Appropriate Pressure Listening: When I step into the light my arms open wide, when I step into the light my eyes searching wild, would you not like to be sitting on top of the world with your legs hanging free? Would you not like to be ok?
I have found that when you're dealing with a girl that you think is attractive, it's all about the appropriate pressure. Too much pressure, and you scare the girl away. Not enough pressure and you risk not even being considered or missing out on something that could potentially be. It's a tough call to make and I find that I have been thinking a lot about it over the past few days.
Last night was one of the events that made me think even more about this idea of pressure and such. It was Totoro's birthday dinner, and I was to meet him, Glare and Totoro's brother at Anthem for dinner and drinks. I got a call right after work saying that they were running a bit behind and to see if I could go secure the reservation, so I did.
When I got the Anthem, I talked the hostess about the reservation and made my way to the bar to wait for my three dining cohorts of the night. I knew they were a long way off so I ordered a Hendrick's & tonic and cracked open my book (Best Food Writing 2004). When I chose my seat, I sat with one empty chair between myself and this rather striking girl. She had medium length brown hair, olive skin, a purple blouse and a nose stud. She looked classy and elegant with a touch of edge, just enough to keep things interesting. I chose that seat on purpose. After she ordered her Mango Martini, the barrkeep offered her a dinner menu which she refused because she was meeting friends. He offered me a menu next and I declined as well due to the fact that I was meeting friends as well. He asked if we were meeting the same friends, and I responded, "Hmm, not unless you're here to celebrate [Totoro's] birthday as well, to which she responded, "not unless you're here with a party of all girls." I thought for a second and said, "You know, I really have no problem with that."
After that little exchange, I smiled and turned back to my book. I didn't want to be that sketchy guy who hits on a girl at a bar. I have never been that guy. However I really did want to talk with her. She turned her attention to the TV where the Sox game was on and I continued reading. I knew what I probably would have said. I would have busted out the "So you work in Boston? What do you do? I am a mutual fund accountant by day and a cook at a fine dining restaurant by night and hope to be a chef of my own restaurant someday..." But those words never came out of my mouth. I didn't want to pressure this girl into having a conversation, though someone has to initiate if anything at all is to happen.
Before long, some of her friends show up and I decide to be chivalrous and give up my chair so that they can all sit and drink together as they wait for the rest of their party. Before long, my crew showed up and we made our way to the hostess stand to get our table. As we're standing there, I feel a little bump of a hip-check. It's the gorgeous girl in the purple blouse.
"Your party's all here?" she asks me.
"Yeah. How about yours?"
"They all just showed up too," she replied.
I paused for a second.
"So, is it girls' night out tonight?" I ask.
"Yeah," she said. "We do this every so often."
Now that's where it ended. Their table got served just before mine did and I didn't get a chance to talk to her again. I didn't even find out her name. I should have. I could tell that it had potential, but I didn't apply the appropriate pressure to get the number or a name.
Sometimes I think about my dates with this girl that I have gone out with a couple of times and I wonder if I'm applying the appropriate amount of pressure. I wonder if there are things I need to say or do to get her juices flowing, so to speak. I think I am much better at the girl thing than I have been in the past. I think that my range of coming on too strong and being non-existant have really shrunk, but I'm not to that ideal range yet. I'm not yet the daddy of the mack daddy. Maybe I'll get there someday.
Disturbing News And Then Some Listening: One last cry, before I leave it all behind. I’ve gotta put you outta my mind this time, stop living a lie. I guess I’m down to my last cry.
So I guess this is my first time blogging about any real medical news that I have. See, I have recently been diagnosed with a rare neurological disorder. I'm not exactly sure when it happened or how it happened, but somehow, either through a stroke or by getting knocked in the head by something at some point in my life, I have damaged a bit of my right frontal lobe of my brain. It has left me with a bit of a neurological disorder that's really hard to describe. You can read about it here and here.
All joking aside, life is going perfectly fine. I bought three new pairs of boxers to replace some pairs that have overstretched waist bands that nearly fall off my ass, so how bad could life be? Everyone needs something near their nads, and if it isn't a fantastic woman, it might as well be a comfy pair of drawls, no? There is a bit of a twist though. I strayed from my normal plaid boxer M.O. and bought one pair of striped. I'm a rebel, aren't I? I'm sure that you don't really want to hear about my drawls, so I'll move on.
Last night I went to see New Edition and Brian McKnight with Ebonically Linguistic at the Harborli.. Fleet Bost... Bank of America Pavillion. When I was a kid, I really liked New Edition as well as the bands/artists that came out of New Edition like Bobby Brown and Bell Biv Devoe. When we sat down in our seats, I was sandwiched between Ebonically Linguistic and a rather sizable black man. Think Reuben Stoddard after about ten too many reubens. This was a big man. At first, I was a little bit uncomfortable, because I felt like he was crowding me. However once the opening act went on and we were both heckling this guy rather vocally, we bonded.
For the rest of the concert, we bonded. He knew all of the words to all of the songs, and it was awesome. We (Ebonically Linguistic, the big black man and his big black girlfriend and I) were up on our feet dancing and singing the songs. This guy really made the concert that much better. He was a really cool guy.
