There was a time, not long after our daughter was born, when it felt like the whole world could shrink down to a few hundred square feet and still be complete. Standing in that freshly furnished nursery, looking at our tiny newborn sleeping in her crib, I remember thinking that if we moved to a remote cabin in the most remote part of the most remote state, and it was just the three of us for the rest of our days, I’d be content. No business deals, no travel, no acclaim could add anything to that fullness. When our son came along, the feeling deepened. The four of us were all that mattered. Everything since then has been living in the bonus.
After a long run of back-to-back tours this fall—Sicily, Northern Italy, Tuscany, then Ireland—I found myself overseas with something unusual: time off. Nearly a full week between groups. A rare gap caused by a wedding that had booked the Tuscan villa we rent and pushed the last group back a week. I typically like just one day off between the groups I host, enough time to catch my breath, restock supplies, and catch up on work back home.
My plan for that break was to hunker down somewhere quiet and knock out restaurant planning, marketing details, pre-opening checklists for the upcoming Gulfport project, and prep for the Mississippi Christmas book release. I had my laptop, a stack of notes, and a long list of things that needed doing. But the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to spend a week in a rental or hotel room staring at spreadsheets. My wife felt the same way about watching me stare at spreadsheets.
Then it hit me: our daughter had always wanted to go to London. She’d never been. We had talked about taking her before, but the timing never worked. Suddenly, we had the time, the place, and the opportunity. Work could wait. Rest could wait. The idea of showing her the London I love took over the list. One simple shift. One change of plan. And it turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve made this year.
She missed her first flight out of New Orleans, which bought me one more day to clear my to-do list. But once she landed, London became our world. We were back to the original three. Our son is in Chicago working in restaurants, so it felt like rewinding to those early years—just us again.
London has always ranked high for me. A world capital that still feels like a collection of neighborhoods. Historic and modern at the same time. I had our days planned: a mix of royal landmarks, theatre, markets, and meals. Food is how I come to know a city, and I wanted her to experience it that way too. We went from traditional to trendy, from the West End to Harrods, and everywhere in between. One afternoon we grabbed fish and chips at a favorite spot—nothing fancy, just right. Watching her take that first bite, her face lighting up, I thought: this is it. Sharing something you love and watching it become part of someone else’s story.
She had only one request for the week: she wanted to see the English countryside. No specific town, just “somewhere small, outside the city.” So, I did some research, took a train south, and ended up in a postcard-perfect village called Shere in the Surrey Hills. Cobblestone streets. Stone cottages with thatched roofs and flower boxes. Church bells chiming at the perfect time. The Cotswolds in miniature. It was straight out of central casting. We stopped at a quaint little spot called The Dabbling Duck for a cream tea—warm scones, clotted cream, strawberry jam—and sat for a while soaking the village and its people in. Every shop had a dog bowl by the door. People walked their spaniels and retrievers, chatting with neighbors. It seemed as if three out of four people had a dog on a leash. Dogs were allowed in restaurants. I love that practice. Same in Tuscany.
Shere was the kind of place that would spoil a young, wide-eyed 28-year old for every small British village she visited in the future.
There was a moment that afternoon when my wife and daughter were walking a few steps ahead, laughing about something I couldn’t quite hear. Watching them, I thought back to those early days when I used to stare at that sweet little sleeping infant and wonder what kind of life she’d lead. She’s grown into exactly the kind of woman I’d hoped for—curious, loyal, kind, sweet, and funny. Seeing her in that tiny English village, confident and full of life, hit me with how quickly years fly.
Later we talked over lunch at the William Bray about how she’d love to live abroad for a while. Maybe England. Maybe Italy. She might be developing the same explorer’s spirit her mother, brother, and father share. And though a part of me would miss her terribly, pride outweighed everything else. The goal of parenthood isn’t to keep them close—it’s to raise them with roots and wings.
London gave us more than a vacation. It gave us time. Not the rushed kind squeezed between work calls or flights, but long, easy hours to walk, talk, and laugh. Time to remember what it feels like to just be together. The older I get, the more I realize those moments matter most. Work, deadlines, projects—they’ll always be there. But time with the people you love, especially grown kids who still want to spend it with you, is rare treasure.
As we packed up to leave London and head back to my final group in Tuscany, I thought again about that remote cabin from all those years ago. Back then, it was a dream about what life could be. But standing there after a week with my wife and daughter—after watching them together in that English village—it felt like that dream had come full circle. The cabin doesn’t have to be a real place. It’s a state of heart. The same peace and gratitude I felt holding that baby decades ago was right there again, just dressed differently.
Before we left the Surrey Hills, my daughter looked around at the little shops, the gardens, the quiet charm, and said, almost to herself, “I could live here.”
Hearing that, a wave of hope passed through me. Hope that one day, when she becomes a mother, she’ll feel the same simple truth I discovered long ago—that life’s greatest joy isn’t found in what we build or chase. It’s found in who we love and how we love them.
And if that day comes, and she and her husband find their own little family, she may well think: I could live anywhere in the world, as long as it’s with these two.
At which point her mother and I will need to move close—somewhere near whatever cabin they choose—because the feeling I had standing in that nursery all those years ago hasn’t gone anywhere. I want to be a grandfather as badly as I’ve wanted anything in my life.
Onward.
Bayou Bacon & Cheddar Spread
Serves 6 to 8
I can lay waste to a block of cream cheese with pepper jelly and crackers in a matter of minutes. It’s a weakness. No matter how hard I try to exercise self-control, I always find myself standing over the plate at a cocktail party, making it disappear without even thinking. This spread hits the same notes, but with a smoky, savory punch that’s hard to beat. It’s become a go-to for Christmas parties, and if you’re smart, you’ll double the recipe because it’ll be gone before you know it. It’s best when made a day in advance—giving all the flavors time to mingle.
Preheat oven to 325° F
6 slices thick-cut bacon, 1/4-inch dice
4 ounces pecan pieces
1 tablespoon dehydrated onion
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
10 ounces sharp Cheddar, shredded (about 2 1/2 cups), room temperature
1-4 ounce jar diced pimentos, drained
1/3 cup chives, chopped
1 teaspoon Creole seasoning
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder
Place the bacon in a medium-sized skillet over low-medium heat. Cook the bacon, stirring frequently until the bacon is crispy. Pour the bacon into a strainer and collect the bacon fat if desired for other uses. Pat the bacon with a paper towel to remove any excess fat.
While the bacon is cooking, spread the pecan pieces out on a baking sheet pan. Place the pecans in the oven and roast for eight minutes. Remove and cool.
Also, while the bacon is cooking, place the dehydrated onion in a small cup or bowl. Cover the onions with 1/4 cup of boiling water. Soak the onions for 10 minutes. Drain and squeeze out any excess water.
Place the cream cheese, 1 1/2 cups of the Cheddar cheese, half of the bacon, pecans, onions, pimentos, and chives into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, if you have one. If not, regular beaters will work. Sprinkle in the Creole seasoning, pepper, salt, and garlic powder. Mix on low speed until well combined.
Combine the remaining bacon, pecans, onions, Cheddar cheese, pimentos, and chives. Shape the cheese mixture into a ball and roll it in the garnish ingredients. Serve immediately or wrap tightly in plastic and store overnight.
Allow the spread to sit out for 30 minutes before serving if made in advance. Pair with Wheat Thins or your favorite crackers.
(Robert St. John is a chef, restauranteur and published cookbook author who lives in Hattiesburg, Miss.
