“Just the facts,” I told the venue manager.

“It started at that Vonda Shepard gig,” he answered.

“Martin R.,” I read from my notes. “Age 35, weight 241. Reported missing, September 3, 2001.”

“That’s the one,” he responded. “I remember the date because it was liver and onions night.”

Liver and onions? At a concert? That’s when the venue manager told me about their new promotion. They had replaced the usual concert food lineup of burgers, pizza and nachos with old-fashioned home cooking.

We went over the rest of the list, and every missing person had disappeared during one of the special food promotions at the concert hall. D. Speer at Engelbert Humperdinck when it was pot roast night. A. Rivera during the Statler Brothers concert when it was chicken pot pie night. I knew something was up, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I asked the venue manager about the unusual menus. He told me that it was the cook’s idea and that business had never been better.

“We’re serving glazed ham for Kenny Rogers “Christmas From The Heart”, pork chops for godspeed you black emperor! and biscuits & gravy for Grant Lee Phillips,” he told me. “The fans are just eating it up.”

My instincts told me that I should talk to the chef. Somehow, I felt that the disappearances were related to the distinct menus scheduled for each show. And with Swedish meatballs on the menu for Les Savy Fav, I knew I had to act fast.

I was too late. Like most concert cooks, he was a transient. He didn’t leave much in the way of a forwarding address, only that his name was Hannibal, and he loved fava beans served with a good chianti.

Nevertheless, I’ll pursue him until the day I die. Because justice must be served. Because a man must answer for his deeds. Because the truth must prevail.

But more importantly, I’ll pursue him for his delicious liver and onions recipe. I just gotta know his secret.