The concert itself was awesome. New Edition replaced Bobby Brown with Johnny Gill, but they still didn't miss a beat. They played all of the songs that I wanted to hear, including "Candy Girl," "Cool It Now," "Mr. Telephone Man," and "If It Isn't Love." In addition to that they finished off their part of the concert with Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison." You don't know how good life can get until you hear Ricky sing, "Never trust a big butt and a smile." Heh heh heh. I love that line.
Not only did they sing theses songs, but they were also rocking the group choreography. It was as if they hadn't grown up. It was as if we were back in the late eighties or early nineties. I presume that this is what my parents experience when they see the Four Tops or The Temptations live. It's that nostalgia from your past that makes you go, "yeah, man!" I don't think that it would have been the same if they were just running around the stage singing. The choreography was key. It added energy and flair to their performance.
Brian McKnight was good as well, though he was much more chilled out and "drop ya drawlz," if you will. He played my favorite three songs, "Anytime," "The Only One For Me," and "Back At One." He had an electric set and an acoustic set. Both were equally good. The man has a voice like buttah and the performance reaffirmed my belief that Brian McKnight is the Barry White of my generation.
Tonight was a chill night for me. I had no plans, so I cleaned up my room, did my laundry, got take out sushi and watched television. It was a rare night for me. The funny thing was that I was at home alone for most of it. The roomies didn't get back until after ten. It's rare for me to come home and not have anyone home. I didn't mind it at all, but it was just weird. I go for days and days without having a real conversation with any of them. It's strange living like that. It would be one thing if I were living with complete strangers. Then, I wouldn't care whether I saw or talked to them at all anyways. I figured that if I lived with my friends, I would see and talk to them much more than I do. I guess I just work too much. It's all in the name of my own restaurant though.
Anyways, it's late. I need to get to sleep. I haven't been getting nearly as much rest as I should lately. My eyes hurt now. I think I'll give them a rest.
All's Fair... Listening: What’s the use in regrets? They’re just things we haven’t done yet. What are regrets? They’re just lessons we haven’t learned yet.
... In love and war, or so they say. I guess that what they mean is that even if it feels unfair or unjust, in love nothing is unfair and nothing is unjust. It just is, so to speak.
I think most of this was all brought on by the ending of Spanglish. When watched it the other night, I couldn't watch the extras, because it was too late and because there was something wrong with the DVD. Last night, I wiped the DVD off and tried it again and it worked. I hoped, being the believer in happy endings (in everything, mind you), that they had an alternative ending. I know that it might have knocked the goodness notch of the main character down a bit, but I just hoped that it would happen. I don't believe that things should have turned out the way that they did in the movie. No one got what they deserved, with the exception of the children of Adam Sandler's and Tea Leoni's characters.
I have to say that I did wish that some of the deleted scenes had made the final cut. I think that extended the characters, and somewhat made them more complex. There was one deleted scene where Tea Leoni is arguing with Adam Sandler, when he walks to the other side of the room and asks Tea Leoni to walk over to him. He then proceeds to tell her that they need to make a break for it and leave those two people who were arguing behind. Man, what a great move. What a great image and idea, the idea that one can leave oneself behind and just do what's right even if it feels wrong.
It was because of the ending of the movie that I started thinking about the justice in love. Is it just wishful thinking or is it a reality? Do the people who deserve love and adoration receive it? Do the people who do not deserve it eventually lose it? Is the word "deserve" too presumptious and is there some sort of scale that we can measure deservingness on?
I guess another reason why I have been thinking about these subjects is because there was a discussion at the restaurant after service about what it's like when you see a really cool girl who is dating a douchebag and vice versa, or even what it's like when someone says or does something and your opinion of them just drops and you think to yourself, "Oh, man, I wish you hadn't just said that."
It really is the worst thing when you see someone that you want happily with a douchebag. I guess it's even worse when they're with someone fantastically excellent for them, but douchebag is pretty bad too. The question gets raised over whether you say something to break their happy wading in the ocean of douche or if you should sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up (as Henry Rollins would say) and let them be. Of course you'll be there to pick up the pieces when they realize that they're swimming in vinegar and water, but is it easier to deal with it now or later. Sometimes people never really snap out of that cloudy bliss with so-called douchebag, or ho-bag-psycho-hose bitch, if you will. And that's the saddest part. Sure it could be true that they see a side of them that you don't see. But really.... If you see some sketchy behavior or unhealthy things going on in a relationship, don't you think it would be beneficial to step in? Bah! It's a huge conflict and when you start thinking about it, you realize that you have hypocritical.
Another thing that has been on my mind has been this feeling that I have been getting while working at the restaurant. There's this girl there who is originally from the UK and has the accent to match. She's a fantastic girl. She's really cool, funny and nice. She's not really my type as far as women go, but she is very attractive on the whole. Anyways, sometimes she'll be talking and I just think to myself, "Ouch... That accent hurts." It's not like a "I can't stand that accent!" kind of feeling. It's more of a memory that smarts a bit, even though she bares no resemblance to any other Brit that I have ever known. It's just an "ouch" feeling though.
I know it really doesn't mean anything. I know it's just kind of a reminder, but it's there. I'm trying hard not to relate to her on her nationality though. I think that if I did, it would leave a bad taste in my mouth. PJ thinks that I just need to find another way to relate to her, find a way to make a sort of joke between us so that when I do think of her , I think of the joke and not the accent. I think the only joke that we have erally had much so far relates to her accent. We make fun of the way each other says the word 'can't.' She says that I say it as if it were spelled 'cayhnt' in a very nasal kind of way. I insist that she's saying 'cunt.' I don't think that I want to make that our joke though.
