Rugged individualism: my kind of thing!

Isn't it ironic, ISN'T IT IRONIC, that on the same day (September 3rd, see post below) that my mom was complaining about my absence of notable pursuits in life, the AP was running a story on its feature wire that included references to my various involvements with the kitchens at L'Etoile?

Did I even know? Of course not. But Doug Moe picked it up yesterday in the Cap Times (here), and I eventually picked up my copy of the paper LATE yesterday, threw it away (does anyone ever read the paper they subscribe to? Okay, okay, I do as well. Usually.), only to be told (more like teased) today at work that I am HOT STUFF (perhaps not quite that hot, perhaps not even lukewarm, but mentioned nonetheless).

The phrase that stands out for me is not the mention of my cooking activities at L'Etoile or my foraging, but my picking out Odessa due to my attraction to her rugged individualism. In truth, I just wanted to work for the best chef in town (why kill yourself for lesser beings), but it sounds cool -- like I am a rugged type myself.

To reiterate a phrase that I have used repeatedly in the last months, not knowing of its potentially irritating qualities, it's all good.

A face from the past. Maybe.

Yesterday, in the evening, I was walking home from Whole Foods (it’s an hour’s hike each way if I am fast about it), when a car passed, halfway up Old Sauk hill, honking wildly, with the driver waving in the most enthusiastic way. He pulled over by Crestwood School and I paused alongside.

“Wow, it’s been a long time! It’s so good to see you! How ARE you?” He asks.

He’s about my age, in gym attire and he looks vaguely familiar. Vaguely.

“Good, good…just walking home from the store…” I say.
He takes stock of my bags --“Oh, I see you have groceries.. Do you want me to give you a ride home? Where do you live anyway?”
I tell him vaguely “Just a few more steps up, around the corner. It’s fine. I’m in it for the exercise.”
“As you can see, I just came from the gym…” Yes, I can see that – he looks a bit ‘sweaty.’

Anyway, our chat ended soon after. Of course, even if I had been tired beyond tired, I would not have gotten into the car of a virtual stranger who obviously was not someone close enough to even know where I lived and may well have faked the whole “it’s been a long time” bit. I come from Eastern European ancestry that is steeped in dark suspicion and distrust of even the closest neighbor (Germany, the former Soviet Union, etc..). That’s not the point.

The point is that I probably did know him and should have recognized him. ‘Haven’t seen me in a while…’ -- Who? A judge from the Dane County courts that I once frequented? A lawyer representing the “other side?” A public school teacher? A parent of a child? Who? The guy was extremely gregarious – a trait that is not common among the men I know and one that typically makes me take note of the person exhibiting it. You would think, therefore, that I would recognize the bearer of the wide grin and booming voice. But no, I could not place him at all.

The question that I have is this: how do you find out without appearing completely rude? I could not say “you know, you do look a touch familiar, but who the hell are you?” I had hoped that prolonging the chat would have caused him to reveal some fact that would have solved the puzzle, but no such luck. What might have I asked?