I’m not in a good place this evening. I’m utterly gutted
over the news of a good friend, someone I met earlier this year, whom I knew
deep down could have become one of my greatest companions on this food journey.
Chef Morgan Batali was a rare kind of talent, a chef who
understood the art of pairing flavors with soul. His sophistication in the
kitchen came from more than skill; it came from a deep understanding of energy,
intention, and the way good food connects people. That’s what drew so many into
his orbit, the patrons, the community, and all who crossed paths with him at
Vinbero in Edmonds.
Over the summer, I had the opportunity to showcase my food
at Vinbero, a beautiful wine bar nestled in Old Town Edmonds, right along the
waterways where the ferries come and go. I hosted two pop up culinary
experiences there: July 25 to 26 and September 12 to 13, centered on Native
Foods. Morgan was instrumental in the success of both events. He and his team
brought my narratives and flavors to life, helping me tell the story of truth
and history on a plate.
What struck me most about Morgan was his determination to
amplify my message, to create a space where storytelling and flavor met in
harmony. He wanted the conversations about food, culture, and history to feel
welcoming, honest, and alive.
To have a successful pop up, you must connect deeply with
the staff, understand their rhythms, their personalities, their trust. It is
not always easy bringing a new culinary perspective into an existing space. But
Morgan made it seamless. He was both a perfectionist and a creative genius,
embracing every flavor and idea that resonated with his community.
During those events, I had the honor of sitting with Morgan
for hours, talking about where our food origins began and where the future of
food might go. His expertise, even in his short life, was extraordinary. His
knowledge of cuisines, regional ingredients, local vendors, and the rituals
behind each dish was vast, but what set him apart was his kindness.
In a world where many kitchens lack empathy, Morgan led with
it. He taught his staff not just how to cook, but how to care for the food, for
the patrons, and for each other. He carried no ego, only a quiet confidence
that inspired everyone around him.
Tonight I feel angry. Angry that the conversations we shared
have been cut short. His wisdom and spirit will stay with me always. But I wish
I had picked up the phone more often, just to say thank you for the lively
discussions we had over food.
To the Batali family, the Edmonds community, and the entire
Vinbero team, my deepest condolences. This loss is massive. Vinbero has always
taken pride in creating everything from scratch, with care, precision, and
little waste. Morgan’s brilliance, his intricate, thoughtful approach to
flavor, was and always will be one of Vinbero’s greatest gifts.
I’ll end with this… Friends come and go, but the ones who
make a lasting mark on your life are worth holding close. In the short time I
knew Morgan, he inspired me to keep growing, keep learning, and keep
connecting.
So please, hold on to the people who lift you up. Find
inspiration in others. And don’t wait to tell them how much they mean to you
while they’re still here.
Rest easy, Chef Morgan.
Your legacy lives on in the kitchens you’ve touched, the flavors you’ve
crafted, and the people you’ve inspired.
--Ramon Shiloh/2025
Reflections of humorous, serious, relatable, land and sky stories of everyday life. All told through plastic (cowboy & Indian, animal, environmental elements) figurines. 
©Ramon Shiloh/2025
