At Olivea, John Broening shows that he has all the right tools — and knows how to use them
Jesus…,” I said to no one in particular, dopey smile aimed down 17th Avenue, waddling a little as I cleared the doors of Olivea. “He is just so fucking good.” “So you liked dinner?” Laura asked, squeezing my hand. John Broening has had a dodgy run. Good times and bad,…