The really strange thing is that her accent didn't start getting at me until a couple of weeks ago. I don't know what changed in my head or what circuit breaker went off, but it just happened one day. It was weird.
Anyways, all in all, I'm fine. Today, Tuesday, is my Friday. I have about five and a half more hours to go before I can begin my weekend, or at least my part of the week where I'm not working until half past eleven in the evening. This "weekend," I'm going to see Brian McKnight and New Edition with Ebonically Linguistic on Wednesday, my Thursday seems clear unless I go see Sasha spin at Axis, and I think I'm getting together with some friends on Friday for dinner, but the details aren't really set.
I saw a pretty cool promotion from the Craigie Street Bistrot in my e-mail inbox this morning. Maybe I'll try to get that girl to go and check it out with me next week, because I don't think it's happening this week. Ookie. Time for the next job. Welcome to the occupation.
Long Time No See Listening: Closer to my dreams. I'm goin higher and higher. I ain't gonna sleep. Sometimes you just have to let it go. Leaving all my fears to burn down. Push them away so I can move on.
It's been over a month since I have posted. It's not for lack of trying or lack of anything to say. I wrote a half a post about a few weeks ago, encompassing Chez Henri's first prize win at the Edible Art charity event/competition, and some other personal happenings. The truth is that I have been working about seventy hours a week between the Corporation and the restaurant. The free time that I have had, I have used to rest, to spend with friends and to decompress.
As of late, my life has been pretty damn good. I have been working hard, getting my butt kicked, but it's all in the name of advancing where I want to be in life. There was an across the board menu change at the restaurant, so I have four new dishes to learn, in addition to a number of new sauces. I feel like in some ways, I have taken on some new responsibilities at the restaurant in lieu of some others. Suddenly, I feel like I am considered to be the senior cook on the garde manger station. I get mad amounts of respect from all of the chefs. I am trusted to do things and and to make sure they're done right. It's a good feeling to feel like people in your place of business think that you're doing a good job even when you feel as if you're performing like shit. The don't fault me for going slow when I do. Jarred told me that it comes with time and that if I had been working full time and was six months in, that I wouldn't even be that fast. He says that when you cook for a while, you develope this amazing manual dexterity. I hope I develop it soon, because I feel like I need it.
Also in the realm of the restaurant, the kitchen has finally begun to be scorchingly hot. It's only been up to eighty degrees outside, but the kitchen has just been incredibly hot. I've had to wear headbands to keep the sweat out of my eyes and out of food. I just noticed that I have a heat rash on my shoulders where my chef's coat touched my back. Mark was dripping with sweat yesterday as he was working the grill. I can only imagine how hot it will get in there when the temperature outside reaches a hundred degrees.
On other news, Fester and I ran our second annual Memorial Day Weekend tasting dinner a week ago. This time, though, we added Emeril as a third cook. In attendance were Booch, THE Hustler, Glare Hulk, Harley, Carpenter, Photogenic, Whisper and my brother. The menu was as follows: Duck Rillets served on endive as the passed hors doerves, seared fois gras on port wine poached pears with a port wine and shallot reduction and balsamic vinegar as the appetizer, vichysoisse as the soup, cornish game hen with a vermouth dijon sauce, grilled polenta, grilled baby onion and sauteed fiddleheads as the entree, a selection of three cheeses as the cheese course, a mixed green salad of watercress, peapod tendrils, and frisee dressed with a citrus vinegarette on cucumber carpaccio dressed with a dill dressing and fleur de sel. Our crowning achievement, by far was the dessert. The dessert was a dense sour cream chocolate cake and a lemon panna cotta served with lime whipped cream, raspberry sauce, and candied lemon zest with a chocolate doo-dad as a garnish. It was so amazing. The entire dinner went off wonderfully. I think that everyone really enjoyed themselves.
There was really only one mishap to speak of and it was really all because of me. We had the dinner in the function room of my old building. It's a pretty nice room, but it has one flaw that I neglected to note. The hood above the range doesn't actually venthilate anywhere. It blows in the bottom and out the top, back into the room. Now, as some of you might know, fois gras has a very high fat content, which means that it has a very low smoking point. In order to sear the fois, I have to have a reasonably hot pan. I, being the fois gras chef virgin, had my pans up a little bit too high, so my fois started to smoke immediately. I had three pans going as well. So, the smoke just came billowing out the top of the hood and into the smoke detector, which was hard wired to the entire building's fire alarms and the fire department. So the fire department had to come to shut down the alarm and the whole building was evacuated. I felt like a little bit of a dolt, but both my friends and my fellow chefs at the dinner and at the restaurant assured me that it was fine. But that was the only botched part of the dinner.
In other news, the rest of my life seems to be going fine. Work has gotten easier at the Corporation. I have had more time during the day instead of having all of the most difficult work.
