KISS is an epic, legendary rock-n-roll band. Come to think of it — they practically invented, then defined the genre.  Even though I was never their biggest fan, I was never wan to turn the channel when their music came on the radio.

Last week, I got the chance to meet two of KISS’ original frontmen, Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons.  The guys were in town to open another of their Rock and Brews restaurants. If Hard Rock Café, Planet Hollywood, Viper Room and Bennigan’s had a baby … it would be similar to Rock and Brews.  The testosterone was so thick when I walked in, I immediately started filing my nails.

You could spot Stanley and Simmons right away … even in restaurant that was semi-crowded was salivating journalists.  Both rockers were dressed in black (natch!), way taller than I anticipated (6’2″+) and had an odd array of perfectly coifed, somewhat synthetic hair.  And both of ‘em were remarkably well preserved, looking fairly polished and alert.

I watched both of them glide around the room with ease.  They’d glad hand, hobnob, mingle and kibitz with great ease. For the hour I was there, I was watched Paul Stanley graze on about ten different dishes. How the man stays so thin is beyond me. Simmons had a more looming presence. He’d stand around off to the side with his arms folded, like a bouncer or a menacing statue outside a pharoh’s tomb.  His attachment to his sunglasses and lack of expression made him hard to read.  Although from I what I saw, he is rather fond of the elusive duck face.

During the interview, both were ridiculously professional, chatty and engaging.  Who knew rock gods could be so eloquent and deliver the perfect soundbyte after every question? Several times I had to pause because their answers would contain weirdly disguised double entendres.  Sex, even though thinly veiled, is still a priority when you’re trying to sell a chicken sandwich apparently.

At one point Stanley pulled me aside to show me some pics from his cell phone.  There’s Paul throwing pizza dough.  There’s Paul snacking on a giant pretzel. I figured there would be some smutty pics thrown in … alas, I never saw anything illicit other than some good ol’ fashion food porn.

Both men are big proponents of the Wounded Warrior project that helps injured soldiers. After all the journalists left, veterans poured in to meet their idols.  I watched the S&S sign autographs on albums, posters and prosthetic arms and legs.  Grown men who fought in battle were reduced to giddy schoolgirls.  Tears flowed freely.

You’ve got to hand it to Stanley and Simmons, they have perfected the art of the schmooze. And their philanthropic endeavors are genuine and whole hearted.  How was the food, you ask? I have no idea, but if it’s good enough for Paul Stanley to eat non-stop for sixty minutes, it must be A-OK.