Moonstone Bistro

Moonstone Bistro Chaos. Irony. Sarcasm. Full Bar!
(536)

06/30/2026

We had a restaurant before Moonstone Bistro.
It was called Emerald, in my hometown.
Garberville.
Its 1999.
I still had hair.
Yeah.
Imagine that.
Me. Hair!
He has to go to Mexico. Something about his mom.
We have been open about 6 months, and he's been with us since day one.
Bonfilio.
Washing dishes, prep, fixing things...always busy.
5 days a week. No problem.
6 days a week. No problem.
17 days straight?
You guessed it.
No problem.
"Here to work, Chef. No play. Just work."
Bonfilio is a machine. He, Tanya and I put in massive hours together, feeding the monster that is a new restaurant.
So now he needs to help his mom. No notice, no warning.
"Gotta leave mañana."
"Yeah man, of course! No worries. Take care of your mom. You need anything? Can we help?"
He looks at me.
"I need my job."
Reassurances are given, hands are shook, and he's gone.
I try to quell the angry pit of sour welling in my stomach.
"Oh s**t." is all I can think.
I'm running 16 hour days, no days off, in my first restaurant that is barely 6 months old.
And now...I have to cover prep and dishes too.
A bald patch starts to form on the crown of my head.
I can actually FEEL the hair falling out.
Dawn breaks.
Tanya and I drag out of bed, shower, brush, spit and to work we go.
Some strange dude standing by the rear door as we pull in the lot.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Bonfilio."....???????.....
"Uuuuhhhhh..."
"I'm Bonfilio. He had to go help his mom. I'm cousin. So now I'm Bonfilio 'till he gets back."
I just stare.
Tanya unlocks and in we go.
Lights on, knife out, trash bags in cans, fire up dishmachine, pull proteins from freezer, sanitize the boards, pull Mise en Place for soup....
And 'Bonfilio' is cruising!
I point at a few things, he nods, and.....
We work.
I mean WORK.
Like our lives depend on it, because it does.
Almost literally.
If Emerald goes down, Tanya and I will be sleeping in our car...except we won't HAVE a car.
Not an option.
2 PM.
We've been at it since 7AM.
I look over at 'Bonfilio'.
"Hey, look man. We still got dinner rush to go. We're not getting out of here till midnight. Then we're back at 7AM. You need to bounce. I need you in the morning."
And he shocks me.
"No...Chef, No. Bonfilio works overtime with you everyday. You pay him. He needs the money. He needs the hours. I'm Bonfilio, I work everyday. Same hours. I no go home. I work."
Twice in a single day I just stare at him.
Tanya puts a hand on my shoulder, then hands 'Bonfilio' a pitcher of Diet Coke.
Midnight comes and goes.
So do the next 4 days, blurring into each other.
Lack of sleep, stress, the brutal work.
And he's there every day.
Every hour of every shift.
He shows up, clocks in under Bonfilio's number...he knows his clock in codes, knows his locker combo.
He has an idea of where everything is.
He's even driving his car.
I don't have time or energy to question.
I don't have energy to waste on make-believe problems.
I have real problems.
I've got hair falling out in the shower.
Puking on the side of the road on the way home from work, knowing I'll be right back there in less than 6 hours.
Tanya is brutally skinny.
Its....rough. Stress.
But I learn something about myself.
I learn I don't give a s**t about Who-You-Are as much as What-You-Do.
I just need work done.
As long as you can lock it down....you and me?
We're GOOD.
Pals. Buddies.
Piercings, tattoos, different language, short, tall, skin a different color?
F**k all that.
Its 7AM.
We work till Midnight.
Every day until we don't have to any more.
Until the work is done.
That's what I care about. That's all I see.
And then....
He's there.
Walks in at 4PM.
Just got in town straight from SFO.
Some rapid fire Spanish, and one 'Bonfilio' leaves....
And Bonfilio goes straight to work.
Like he never left.
I swear, I think I grew a couple hairs back that day.