I've gone out on two dates with a girl who I really like. I met her at a benefit and then I saw her at Soul Revival. About a month and a half ago, we started e-mailing. We kept saying that we had to have lunch "sometime" because we worked so close to each other. After e-mailing for a period of time, we ended up having a two hour lunch in Chinatown. I have never had such a good time on a lunch date ever. I've had a number of lunch dates, but in this one, the conversation never dropped. We talked about everything from music to food to art and work. I had a great time. And over the past few weeks, we haven't been able to get together until just this past Friday. We had ice cream, walked around the common and then I walked her home to Central Square. It was a good time and I can't wait to see her again. The only thing is that I can't read her. I have trouble reading women on the whole, unless they're furious with me. I'm just going to continue to be me and hope that something pans out. But bottom line is that I want to see her again.
Lately, I have been trying to figure out what to do with my two to two and a half weeks of vacation that I have booked in August. Airfares are really very expensive right now, and my two friends bailed out of going to Dance Valley with me due to financial and conveniece reasons. So I am at a crossroads as to what I want to do. Ideally, I would run around Europe for a few weeks eating and living on a shoe string. However, I would also consider doing that in Asia as well. I've tossed around the idea of going on an organized culinary tours and even just going to a resort to relax. Regardless, I'll need to relax by then. Working seven days a week for two long probably isn't too good for one's health. I've been thinking about trying to find a restaurant to stage at in Europe for a few weeks. I don't know how feasible that is, but if anyone has any connetions for me out there, it would be much appreciated if I could do a little bit of networking with you.
Finally, it's three in the morning and I have just finished watching the movie Spanglish. I have to admit that when I first saw the trailers for the movie, I thought it was going to be pretty dumb. Adam Sandler tends to do comedic roles that are very slapstick, and the movie itself looked like a chick flick. So, naturally, I saw a mismatch in my brain which triggered the thought "It's gonna suck." I was so wrong. It was a fantastic movie, one that I would consider owning. Adam Sandler plays a chef, which hits close to home, and the plot is very good. There are a couple of key scenes that really were very powerful. I highly recommend this movie. It's a quality use of two hours.
Anyways, it's time for me to go to sleep. Hopefully, it won't be another month before I post again. I miss writing, but when push comes to shove, I would much rather live my life than write about my life. It's a rare thing, where I am so busy and satisfied with my life that I don't necessarily feel the need to blog about every moment of my life. It doesn't mean that I won't write or that I won't try to write. It's just that it's not as big of a priority as it once was. So I hope to hear from you all and I hope you all hear from me in the near future.
Potential Listening: As my soul heals the shame, I will grow through this pain. Lord I’m doing all I can to be a better man.
To finish the story that I started in the last chapter, I called the cute Indian girl from Beer Summit on Tuesday afternoon. There was no answer on the cell phone, so I left a message saying again that I enjoyed meeting her and that when she gets the message, she should call me if she would like to and if she doesn't want to, that's cool too. It was a "Ball's in your court" move. Low and behold, what happens? What happened is what I was somewhat expecting when she didn't return the first call. She didn't call back.
Although I'm a little bit disappointed, I'm not heartbroken or anything. I think she missed out, but that's fine. She's young and will have many more chances, as I will. After all, she was only twenty one.
I think one of the reasons that I'm not as bent out of shape over this, as I would have been a year or two ago is because I think I'm in a good place without a woman. For as long as I could remember, I could always find something wrong with myself or with my life, and, really, who would want to date someone like that? How is someone like that ready to date anyone? Right now, I feel like I have fixed all of my fixable problems. The only real "problems" that I have with meeting women are the superficial ones. I can't do anything about my height, ethnicity or my predication to shoot from the hip. I think that it's all just numbers at this point. (Strangely, I think that the last statement would make my brother proud.) It doesn't mean that I can stop trying to meet someone. It just means that I gotta run through a few in order to find one that will stick around for a while. It's really all about potential. There are so many potential people out there that could click with me or that I can click with, but it's all about the aligning of circumstances and the willingness to be open to the possibilities of something. It's all about trying to figure out what that potential is.
As of late, I have also been thinking about the other connotation of potential. Growing up, my brother was the smart one of the two of us. He was the brains of the outfit and I was the schemer. I was the one who wasn't at the library when I said I would be. I was the one who didn't get into honors or AP classes. I was the one who was always stirring up trouble. My parents would always tell me that I wasn't living up to my potential and would even call me Mr. 89, because I never got that one more point that would push me up to getting an A.
I'm not entirely sure what they thought my true potential was. I'm not sure what they want me to be when I grew up. A few years ago, they were pushing for lawyer. I think that when I was in fifth grade they (and I, I guess) thought that I would be a marine biologist and in high school, a writer. The truth of the matter was that as I grew up, I realized that I despised the sciences and that even in the small ponds that I traveled in, there were writers that could conjure much bigger fish than I ever could. It was all very discouraging. What was my real potential?
When I was a child, I'm sure my parents never thought up the words "Food Stylist," "Restauranteur," "DJ," "Cook," or "Promoter" when thinking of what I could potentially be, but for sure, they came with a smile when I said "accountant" after a year of being unemployed after college.
The thing that I have realized in the past year is that potential isn't something that someone else has a grasp on for you. Sure, they can have ideas on how to use your talents, but when someone is born, they have the potential of anything. They have the potential to live a long life, but then again, they may die in a car crash. They have the potential to like spinach, but then again, they may dislike it. They mayve the potential to be the President of the United States, but that might not be what they really want.
