Exec chef ran tight ship but he had a big heart

If you want to know what mattered to Earl Owens, go to the Metropolitan Grill.

A tuxedo-clad maitre d' will greet you at the door. Marbled cuts of corn-fed beef are displayed like jewels in a glass case. The booths are plush. The drinks are stiff. And the food and service had better be impeccable, or somebody is going to answer to Earl — even if it's in the next life.

"You wouldn't even think of letting him down, or you'd pay the consequences," said Ron Cohn, who owns the downtown Seattle steakhouse and several other local restaurants. Mr. Owens was his executive chef for nearly 20 years, overseeing all things culinary at establishments as diverse as Elliott's Oyster House and Union Square Grill.

But when Mr. Owens sat down for a two-hour lunch with friends, it was usually amid the gleaming brass and mahogany of the Metropolitan.

Ailing from cancer, he held court there for the last time a few months ago, recalled his old friend Mike Mogelgaard.

"All the girls came up and hugged him. All the people came out of the kitchen," said Mogelgaard, who handled advertising for several local eateries during the 1970s and 1980s, when Mr. Owens was helping lift Seattle's restaurant scene out of the mediocrity of mom-and-pop diners.

Before he died Feb. 7 at 69, Mr. Owens directed his grandson to throw a party, not a funeral.

"He said: Make sure everybody has a good time. I want good food, good booze and memories of the good times," said Jeremy Anderson, who started washing dishes in his grandfather's restaurants at 13. Today, he is executive chef at Elliott's.

Like everyone else who wanted a job in one of Mr. Owens' kitchens, Anderson had to demonstrate his dexterity by sorting 200 pieces of silverware in less than a minute and a half. "He gave you three chances. He wanted to be sure you had good hand-eye coordination."

Mr. Owens' gruff demeanor was sometimes bruising to sensitive souls. Vendors who tried to sell him ordinary steaks or wilted lettuce felt his wrath. Even his grandson chafed under the weight of Mr. Owens' uncompromising standards.

"As I grew older, I saw the light and now I'm grateful for the work ethic I learned from him," Anderson said.

When Anderson was in high school, his grandfather made him a promise: graduate from college, and I will pay your way through the Culinary Institute of America. Afterward, the old-school restaurant man would often consult his classically trained grandson for details on the latest sauce or food trend.

Local restaurateur Gerry Kingen, who founded Red Robin, compared Mr. Owens to a drill sergeant with a big heart that he kept well-hidden.

"He was a taskmaster ... but you could see that little twinkle in his eye."

Mr. Owens worked several years for Kingen in the late 1970s and early 1980s at a series of whimsically named fern bars and theme restaurants such as Lion O'Reilly's. Seattle wasn't a big seafood town back then, and Mr. Owens was one of the first chefs to introduce oyster shooters — at 25 cents a pop. He's also credited with the flaming shish kebab and late-night hunt breakfast featured at the original El Gaucho in the 1960s.

He himself was partial to fried chicken hearts, beef tongue and veal sweetbreads that he would cook up in the morning, then twist arms until his kitchen staff agreed to take a bite.

Mr. Owens learned the restaurant business from the ground up, helping his mother, who supported her children as a cook in cafes around the Seattle area. His first real job was as a dishwasher. During his long career, he worked at many of Seattle's best-known eateries, including 13 Coins, where he was a chef. He joined Cohn's company — including the Metropolitan Grill — in 1984, and retired a few years ago.

Though he worked 70-hour weeks, Mr. Owens also knew how to relax.

"The first time I saw him, he was on Gerry Kingen's boat injecting strawberries with Grand Marnier," recalled Mogelgaard.

Mr. Owens was probably also wearing his signature gold chains and rings, with the top button of his shirt undone. It wouldn't have been unusual for him to have his beverage of choice in hand: Seagram's VO.

"Now, if you see somebody drinking at lunch, you think they have a problem," Mogelgaard said, laughing. "Back then, if you didn't drink at lunch you had a problem."

Even Cohn said he planned to raise a glass of the Canadian whiskey in Owens' honor. "Personally, it's hard for me to even smell the stuff, but I will take a few sips."

In addition to his grandson Jeremy, Mr. Owens is survived by his mother, Ellen Knowles of Bothell; wife, Gale Owens; brother, Chuck Owens, of Burlington, Skagit County; sister Irene Doolittle, of Woodinville; daughter Joyce Anderson, of Lake Forest Park; son Earl Owens III of Shoreline; granddaughter Valarie Owens of Edmonds; grandson Josh Anderson of San Francisco; grandson Jesse Anderson of Seattle; and three great-grandchildren.

The party he wanted will be held Feb. 18, from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. on the Royal Argosy dinner ship, docked at Pier 56.

Sandi Doughton: 206-464-2491 or sdoughton@seattletimes.com