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BRUNSWICK, Ga. -- The Twocan Cafe, the only nightspot in a downtown that rolls up its sidewalks at dusk, is where the Georgians come to have a good time. They dance to blues, chat with each other, applaud for birthdays and eat some of the best seafood this side of Savannah.

Ken McComb co-owns the former hotel with his wife, Kimberly. He came here after having a heart attack which he attributes to the stress of running a bar in Atlanta. Brunswick, a small industrial town where paper mill exhaust chokes out the sweet smell of cypress trees, needed Ken's urban cooking as much as Ken needed its rural peace.

In a palm-tree shirt, khaki shorts and loose-fitting sandals, Ken floats from table to table during the night, sometimes serving guests, sometimes sitting down and talking with them, asking customers about their lives and their interests, before even thinking about telling stories about how he drives his boat to work and never had kids, but that's okay, because his dogs take up most of his time and they're just as attention craving anyway. No one who works in any restaurant ever wants to hover. At some places, they take care of that by disappearing and only emerging once or twice (usually when your mouth is full) to say, "Everything OK?" At The Twocan Cafe, Ken and Kimberly avoid hovering by pulling up a chair. Can't hover if they're sitting with you, can they?

Their formula -- whatever it is -- has worked. The restaurant is packed every night, some would say because of the grilled grouper or blackened scallops, or the pasta special, or the entertainment. I think it's because of Ken. I think it's because he makes people feel like they belong when they come to his restaurant, whether they're from Brunswick or Atlanta or Detroit or Hartford. I think it's because he asks them to talk about themselves first, before he tells some crazy story about life in coastal Georgia.

"I never forget anything that happens in my bar," Ken says. The trick, though, is that no one in his bar will ever forget him.