One needs to realize for themselves what they are and what their potential is. One has to decide where they want to take their talents and their edges and go with it. The real potential doesn't have anything to do with school. School is the benchmark for the boring. This is not to say that education is useless. I feel that if someone judges themself on the standards of others, they will always be unsatisfied with who they are. There's always someone better at something than you are, just because that's the case, it doesn't make you a failure. One needs to set the bar for themselves, not based upon how that bar compares to everyone else, but how reaching that bar will make that person feel.
One of the reasons that I have been thinking a lot about potential is because I see people crumbling around me. They're broken. Some of these people, I consider much smarter than I am. Some sit around with no job smoking pot, just trying to get through the day living with mom and dad. Some people talk the talk, but aren't walking the walk, just wasting time every day that they wake up. Some people are going through the motions of day to day life with a good job and with good friends, but they have no real fire.
Some people, I want to grab and violently shake while screaming, "WAKE UP! THERE'S LIFE TO BE LIVED!" Some, I have layed into a bit, but really they're the only ones who can do something about their situation. I know this from experience. I know this, because I used to bitch and moan a whole lot, but I never did anything to go in any direction. When I send out those e-mails and cover letters in December, I took one step foreward. When I got the internship, I took another step foreward. Getting hired was another. Paying off debt was another.
I guess I was lucky though. I didn't misstep yet. I have taken a few paces in one direction and I have built up momentum. I'm sure it doesn't always work that way. I'm sure some people make horridly bad first steps and have to recover. The point is though, you always need to have personal goals and you always need to keep moving with your life, whether it's the right direction or not. Otherwise, you're dead in the water, and I know way too much to be dead in the water again.
I wish that I could nudge these people a bit, but I know it's really none of my business, just like it was none of my parents' business. These people have to realize what they want out of life in order for them to get going. I can't help them realize that. These people need to get unstuck. I know that they are more than potential stay-at-home wives or meanial unskilled labor. Believe me, I realize that the world needs those types of people, and there are some people who are just meant to go to any kind of work, come home and live a full life. My problem is that I hear and I see these people and I know they want more, but they're not willing to do anything about it. To that, I say, "Suck it up and do SOMETHING."
Anyways, enough of this diatribe on potential and going somewhere in life. Right now I'm not worried about meeting my potential mate. I'm concerned with reaching that bar that I have set for myself and living up to my own expectations in what I want to achieve. A girl? Well, that's all gravy. Dates would be nice and would be fun when I have the time, but I'm not gonna break my back over getting them.
Smooth Operator Listening: *"One By One" by Wynton Marsalis... Just try to imagine it... Now tap your feet to it.*
Well, this has been an eventful week. It's Monday night at midnight and I have been home for quite some time now. No, I didn't get fired and I didn't quit my internship. Chez Henri was closed for the Patriot Day, also know as Marathon Monday. Apparently, last year, they did around ten or fifteen covers for the entire night, so they didn't think it worth it to get anyone to come in. I have to say that I'm a bit disappointed. I realize that this evening, I did a fair bit of relaxing, which is a good thing. However, I missed being in the kitchen a bit. There wasn't anything overly miraculous happening today. I'm sure I needed to relax a bit after this past weekend, but I really didn't want to. I never want to anymore. I want to keep on living life as it happens around me. I want to participate with life. When I relax, I don't really seem to do much. I watch TV or cruise the internet. I sit dormant. I feel like I'm wasting a lot of my time when I just sit there by myself watching TV or cruising the internet. I don't really like that feeling. I would rather be interacting with something or someone. I would rather be learning something new or experiencing something different.
Tonight, since I had the night off and no prior plans (which I wished that I had, but the reason for that will come later), I had dinner with my roomies The Violent One and Photogenic. Whisper was the only one that was missing of our fun-filled household, but he was in class making himself a better person. I guess that's more than I can say for myself. Anyways, we went to Sugar & Spice, a Thai place down the street. I had roasted duck on rice. I love duck. Duck is like Chicken 2.0, much like Lamb is Beef 2.0. I actually thought it was going to be a soul food place, but it was Thai. I'm not a huge Thai food fan. Maybe I just haven't had the right stuff. Maybe I should go to Thailand and get the real thing. That would be hella cool.
There was something kind of strange that happened at dinner though. I was just minding my own business when a table of girls (not so attractive girls, but girls nonetheless) ended up staring at my table (meaning the three of us eating). I notice them looking at our table. I give it a few seconds, because maybe they're just sort of checking out what we're eating. That seems highly unlikely, seeing as we are almost done eating. They're staring to the point where it's getting rather rude, so I turn to them, flash them a smile and a nod in the middle of conversation with The Violent One and Photogenic. They thought it was completely random, but I thought that the acknowledgement was a good way to get them to stop staring. Sweet bajeezums, don't people teach their kids any manners anymore. The funny thing is that they look older than I am. I'd have figured that people older than me would have learned some manners. Not so much so for the younger whippersnappers.
Anyways, after dinner, the three of us headed to Harvard Square to enjoy the weather and to poke around some stores. We ended up spending a good amount of time in Urban Outfitters' basement just checking things out. I almost bought a t-shirt that said: "I am god." on it. They both said that they could see me wearing the shirt around. Alas, they didn't have the size that I really wanted, so I didn't buy it.
