I had to leave NYC for Napa and work on a cookbook, but will try to put some thoughts down on the Marco White event.  I was expecting a thug savant who was a little full of himself (rightfully so or not), but in fact he was articulate and fascinating and compelling in a way I rarely find chefs anymore.  A delight in fact.  He said things I didn't expect.  We went out after for chicken and carried on the conversation. Then he and his companion headed down to Del Posto (for a 19-course tasting, I hear), Bourdain and the facist went home to the bambina, and I went to drink whiskies with my brother in charcuterie (should we consider a follow up–yea or nay?), enough whiskies that I was thoroughly miserable for the five and a half hours in the air to SFO.  But some of best fried chicken on earth awaited, so all was well. …more to come…