HC: The first time we met, you mentioned that you got into a bit of trouble growing up. Can you tell us more about that?

TM: I would say I had a very privileged childhood. Two parents who were together and loved each other. Pretty well-off. In middle school, I started skating and smoking weed. I hated school. Then, the summer I was going into my sophomore year of high school, my brother died. He committed suicide. That was when my teenage life spiraled downhill.

HC: Were you close with him?

TM: Yeah, we had gotten really close the last couple of years. We were two-and-a-half years apart. I thought he was very cool and tried to emulate him. He smoked, so I wanted to smoke. He was super into art. And he was really into cooking. When he died, he was almost 18. He was young.

HC: How did you cope with his passing?

TM: I wasn’t aware of how to experience grief or ask for help, so instead of opening up to my family — who were available to help — I turned to friends, drinking, and partying. I dropped out of high school and wanted to be a musician, so I moved out of my parents’ house against their wishes. I was just trying to avoid the whole situation. I think it’s really easy as men, with all of the cultural signs we get, to not show our emotions. Not letting myself feel those emotions as a teenager definitely has affected me. I still have to go to therapy off and on and focus on self-care. Things to make sure I can have a healthy, happy life now.

HC: After you moved out of your parent’s house — what happened from there?

TM: I was living on my own in Santa Cruz and I was going to be sent to this therapeutic boarding school in Sacramento. That’s when I ran away. My parents and I went to see a movie and I said I needed to use the bathroom and just left. I heard my friend was in Portland, so I went to Portland. I hung out downtown and befriended a bunch of other semi-homeless kids.

HC: Was there a point where you were like, “What am I doing here?”

TM: I was in a lot of denial about it all. I wasn’t even thinking about my family and how messed up it was that I was doing it. But in the back of my head it was like, “The other shoe is going to drop. At some point, I’m going to have to deal with what I did and with my family.”

HC: Were they looking for you?

TM: Yeah. A private investigator found me and I got arrested on the bus. I went to the juvie out there for a week, then I was sent to a [youth correctional] program in Utah for a year and a half. At the time, that was one of the few states where you could hold minors against their will. It was a lockdown facility. You had to go through these seminars based on the ‘70s pseudo-psychology of, “Let’s break down your ego and rebuild it into something more positive.” But what it translated to was adults verbally abusing kids. I got out and was almost 18. I got a GED through this program in Santa Cruz. I spent a lot of time playing music, going to junior college, taking random stuff.

HC: It sounds like music was a focus for you early on. When did you shift to cooking?

TM: The one consistency I’d always had was working around food. I’d worked at the front of house a little bit, and in bakeries and sandwich and coffee shops. So on a whim, I decided to go to culinary school [in San Francisco]. I went to school in the mornings and worked at Limón on Valencia after. Then, I would go out drinking. B Restaurant in Oakland was my first job out of culinary school. I was working the line — high-volume, good food. The chef there at the time, Saman Javid, was the first chef I really, really cared about impressing. One day, I partied too much and missed my shift. It was a long lead-up with a lot of mishaps with drinking, but that was the thing that actually pushed me over. It was when I said, “Man, I can’t drink anymore.” I had a romanticized idea of what restaurants were from reading, like, Kitchen Confidential — “Let’s all do a bunch of lines and cook our asses off!” — but when I got sober, I remember thinking, “I don’t know if I can do it.” Because for me, [becoming a chef] was so tied in with drinking and partying.

HC: So what made you change your mind?

TM: After a couple of months of not working, I got a job at Gregoire, which is this little gourmet take-out spot. The chef there, Gregoire Jacquet, had been at the Ritz forever, so he could cook at a volume that I’d never seen before. The guys who work in those big kitchens are pros. I learned a lot about how to be a really good line cook there. It was fun, but it was also a realization that I’m better at this sober. It doesn’t have to be this hardcore, party lifestyle that I was making it out to be.

HC: How did you make the leap from line cook to opening Sons & Daughters?

TM: While I was at Gregoire, Matt McNamara and I reconnected. We went to culinary school together. It was 2009 and the peak of the recession and there were two paths. One was going into the Michelin star world and working our way up through those kitchens. At the time, I was making, like, 32K being a sous chef, and it was hard to imagine how I’d support a family and make a life. So we thought, if we open a restaurant and it works, that could be our ticket to a stable life and career in the restaurant world that we loved. The recession made things affordable. We were able to open this restaurant for really cheap.

HC: Were there any hurdles early on?

TM: Neither of us had a pedigree. Neither of us had been sous chefs at Michelin-starred restaurants. So when we opened, people were kind of like, “Who the f--- are you guys?” We had to work really hard to prove ourselves. The first couple of years were a lot of trial and error. Matt is the idea guy and I’m extremely linear. But we figured out how to communicate with each other and it turned out to be this totally great partnership. We couldn’t have made this place without each other.

HC: How did you come up with the concept for the restaurant?