After Urban, Photogenic went home to do some homework (not to be confused with housework, which she does regularly). The Violent One went on to get ice cream at Toscanini's and to browse around Newbury Comics. She walked out with nothing, but I walked out with three discs. All three were used and cost me a total under twenty dollars. It was a score. I got two Wynton Marsalis discs and a Save Ferris disc. I guess I have just been feeling the horns a lot lately. There really is something wonderful about a good horn section.
So, we got home at around ten o'clock or so and that was the end of my evening. So, as you can see, I had a rather uneventful evening. The events of this past week were off the hook though.
I guess we can start on Tuesday, my first day at sautee station. I ended up helping out everyone, but I did spend a lot of time checking out what Mark was doing. I learned a lot of new dishes and new techniques. I learned that when you want to pan fry fish, start it by heating up some blended oil. Once it's hot, but not too hot (if it's too hot, cool the pan off by touching the bottom of the pan to a pool of water like a full sink) put your fish in and drop some clarified butter in the pan. As the fish is cooking, use a spoon to baste the fish with the oil and the melted clarified butter. What this will do is it will seal the top of the fish, keeping the fat inside the meat, making it more moist and tasty. I thought that was a killer tip. I guess the sad part of the evening is that I didn't get to actually do any of the sautee cooking. I think that tomorrow I'll get to do some.
Wednesday night, I went out on a date with a girl who answered an ad of mine from a few months ago. We e-mailed. It seemed fine, but when we got together for dinner, I quickly figured out that she was boring and unattractive, two things that really spell disaster for a date. I was neither enthralled with the conversation, nor her physical appearance. It blew. At least The Violent One had locked herself out of the apartment so that I had an excuse to really make the date dinner and that's it. I had no desire to see her again. I don't think she had any desire to see me again either. I guess things worked out just fine then.
Thursday was kind of cool. On Thursday, I bounced out of work as early as possible to meet Emeril at the lobby of The State Room for a charity event that we had bought tickets for. It was a fundraiser for The Friends of Boston's Homeless where they had a bunch of different restaurants serving up quality food while Kendrick Oliver and the New Life Big Band played some killer music. There were a number of swing dancer there, maybe ten of us in total, who tore up the floor and wowed the onlookers. Emeril busted out some balboa. There was a little bit of charlestoning, but I mostly stuck to the mid-tempo lindy hop friendly tunes. I think the highlight of the evening happened while forraging for grub. I was at Hammersly's Bistro's table getting some duck when I recognized the girl spooning the orzo salad onto a plate. I met her last week at The Taste of the Nation. I asked her where the Hammersly's table was and she told me that they had run out early. I remembered her name and everything. She recognized me too. She said that she thought that I looked familiar. Then, just before Gordon Hammersly was about to give me my portion of duck, he ended up turning to another chef behind him and giving her the portion that was supposed to go to me. He then turns to me and says, "A fellow chef... We feed each other." "I know," I said to him. That's when the girl popped back in and said, "Yeah, he's in the biz." "Ohhh," said Chef Hammersly. "I think I remember seeing you last week at the Chez Henri table, right?" I now request a moment of silence. Chef Gordon Hammersly recognized me. How CRAZY it that? I was so not worthy.
After the charity event and talking to some rather attractive ladies who we wooed with our immense dancing abilities, Emeril and I headed over to Blu, which was supposed to be having an industry night for people in the restaurant business. Apparently not too many people knew about it, because there was very little traffic. Emeril and I did get a few free drinks and some rather nice cheese and pancetta out of the bargain though. It was a good time chatting with him. Back years ago, he decided that he loved programming and not library science, so he switched careers so that he could get paid doing what he loves, much like I'm doing now. We have a wide variety of things to talk about though, so we just chatted for a few hours, beverages in hand.
Friday was where the real fun started though. This past Friday, I was paid by Eurobrew to work their table at Beer Summit. It was a good gig. I set up during my lunchtime on Friday and was ready to rock at just around a quarter past six. Luckily, there weren't too many people in the house for the first fifteen minutes of the show. Before I knew it, though, things were in full swing.
This Beer Summit was different than Beer Summits of years past. My friend who started and branded the name Beer Summit sold it to another guy, so he and his crew weren't really running it this year. All of the old faces were there volunteering, but it didn't feel the same at all. The family that I had known and that I had grown with over the past few years had been replaced by these newbies, who, frankly, didn't feel like family. I think that had I not been getting paid, I would have only volunteered for one session and I would have used that to get in for free for another session. What was the most fucked up was that the volunteers that were new, they didn't recognize the old guard. I had a lot of "Excuse me, do you have a ticket?"s and a lot of "Do you know you're not supposed to be back there?"s. In the back of my head, as I'm hearing these guys say this, I'm thinking to myself, "For chrissake, I've been doing this for years. I know what I'm doing and I know how things are supposed to work." I miss the old guard running things. They were much more organized, much friendlier, and I think that they were just a little less football frat boy and more geeky frat boy. That's just how I feel though.