05/15/2026

She was a Baronness. Shoulders held square and prideful, born from decades of hard work fruiting to success.
Spirit defined from risk, toil and grit, honed to razor wit, respectful of work -any work- and the people who do it.
In true Baronness style, there was an ice in her gaze, born of intelligence and experience, scarred from past failures, married with her refusal to quit, blending into a magnificent stubborness that gave her soul iron.
She was powerful.
Her husband, John, was a good man, kind, funny.
Brilliant mind.
He made decency a habit.
Together, they built an empire on Pepsi, opening the first plant here in the Northstate.
On first glance, they had it all.
The Gullwing Mercedes.
The pilots license and private planes.
Take the Jaguar on Friday night.
"Oh" you might think.
"Those people."
And you would be wrong.
They came as guests 3-4 times a week. Curious and affable, generous and quick to laugh.
For YEARS we hosted them, our guests, our friends.
They were the people I wished I was. Who I aspired to be.
But it is never all cupcakes and rainbows.
Not even for a Baronness.
I watched her endure the decline of the man she loved.
It was brutal.
On one occasion, I offered condolences...to my detriment. She looked me dead in the eye.
"Don't you pity me."
I froze.
"I don't pity you, Betty...I want to BE you..."
And that was it.
We were, at that moment, best friends.
She came to Moonstone every day after that.
Every. Single. Day.
And we would eviscerate politicians, destroy idiot policy, fix homelessness, shred burdensome Red Tape legislation, cure drug addiction.
Hell, I'm pretty sure we could have sent emmisary's to Mars to befriend the Martians.
I loved her. We loved her. Moonstone Bistro loved her. And she loved us.
She was magnificent.
Proud and bold and strong, vivacious, cunning and LORD! She could cut you with a word.
I LOVED her glare!
It was glorious! Cold and conniving, full of mischief and glee, and just a bit dangerous...
Oh, I'd go after her goat just to p**s her off enough for her to shoot me full of knives!
Hahaha! The sheer joy of it!
And she would gleefully play along, often times pulling the other cooks in, engaging us, poking fun...
Oh, Betty.
I'm going to miss you.
That one came from a rare mold.
Betty Fitzpatrick.
The Baronness.
A personality of grace, power and pride.
At the end of the day, we'd sit together, her with wine in hand, me with beer, and talk s**t.
Me, with my never ending stream of expletives, stinking of garlic and fish, her, with the pearls and diamonds, us, just people; talking, living, sharing.
She was a really dear friend.
She went out about as good as gets.
Good luck old girl.
I'll miss you.
I hope I'm so lucky.

03/06/2026

It's illegal.
We KNOW it's illegal.
We're going to do it anyway.
So we're outlaws.
(Nothing new)
But we can't leave him.
That would be cruel, and in the world of business it is often a choice of 'bad decision' versus 'worse decision'.
So we pack him up and haul him to work with us.
Health dept will be p**sed (if they catch us) but that's better than the wrong side of Animal Control.
We build a prison, complete with collapsible baby gate.
Pillows and p*e pads strewn about.
Everything is a chew toy,
Including shoes, pens, ankles, fingers, the occasional wayward bug.
EVERYTHING.
And the p*e!!
Lord...I dont know how parents do it!
It's constant!
At one point he's drinking and p*eing AT THE SAME TIME!!!
Containment is critical here.
This is not something we can unleash on the masses!
Plus, as I may have mentiond....its frowned upon by Environmental Health.
Pretty sure they won't think it's funny.
We get little chewing p*e-monster contained.
To work!
We thought.
But...
We don't see him, but we hear
"Aawwwww...he's so cute"
And
"Can I hold him??"
"I'm so sorry.." I mutter, gathering him up and hauling him back to the office.
Lord. Check the baby gate. Make adjustments.
Back to work.
But....
"Oh, look! He's adorable!"
Back on the floor I go.
Only this time...
I'm chasing him under tables, guests picking up their feet. Everyone laughing and cooing.
"Gotcha!"
Triumphant, I carry him to the office.
He's an attention baby!!! I can see it in his eyes!! He's a people lover!! A clown! This is his calling!
Lord.
I double check the baby gate. I stack pillows. Tanya inspects my work. She nods her approval...
Aaaannddd back to work.
"Awww...look! How cute!"
My head rears up....sure enough!
Little bu**er is an escape artist!
It's a large table of women. Girls lunch.
He's ducking and weaving in between their feet, ears flopping, yipping, skittering about on the floor.
They are laughing, blowing kisses, egging him on.
And then...
We both see it.
A purse.
Sitting on the floor.
It's like a beacon of mayhem.
He lowers his head and bolts straight for it.
Im on the other side of the table, hands and knees bribing with a peice of cheese...
I can't get there in time.
In slow motion I watch as he pounces on the purse.... and p*es.
"........Oh......Oh. No...."
The table is dead silent.
Tanya grabs him.
There's a second of 'Deer in Headlights', then:
Laughter.
The woman who OWNS the purse is not laughing, but her girlfriends are falling about the place, spilling their cocktails just ROARING with laughter.
Miss Purse Owner takes it in stride.
Tanya is apologizing, I'm offering to turn him into a burrito...
She just smiles, waves us away, we clean the piddle.
The Purse is gracious and understanding and cool as a cucumber.
Not a feather ruffled.
Back in confinement goes our little p*e monster.
We go full San Quentin.
2 baby gates, overlapping with a thick blanket.
And that's when the yapping starts.
Shrill, impossible to ignore yips and yaps piercing any semblance of calm.
Oh HELL no!!
That won't work!
My goose is cooked. "Tanya!!" I bellow.
She marches in, scoops him up and just starts PASSING HIM AROUND!
Everybody wants a peice.
He's licking and wagging his butt...happiest thing you've ever seen. As long as his feet don't touch the ground, he doesn't p*e.
So that's the plan.
For the next 8 weeks, we engage in PuppyGate.
He moves from person to person.
We tell the guests if the Health dept shows up, the puppy is THEIRS.
We don't know anything about it.
It takes a village, after all.
You are all outlaws.
Culpable!
The lot of you!
Thank you.

