By Elizabeth Johnson

Rob Clement understands the discipline required to maintain the rhythm of a professional kitchen: heat, seasoning, timing, repetition. And this work demands presence. For much of his life, that intense cadence shaped his days and nights. It is a dynamic world where precision matters, and ego is quickly corrected.

Yet there are seasons when the momentum of a career yields to something more essential.

For Rob, the past several years were shaped not by restaurant openings or expansion plans, but by the steadfast devotion to his wife, Franki, during her battle with metastatic breast cancer and raising their two children, Calliope and Oscar, in the difficult months that followed.

During that time, he stepped away from the kitchen to be fully present at home and pressed pause on Meshugganah, the Jewish deli concept that had quickly become part of Charlotte’ s Jewish food landscape during COVID-19.

Now, as he returns to cooking, the moment is not framed as a comeback. It is something quieter and more deliberate. The craft remains, but the priorities have changed.

And if there is a through line in this next chapter, it is this: the kitchen is no longer a proving ground. It is simply where he stands now.

How did you find your way into cooking professionally and when did it become your language? My first cooking job arrived in high school, after my grandmother died. My Aunt Helen and Uncle Itchy invited me to spend the summer with them in the Hamptons.

Little did I know they had also arranged for me to get a job as

a prep cook at a family friend’ s restaurant, Crazy Dog. I started in the kitchen managing basic tasks, cleaning, and washing dishes. On slower nights, I worked my way up, helping to run the grill. I am drawn to a certain kind of controlled chaos. My brain seems to thrive in it.

The following summer, I returned and was promoted to“ summer grill guy,” turning out burgers and steaks. From that point on, I was hooked. Throughout my college years, I worked at a series of restaurants, and I have continued ever since.

Meshugganah began as a pop-up during COVID-19 when Charlotte was craving comfort and connection. Now it returns after a deeply personal chapter in her life. What is different about stepping back into the kitchen today? These days, I am far more intentional about how I spend my time. There was a stretch when I worked long days, often not realizing I had been away from home for 16, sometimes even 18 hours. I cannot imagine living that way anymore. I have come to prize the belief in working smarter, not harder. The last few years have been very humbling for me, and that perspective now shapes the way I approach the kitchen.

Cooking has always been a labor of love for me. I cooked because I relished the feeling of knowing people enjoyed the food I was preparing for them. I used to want to prove I was the best at cooking. That was very important to me. This time around, being back in the kitchen is about taking care of my family first, and recognition has taken a big back seat.

You’ ve called Franki“ the heart behind everything Meshugganah stood for.” In what

ways do you still feel her presence in the kitchen? I can still hear her voice every time I have a decision to make in the kitchen, especially when I make the wrong one. Franki used to poke fun at me when I didn’ t show up at my best as a chef, so if I screw something up, I can almost still hear her ribbing me.

Beyond that, certain dishes, especially matzo ball soup, are deeply tied to our relationship. It’ s written into our ketubah that if she were ever sick, I would make her matzo ball soup. I did, lovingly, right up until she died.

The matzo ball soup we serve now is pretty much exactly how she liked it, with one small exception: I always finish it with extra dill. She used to hate that.

Meshugganah has always been more than sandwiches; it’ s become part of Charlotte’ s Jewish food story. What does it mean to you to serve Jewish deli food in this city right now? In this moment, when being Jewish carries added weight, I feel a responsibility to share my faith and culture through food. I feel that connection every day in the support I’ ve received from the Jewish community here in Charlotte.

As antisemitism rises in the world, the bonds between us seem to grow tighter. That reality has only deepened my commitment to showing up through my cooking and being part of Jewish life in this city. I want my children to grow up seeing that pride lived, not just spoken. And food is how I show them who we are.

You stepped away from the kitchen to be fully present for your family. What did that season teach you about fatherhood, about priorities, about yourself? Since losing Franki, my two children and I have grown closer, and my priorities have realigned. They come first. Cooking, which before her illness often claimed that place, is now a distant second. Becoming a single parent has shown me that my identity extends well beyond the kitchen.

My days now begin early. I wake up at 5:30 a. m., stir up the kids at 6, get them ready, and drop them off at school by 7:50.( We have a hefty commute.) I pick them up around 4:30 or 5 p. m., and we usually get home close to 6. Then our evening routine begins. We play in the backyard with the dog for a bit. I help Calliope with her homework and listen to Oscar read if he has assignments. I put together a basic dinner as my kids are incredibly picky eaters and do not let me cook anything gourmet for them. Then we try to settle into the bedtime routine around 8 p. m., at which time I make sure each of them gets a little individual attention before they go to sleep. The days are full!

The Clement Family

Most of our real quality time is at the weekends now. In the past, those were the days and nights I was always working. Ultimately, I have come to appreciate that fatherhood is my favorite job. And when my kids needed me the most was also when I needed their love the most.

You’ ve spoken about rebuilding this chapter on new terms: lunchtime hours, consulting work, more balance. What does a sustainable life look like for you now? Over the past year, my decisions have been guided by a single measure: does this serve my children? If it does not, I let it go. I am focused on building Meshugganah into an operation that can sustain itself without my constant presence.

At the end of the day, I just want to cook good food but also be the one tucking my kids in at night. I cherish the time I have with them, especially at this stage of their lives. Franki’ s passing taught me a great deal about what it means to be present. In a way, it was an incredible gift she left me.

As you return to the kitchen in this next chapter, what does cooking represent for you now? And what do you hope your diners feel when eating your food? When Franki was sick, I found myself stepping away from the joy I once took in cooking. As the treatments wore on and her appetite faded, food stopped feeling like nourishment and began to carry a different weight. As a chef, not being able to put your heart and soul onto a plate for the person you love most is heartbreaking. In many ways, it drained my passion for food altogether.

Now, a little more than a year after her passing, I find myself slowly returning to it. And the act of cooking feels closer to what it once was. I remember a moment when I was consulting on the project at Free Range Brewing. I had been developing recipes for the kitchen, and while I wasn’ t the one cooking that night, I attended the friends-and-family opening. Listening to people talk about the excellent food and hearing their excitement, I felt something I hadn’ t felt in quite some time.

At this stage of my life, I hope diners taste the care and emotion behind my food.. Cooking, when done well, is is the ultimate act of giving.

The Modern Balabusta spotlights our very own masters of hospitality. From kitchens to grilling, local businesses, gardening, tablescapes, at-home entertainment, backyard gatherings, and beyond, we celebrate it all. If you or someone you know embodies this spirit, email elizabeth. johnson @ jewishcharlotte. org.