by Steven Doyle
Today I read where my very best friend passed away. To claim Randall Copeland as my best friend is selfish as he was a friend to everyone he ever met. For the past few hours I have been pouring over photos of Randall, and messages on text and Facebook that I might be able to share today. The task is far too difficult.
Randall embraced life and had a golden heart. He was talented in so many ways including his skills in the kitchen and had a passion for music. His guitar collection exceeded his means at times, but that is how Randall was.
For those that have known Randall and I more than a few years know about the tremendous Super Bowl story. We laughed about that evening just a few days ago at a dinner party he hosted at his home. He was legend like that.
Another day Randall spoke about was when he performed a cooking demo at the State Fair three years ago. Randall invited me to be his host for the evening, and planned to hang out afterwards with a few other friends, including chef Chad Bowden. I was writing for the Observer at the time and we headed out to the fairgrounds afterwards. That evening I interviewed the people at Fletcher’s, the corny dog people, and Randall asked if he could fry up corny dogs. They allowed him to do this and he stood behind the booth cooking for the longest time. Later he told me it was one of his career highlights. Forget about opening his own restaurant; forget the fabulous meals he made in Vegas. Randall was thrilled to make people happy.
I will miss the extremely late nights playing the guitar, the absurd nights at the Goat, the crying sessions we had over women we loved, the great meals, the hopes and dreams we scattered across each night we shared together.
Randall had huge plans in the works for his restaurant Ava as well as some corporate workings with a major sausage brand that he was excited about. For Randall, he will ever be known as one of the grandfathers of the farm-to-table movement in Dallas with a select few others such as Graham Dodds. What a terrible loss for our city.
The stories I have like these are endless, and for those that knew Randall best, so is the friendship. I miss you terribly, Big Cat.
