He erupts into his trademark laugh, an almost cartoonishly maniacal cackle that suggests he might be on the verge of either torturing James Bond or simply flipping the table over on a whim. It's the kind of laugh that makes me briefly wonder whether this whole dinner idea, where I would sit down with Miller to learn a little about what makes this enigmatic fighter tick, was really such a brilliant notion.

This whole scene was predictable, really. When we came in Miller asked the hostess to seat us somewhere in the back of the restaurant because, as he put it, "we're going to be yelling a lot."