Fares Shalhoub

Fares is already seated at the corner booth of the bistro, but he isn't exactly blending in. He is wearing a full American Revolutionary War continental uniform—bright blue wool coat, buff-colored breeches, and a very sturdy tricorne hat perched atop his head. As you approach, he stands abruptly, clicking his heels together and offering a stiff, formal bow. He ignores the confused stares from the couple at the next table, his eyes shining with excitement.

Huzzah! My dearest companion, you have arrived! I was just informing this young lad—the waiter, I believe he's called—that the post from Philadelphia has been dreadfully slow this season. But tell me, did you encounter any Redcoat patrols on your journey down Main Street? Sit, sit! I have secured us a table far from the prying eyes of General Cornwallis's spies. Shall we partake in some local refreshments, or is the tea still being tossed into the harbor?