Probably the highlight of the weekend came on Friday night. The story never fails to amuse me. I think that it is one of the best stories of this year thus far, not counting the ongoing saga of becoming a chef. This is the story of the ZEN!!! Master attaining a simple phone number of a beautiful girl. And it goes a little something like this:
I had rationed out all of my beer so that it would last over the course of the three sessions. A third of the beer was allotted to each of the sessions. If I ran out of beer before the end of the session, then I ran out of beer. But at least I knew that I would have everything at the beginning of each session. Towards the middle to the end of the first session, which was the only session on Friday night, I ran out of my ration of Xingu, a Brazillian black lager that my company imports. This is probably one of the more sought after beers of the show. It is an extraordinarily different beer.
Anyways, I ran out of this beer, and low and behold, who is the first person to ask me for it once I've kicked my supply for the session, a cute little Indian girl. She has big eyes and a huge smile. She's about as big as my pinkie and about as cute as anything I can imagine. She strolls up to my table and asks me if she can try some Xingu. I tell her that I'm sorry but I'm all out of my supply for the session and that it makes it really hard for me to say no to a girl as cute as she is. She says okay, gives me the pouty bottom lip and walks off. I feel incredibly bad, because she was so incredibly cute. As the next hour passes, a number of people ask me for Xingu. After a while, I start to get worn down turning people down, until this one couple comes along. They're in their twenties, and are really insistant about getting some Xingu. They have to have it. They're not assholes or pathetic about wanting Xingu, but they seriously want to try it. They have read about it and they feel like their evening would have been a loss if they couldn't get to try it. So, being as worn down as I was and thinking about the first cute girl that I turned down, I made a deal with them. I told them that there was a cute little Indian girl wearing a blue fleecey jacket who was the first girl that I turned down after I kicked my supply of Xingu for the session. I told them that if they could find her and could bring her back to the table, I would open a bottle. And I would ONLY open a bottle for HER. There were a couple of people from the beef jerky table listening in on the whole deal, and they were psyched.
About fifteen minutes later, the couple comes back with the Indian girl and her girl friend in tow. I was quietly psyched. So, I open the bottle, everyone gets a taste, and the Indian girl and I start talking. I introduce myself and she introduces herself, all under the watchful eye of her friend. I made no effort to hide how cute I thought that she was. I think her friend thought that it was funny. We talk for a good ten minutes before she and her friend go off to try more beers.
Ten minutes later, she comes back to my table with a guy. I still have a little bit of Xingu in the bottle and she says that this is her friend and that he needs to try some. So I pour some for him, and we get talking some more. He then asks for another recommendation. I tell him about my favorite, the Black Sheep Ale. He tells me that he's not interested in that kind of beer and she elbows him. I don't know what that was all about. So while we're all standing there, he turns and starts talking to another girl. Clearly, they were just friends. So then she asks me, "So, do you remember my name?" I have to be honest, I only got a few vowel sounds when she told me, so I said, "Well, I think you said PiXXX, but I think it has a P and an I in it and it's really loud in here and I'm really bad with Indian names..." She tells me that it's wrong, but much closer than most other people get even without the noise and commotion of the Beer Summit. She tells me what her name is again. I ask her to spell it. After she spells it and I write it out, I ask her, "Do I get digits to go with this?" She stops, pauses, looks at me and says her number. Oh, man. It was poetry. I didn't mean to be as "smooth" (as Photogenic says) as I must have come off as. It was pretty cool though. More about this story later.
The rest of Beer Summit was pretty good. I went through all of my beer with the exception of the beer that I intended on taking to my chefs at Chez Henri. One of my coworkers from the Corporation came with some of his buddies and got completely trashed. I was peddling eleven or so beers for Eurobrew, and at about an hour and fifteen minutes from the end of each Saturday session, I did, what I called, "The Walk O' Beers," where I walked whoever was at my table at the time through all eleven of my beers from lightest to the darkest. We finished out the walk with the St. Peter's Old Style Porter and award winning Cream Stout, of which I only had three bottles of each for each session. I did "The Walk O' Beers" for both my coworker during the first session on Saturday, and for Shaft and his friends during the second session on Saturday. It was a good time and easy money.
After Beer Summit ended on Saturday night, I took my small stock of beer over to Chez Henri. I was hoping that there would be enough space at the bar in Chez Henri for Shaft and all of his friends. Unfortunately, there were about fourteen of them, so it wasn't really happening. But I had to bring the beer to Chez Henri and I had to get something to eat, so the chefs made me a Cuban sandwich and Shaft and his pals went to the Cambridge Common.
I really didn't mean to take as long as I did. It was just that the sandwich was large and the French film student who is filming a documentary project on Chez Henri was there. I ended up eating slower than usual, because I spent a lot of time talking with the French film student, Chef Bob, Chef Mark, and the French film student's friend. Our topics ran around the gammit, but mostly centered on the restaurant, food and cooking. Probably one of most interesting conversation was about whether Americans season their food too much. The French girl though they did, her friend, who was Spanish, thought they didn't season enough. It was pretty entertaining.
I do have to say that I have a small crush on the French film student. She's wikkid cute and she reminds me of Julie Delpy. Call it a fantasy of mine. We actually spent a large chunk of time talking one on one. It was probably about an hour (as you can see how long I abandoned my friends at the Cambridge Common over a chick with an accent). I found out a lot about her, though I can't for the life of me remember her name. We were both at the screening of Before Sunrise and Before Sunset at the MFA with Julie Delpy. I actually think that I remember seeing her there and she was shocked to hear that I was the guy who asked the dumb question. I'll let you dig for what the question was in the old entries.