TM: We wanted to create “approachable fine dining.” We wanted it to feel like you're walking into our house. I remember eating at a restaurant and trying to take my jacket off, and someone rushed over and told me, “You have put your jacket back on.” We wanted to have a restaurant where we have that level of food and service, but don't have that attitude or pretension.

HC: How much of your own life experience has influenced your approach to Sons & Daughters?

TM: I try to create a kind environment [for my employees]. Life can be shitty and we don't need to make it any shittier for you. I think we pay on the higher end for restaurants and that's important to me — to have people make a living wage. I think if you have a system where your employees feel taken care of and that they have a good job and are respected, then that respect translates [to how they treat] the guests.

HC: What’s the most rewarding part of running your restaurant?

TM: It’s pretty rewarding to still have a restaurant open nine years later, and to see all of the people who used to work here go on to have really successful careers. I don’t have an interest in running another restaurant day to day, but I love to help people who have worked for me. I’m eternally grateful [to them].

HC: What advice would you give to someone who’s trying to open their own restaurant?

TM: As many people should try as possible. I think the culinary world needs way more voices. Things get bland if you don’t follow your own voice and path. It’s an easy temptation as a restauranteur to please everyone, but you’ve really just got to do what you think is best. Those are the restaurants that really become unique experiences.

HC: Outside of your work at the restaurant, you’re a surfer and also used to run marathons. How did that become such a big part of your life?

TM: I stopped drinking when I was 24 and quit smoking when I was 27. Smoking was the hardest thing I ever stopped doing. When I quit the last time, I started running and it was a really big wake-up call because I felt like I was going to die [after my first run]. The next day, I ran three more blocks. And the next day, around two miles. So every time, I ran a little bit farther and it felt like this huge accomplishment. I ran a marathon six months later.

HC: What drew you to marathons? Had you ever done one before?

TM: I hadn’t done anything before. I ran marathons for two or three years, one or two a year. Now, I run for fun. I think it started to feel a little bit too much like work — having to hit these miles. But I try to surf as much as possible and if conditions are bad, I'll go for runs instead.

HC: Was surfing always a part of your life?

TM: I surfed as a kid, but stopped when I was 12 or 13. I started again four or five years ago. Now, I surf four to seven days a week. I think exercise is key to mental health. If I'm doing well, it's because I have something I'm doing, whether that’s going to the gym or swimming or running. But surfing is really challenging. There are so many different factors you need to know to be safe and have a good session.

HC: Does your daughter like to surf?

TM: No, she hates the beach! I've tried to ask her why and she isn't super clear about it. But if she doesn’t want to surf, that’s cool.

HC: Did you always want to be a dad?

TM: Yeah. Her mom and I wanted to have a kid. That relationship didn't pan out, but I'm so glad it happened because now my daughter is a part of my life and I love it. I like caring for her. I like cooking for her. I like cuddling or reading stories. It's by far the most important thing.

HC: Has your past impacted how you approach raising your daughter?

TM: I try to give her a lot of freedom. I want her to feel like she's heard at a young age and able to have a say in her life. I’m trying to instill confidence and the ability to think for herself [so] she’ll be able to make hard decisions later on in a smart way — not in a rebellious way, which is how I made those decisions. The better dad I can be, the more positive her life is going to be… and the better the world can be. I don’t know how to fix mass shootings, but I know I can try to be as kind as I can to my daughter.

HC: What about your relationship with your own parents? Has that changed at all since you became a father?

TM: It made me have a lot more understanding. I’m really lucky that I had parents who were so loving — who put all that behind us to have a really positive relationship in our adult lives. They’re having their own personal journeys related to grief for my brother. My mom co-founded Juniper, a local foundation that makes Buddhist teachings relevant and accessible for Westerners, as well as offers grief counseling. And my dad does a support group for people who have lost people to suicide. When my brother first died, we were all in our own worlds a little bit, but as time goes on, it gets better.

HC: If you could distill your own journey, what would you say it’s been about?

TM: A lot of it has been trying to figure out how to have a perfectionist personality and not act on it. To not be too hard on myself. Because that’s my natural side: to never be good enough and have extremely high, unlivable standards for other people. I meditate most days for 15 or 20 minutes. I had a panic disorder three or four years ago. That’s when I got into mindfulness and did some cognitive behavioral therapy — talking through my thought process a bit, rather than being run by it. So, hopefully I’m getting better, but I think that’s the biggest thing: to try to let go. I can say I’m sorry to people I’ve wronged, but that doesn’t do much. You’ve got to let yourself go for that behavior, realize what caused it, and try not to do it again. That’s really the amends.

And the stuff with my brother… that thought process you have about yourself is so deep and it can really make you miserable, so you’ve got to fully work on that. The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized that putting in the work — be it exercise, meditation, mental health — is going to make me feel better for the other 23 hours of the day. So go do that thing, then hopefully  it’ll be better.

If you or someone you know is considering or affected by suicide, contact the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 or suicidepreventionlifeline.org for free, confidential support and resources.