“What about an amuse-bouche?” asks a server. “Gulf oyster–enriched grass-fed veal cheek, topped with organic rhubarb aioli.”

Again, I acquiesce. So he places a large plate in front of me containing a small oyster shell. Inside is what looks like the world’s tiniest grilled steak, drizzled with pink mayonnaise and flecked with diced green onion.

“This really isn’t necessary, guys,” I say. “But thank you both.”

“Enjoy,” they say in unison, then depart.

I really did just come here to ask Billy a few questions related to the investigation, not get a comped drink and app while I waited.

But as it turns out, this is only the beginning. Over the next ninety minutes, despite my constant protests and insistence that I simply want to see the owner, dish after scrumptious dish is set in front of me.

Entrees like sugarcane rum–braised Kobe beef, which tastes sweeter than candy, atop a bed of curried collards and mashed yams. Truffle-braised scallops with an orange-saffron vinaigrette, a delightful blend of savory and tangy. And a cast-iron-seared duck breast finished with an absinthe glaze, a unique blend of fowl and licorice flavors I’ve never tasted. And of course, each dish is paired with an exceptional glass of red or white wine, with a palette-cleansing sorbet in between.

Try as I might to stop them, the servers and sommelier just won’t listen.

When the desserts finally arrive—a heavenly creole-style bread pudding drowning in praline sauce, and a slice of pistachio cream pie topped with candied pecans—my belly is full and my mind is a little hazy. I hate to admit it, but if Billy was trying to show off and impress me, it’s certainly worked.

I’m sipping a demitasse of hickory-infused espresso when I notice the evening’s last seating of patrons has started to trickle out. The restaurant is growing quieter. Dinner service is nearly complete. I get the attention of a passing waiter and say firmly, “Excuse me. I’d like to order one final thing for the table, please. The owner.”

The server nods and disappears into the kitchen. But Billy keeps me waiting a solid ten minutes more before finally emerging, arms spread and smiling wide, like we’re old friends. In fact, we’ve only met a few times over the years. But I play along.

“There he is!” I say, rising and pulling him into a bear hug.

“Billy, you outdid yourself. Thank you. Your food is incredible. Fresh, complex, inventive … wow.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, Caleb. I hope my team took good care of you. It’s not every day a celebrity food truck owner walks through our door.”

I ignore that little dig and reply, “I have good reason. Got a few minutes to talk?”