Misbehaving Ten Stories High Getting crazy and creative, chef Buddha Dickson and his hubbie Dallas Isham keep the kitchen cooking way past midnight at Scott Gertner’s Skybar by Eric A.T. Dieckman

Well-behaved people rarely make history. Luckily, neither Buddha Dickson nor his partner Dallas Isham are of the well-behaved variety. "I would rather be notorious than famous," says Dickson. The couple sit at the large Scott Gertner’s SkyBar patio overlooking the Montrose and the skyline. A club regular, a sexy tight-dress-clad bit-o-eye-candy, animatedly regales them with stories of her exploits at another club the night before. She tells of accidentally flashing passers-by while changing in her car, of dancing unencumbered by inhibition, of getting home at 6:30 a.m. On a weeknight. The stout, shaved-head man (Buddha suits his name well) lets out a musical laugh. He and his partner are no strangers to nocturnal misadventures. The nightlife is forged for notorious people, by notorious people. At Scott Gertner’s SkyBar, Buddha and Dallas are there to feed them.

Dickson, a classically trained Master Baker, reached this point in his career by a meandering and rambunctious chain of events. Raised on a farm, he learned how easy it is to make a cow insane. (Just tip it every night for about a week.) Educated at a boarding prep school, he learned to master the art of covert cocktail shaking. (Yes, a black preppie whose birth name is Buddha–his parents were hippies who became staunch conservatives when Dickson turned four.) Dickson next joined the military, smartmouthed a few sergeants, then went to med school. After establishing his practice as a physician, dissatisfaction set in. He decided he had gone into medicine for all the wrong reasons and chose to pursue his greatest love, cooking. Not the easiest transition, for him or his wife and daughter, but the choice left no regrets in its wake.

Dickson held nearly every position in restaurants around town and elsewhere–including Tasca, Ousie’s, Redwood Grill, Bon Appetite, and the Alaskan Pipeline. (That’s not a restaurant; he cooked for the men on the Alaskan Pipeline. They liked him so much, they once shot him a moose which he cooked on a spit for days.) Tiring of restaurant politics, Dickson flipped the bistro scene the bird and went into business for himself, opening up a coffeehouse at Montrose and Fairview, Cafe Avino, inspired by a similar gathering place he frequented while living in Spain. It was at this cozy artists’ hangout that Buddha found his enlightenment in Dallas Isham. As bear couples go, they are one of the cutest, like the pandas at the zoo all the kids want to feed. Together, their softer sides come into view. When asked how the two met, Dickson prompts Isham with a "Go ahead, Mister."

"I had walked by the cafe on several different occasions and I wanted to go in, but was with people who didn’t want to."

"I noticed him walking by, too," gleams Dickson.

The sassy redhead continues. "I saw this fat-ass black man, sitting at a table, giving me this look. I walked into the cafe, he came in, and turned the radio down. I caught him with a classic line, ‘You don’t have to turn that down for me,’ and he just looked at me and said, ‘I wasn’t.’ It just went from there. I came in every day, then I made him hire me, then I made him give me half-ownership, then I moved in with him."

"Didn’t have a choice, really," Dickson beams a little more.

When they met a little over two years ago, Dickson had long left his wife, but was in another serious relationship. Unshaken by circumstance, Isham told Dickson to date this "other guy" as long as he liked, but he knew the bald man would soon fall into his clutches. "I told him it was just a matter of time before he was mine. It just clicked. I’m the only one that’s never been intimidated by his hulking presence."

Within two years, the corner coffeehouse everyone said would close in six months had become a modestly successful local hangout. Houston.citysearch.com listed it as one of the best coffeehouses in town. Weary form the stopless hours, however, Dickson was ready for a break. A few months ago, Dickson learned that SkyBar was looking to open a kitchen. A dimly lit jazz bar? Jazz and funk swelling through smoky ambience? Smooth talkers beguiling incorrigible vixens with their spells? Dickson knew he could be lead cobra in this den-o-vipers. He met with owner Scott Gertner, CV in hand, and explained why any selection for executive chef other than himself would be a mistake. Dickson persuaded Gertner to cancel further interviews. Next, Dickson sold Gertner on his pitch to keep the menu open, flexible, and ever-changing (try Creole for a while, then abandon it for Caribbean, then a taste of comfort food). Then he insisted Isham be brought on as sous chef. Gertner agreed to it all. Since then, Isham’s astute business mind and ability to charm have moved him to the role of catering and events coordinator.

Dickson is the artist, Isham the organizer. "Our business relationship and our home relationship are really the same," says Dickson. "There’s no line of demarcation." Isham makes sure his master baker dots his i’s and crosses his t’s, literally. "Buddha had finished a birthday cake and asked me to check it for him. I said it looked great but he hadn’t dotted the ‘i’ and crossed the ‘t’ in the word ‘birthday.’ " Like many a culinary genius, Dickson aspires to greater things. The shrewd Isham strives to achieve Dickson’s dream of becoming the first household name black chef. Together, the misbehavin’ chubby hubbies are getting there.

What would be Dickson’s script for a first episode of a cooking show? "I would like to do something classically French," he explains. His eyes light up as he starts to think about duck liver–and black pepper brioche with a coffee reduction. Put that napkin down. We’re only getting started. What next? Veal ("because it’s such a beautiful meat, with rosemary, thyme, and garlic, because those are my absolute favorites"), potatoes dauphinoise, fava beans ("people from the United States who aren’t of Indian heritage or of that region, they don’t know from a fava bean."), crusty bread–but no sauces. Dickson believes food should stand on its own. If it’s good, why cover it up? Whoa. Something’s missing. Sure you’re bloated by now, just from reading, but what about that sweet tooth? "Some kind of Napoleon with berries." Ever heard the phrase, so good, it must be sinful? Just think of it as notoriously delicious.

Scott Gertner’s Skybar & Grill, 3400 Montrose, 713/520-9688.Hours are Wednesday& Thursday, 8 p.m.—2 a.m. (kitchen closes at 1 a.m.); Friday, 5 p.m. (happy hour)—2 a.m.; Saturdays, 7 p.m.—2 a.m. Cover charge: $7 Wed, $10 weekend,

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Buddha’s Grandmother’s Opelousas Catfish

When Buddha Dickson was a boy in Louisiana, his Native American grandfather, Daddy Red, would take him fishing outside Opelousas. One day, Dickson caught a 45-pound catfish. "I broke his fishing pole catching it," he recalls. Daddy Red told Dickson to throw it in the sink and tell his grandmother, "Woman, clean that fish for me. Cook it and have it ready. I’m going to wash up. I want it for my dinner." When he commanded his grandmother, "she grabbed me by my pants, pulled me back, and said, ‘What did you say, boy?’ so I told her Daddy Red told me to say it. She called Daddy Red in, asked him if he told me to say that. He said, ‘Well, are ya cleanin’ the fish, woman?’ I went upstairs, washed up, and that night I ate that catfish."

This is the recipe his grandmother used:

2 1-lb. catfish filets (cut into cubes)

3 whole eggs

1/2 cup of milk

2 cups cornmeal

1/2 cup of flour

2 T. salt

2 T. course ground pepper

1 tsp. cayenne pepper

Corn oil for frying

Combine the eggs and milk together, set aside. Combine all the dry ingredients together. Put enough corn oil in your pan just to cover fish when frying. Take a piece of catfish, dip in the egg and milk mixture, coat in the dry mixture, then place in the hot oil. Fry until golden brown.