice. "So, are you happy it's almost over?" I asked.

"Not at all. It's been a faaabulous weekend," she said, not looking my way. Her enormous Louis Vuitton bag sat open on the bench, and when I asked the girl sitting next to it to shove over so I could sit down, Ol' Evil Eyes did not bother to remove it. I decided to stop pretending I didn't hate her since she made her feelings about me pretty damn clear as well.

When I finally got my shot with the interview, Hosea was exactly how I'd expected him to be, cool but not aloof, confident but not cocky, and very very cute. That's when I realized what I might have been nervous about. Like the old saying goes, it's all about the dimples.

(and the boob -- a little shot of me, and my various body parts, trying to calm my nerves with a little help from Stella Artois, which was definitely the best wine I tasted all weekend).