11/29/2025

The statute of limitations is up.
I am unshackled.
We are stunned. The amount of money being demanded is more than we have ever made. More than our combined worth.
More than our parents combined worth.
We are threatened with MILLIONS, not counting attorneys fee's.
We're guilty.
Automatically, so says the State of California.
All employers are.
Automatically guilty.
It's called the Private Attorney General Act, or PAGA for short.
It's a law unique to California, which states all employers are automatically guilty of violating labor law and must prove they are innocent.
Further, California passed a law saying that employers must pay the cost of the plaintiffs (employees) attorney, regardless of outcome.
Worse, California stripped Corporate and LLC protections from all employers.
In other words, all your personal assets, regardless of whether they came from the business or where inherited or made somehow else....they are all forfeit.
The best part?
California gets 75% of the recovery.
Any monies recovered in damages, California KEEPS 75%.
But there is MORE.
A PAGA lawsuit can be coupled with a Class-Action lawsuit.
This means you are charged for the same crime TWICE.
"That can't be right" I say.
My attorney explains that it's two different classes...attorney speak...one is for the State of California, one is for the employees, so its not considered Double Jeopardy.
Say what you want...it FEELS like Double Jeopardy.
So we are guilty.
Automatically.
And we don't have the money to fight it.
Their attorney knows this.
You know...the one we are PAYING to SUE us.
It is clear we have to settle.
We don't have the money to fight, and we can't win.
The settlement amount is everything we own, our life savings, Tanya's inheritance, our house, my inheritance, our business, all of its assests, and then, because that doesnt satisfy the debt, all of our future earnings garnished and given to the State.
"No."
The word falls out of my face.
Tanya is shaking. Our entire lives are ruined. Everything we have ever worked for has just been stripped away. We are penniless, homeless, career gone, business gone and we are indentured to the State.
"No."
I say it again.
"You don't have a choice" Says the mediator.
He's wrong.
I call our banker. Right there. In front of our attorney, in front of the mediator for their attorney.
"Sell everything. All of it. Cash out the IRA accounts, don't give a damn about penalties. Sell it ALL. Put everything into $9,000 Cashiers checks. All of it. Everything."
I hang up.
Next call.
"Put our house on the market, today, now. 80% value of appraisal.
First offer gets it."
The phone goes dead.
I look at the man who is mediating the deal.
"Tell them they can demand a million. Tell them they can demand 5 million or 50 million. Doesn't matter. We don't have it. We're going to court, where we will lose. But it won't matter. We won't have anything to take. No money, no property, no assets. They will get a JUDGEMENT. That's all. They won't get a dime. We will never own an asset in our name again.
We're leaving. Right now.
We need to get to Ace Hardware before they close to buy a lock for the restaurant door. Moonstone is closed forever, today, now."
I look at Tanya. She's already on her feet, tears of rage and disbelief.
Her sense of justice is gone. Stripped away.
Both of us. Left raw.
"We're fugitives now."
She nods.
"Yes."
And we leave.
We walk out the door.
Our attorney tries to sway us, to try to keep open, keep working.
We're in our car, blinker on, phone rings.
It's the mediator.
He has a new proposal.
"Trust the process" He says.
Our attorney reiterates.
"Trust the process."
I sign away my Mother's house.
Half of what it appraised for.
We pay.
It's a terrible sum of money.
But at least we don't have to go on the run.
We can keep our house.
We can unwind Moonstone and sell off its assets.
But we are not safe.
It has to be closed for 12 months before that happens.

The man looks at me and laughs.
Sticks out his hand and shakes mine.
"You WALKED OUT??"
"Yeah..."
"Told them you would live life on the RUN?!?"
"Yeah....."
He laughs again, refills my wine glass, and launches into a PAGA lawsuit story that turns my blood cold.
And not one...but THREE of them.
His family built an empire.
I've worked with them, catered at their house, done business with ALL of them. They are brilliant, hard working, and fair. They have been in every type of s**t you can step in.
I have deep respect for the entire family.
Wine glass full, he tells me how many millions they have had to pay out.
How its a shakedown.
They have a legal team specifically for this.
I shudder.
"How do you manage that?"
He looks me in the eye.."its a cost of doing business in this State. Once your on the list, you get hit every four years. Starbucks, Walmart, Target, Safeway...Us. like clockwork."
"There's a LIST??"
I'm wide eyed.
"Oh Yes. And you're on it. Except you did what we can't. Close. We can't do that."
So we cheers, and for the first time in a long time I feel whole. Grateful. Like I made the right move.
Tanya and I laugh, listen to his stories and feel better.
Yes, Moonstone is gone.
Now you know why.
California is not pleasant to its employers. It targets them. Exploits and extorts them.
It's true what they say:
'Heavy is the head that wears the crown.'

Address

3425 Placer Street, Ste 110
Redding, CA
96001

Opening Hours

Wednesday 4pm - 9pm
Thursday 4pm - 9pm
Friday 4pm - 9pm
Saturday 4pm - 9pm
Sunday 10am - 2pm
4pm - 9pm

Telephone

+15302413663

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