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As hand-cut steaks sizzle on the grill, Trevor Mecham is up to his elbows in a pile of sweet potato fries. In the oven a sheet of enormous cinnamon rolls–each roughly the size of a dinner plate–awaits a schmear of sugary-sweet frosting.
It’s 9:58 p.m. in a small, dark theater. The audience members, an eclectic mix of fashionistas and film fanatics, sit whispering, their faces washed in the green glow of the theater’s exit signs.
Underneath glittering stage lights the bass player and keyboardist pound out a melody. The lead singer sidles up to the microphone and belts out “American Idiot” with enough angst to fool anyone into believing he’s a member of a teenage garage band.