But I had a good time talking with her. She ate plantain chips off of my plate. It was kind of nice having someone cute pick food off of my plate. I know Totoro would have probably been livid, but I think that it kind of shows a kind of confort level between two people. I welcome this girl feeling more comfortable with me. ^_^
By the time I was ready to leave the Chez, it was already one in the morning and my friends at the Cambridge Common were ready to go home to crash. So i sent them off in cabs and I ended up walking home, because I thought that it would have just been weird for me to leave to be with my friends and then walk back in to sit down and talk with the French film student.
Sunday morning, I had brunch at the West Side Lounge with The Violent One, Shaft and all of his friends. There were eleven of us and we had the worst service. It was absolutely horrible. Our waiter was near incompetant. As a restaurant worker, I give these people a lot of lead way. I know that bad things can happen and they'll effect the service, but this was just a bad waiter. I could tell. The food wasn't too bad, and the bartender was kind of cute, so I guess it was alright. I just needed to hang out with my buddy, Shaft, a bit more this weekend. It's tough seeing people when you have two and a half jobs.
After brunch, I tried to call the Indian girl from Friday night. I got her voicemail. I knew that I would be having tonight off, so I thought it might be a good idea to call her on Sunday to see if she wanted to have dinner tonight. Well, she didn't call back, but I didn't really ask her to. I told her that if I got out of work early enough, I would try her back later, but that didn't happen. I was going to try to call her today while I was in the office, but got advice to let it sit for a day. So I'm going to call her tomorrow to see if she wants to have dinner on Wednesday.
I got to work on Sunday at two o'clock, the time I thought that I was supposed to show up. It turns out that I was supposed to get there at half past two, so I spent a half hour listening to my iPod on the sidewalk in front of Chez Henri. It was so nice outside that I didn't mind it. Even after Chef Mark showed up, we just sort of hung out sitting on the sidewalk for a while before going in.
We had a nice conversation about women. It seems as if we have the same tastes in women. We both dig the French film student and we commented on women who walked by. It's a shame, because I know that if it came to looks, he'd win the girl every time. He's taller, blonder, more chisled, more outgoingly confident, and just a general ladies man. Me, I'm a guy you have to warm up to.
Anyways, I was a mess on Sunday. I didn't get half of the stuff done that I wanted to, but I made it through service. I was slow and rather disappointed with myself. I think that I was mildly exhausted from all of the action on Thursday through Saturday that it kind of caught up with me (which made relaxing today, probably my best choice). When I got home at half past ten, I plopped down on the couch and was promptly asleep on the couch by a quarter past eleven. I finally got my ass up at three in the morning and fell fast asleep in a hurry.
Well, that was my week. It was pretty damn eventful. This week should be significantly slower. I think it should be good for me. Hopefully, I'll have a date on Wednesday. Everyone cross your fingers and toes that I get a good reaction when I try to call the cute Indian girl tomorrow.
Movin' On Up Listening: Yo, I'm the type that's always catchin a flight and sometimes I gotta be out at the height of the night.
I can't believe this. This is like a fucking dream. Today, I walked into Chez Henri, and the Sous Chef, Mark, looked at me and said, "What the fuck are you doing here?" Apparently, Chef Bob didn't tell Chef Mark that I told him that I'd still come in on Mondays and Tuesdays unless they kicked me out of the kitchen. Mark thought that was awesome. So I worked a normal Monday night. At the end of the night, I end up sitting with Chef Mark, Dylan, the bar manager, and a guy who is a really well respected cook in Boston.
Anyways, we start talking about people in the kitchen and who we like and who we don't like and why, when Mark turns to me and says. "Dude, since you're not getting paid, why don't you fuckin' come over and work with me and trail for sautee. Leave fuckin' Glen (whose real name is Greg) in the weeds to fend for his fuckin' self." I'm floored. The brother wants me to train for freakin' sautee. I have been at the restaurant for three months, employed for almost two weeks, and he wants to start moving me up. This is AWESOME! I am so psyched. I feel like they think that I have potential and talent. I feel like they have respect for me even though I don't feel like I deserve it yet. Oh, man, this is out of control.
The next awesome thing was this guy who was hanging out with Dylan, Mark and I. He has worked at numerous different restaurants, for numerous different chefs. He knows his shit. He's good. He went to Johnson & Wales in Rhode Island. We ended up talking a lot about what I had been doing for Chez Henri and about what I want to do in the future. I told him about wanting to get into the Craigie Street Bistrot. It turned out that he was the sous chef there for a while. He told me that the chef there was a complete prick, but he was by far producing the best food in Boston and that I would even be hard pressed to find comparable food in New York City. I've eaten there. I know what he's saying. I think that the Craigie Street Bistrot topped Les Halles by a landslide. He told me that it's a completely different environmment from Chez Henri and that I should go work there for a night or two a week, but be prepared to be yelled at, screamed at and degraded. Be prepared for a hostile environment. What he said, though it scared me a bit, it also made me want to do it. Not because I want to get yelled at and screamed at, but because I feel like I will need to deal with that at some point in time in the future. I might as well deal with it and get a thick skin about it while learning some classical French cuisine.
The second thing that this guy told me was that I, straight up, shouldn't go to culinary school. He said that all I need to learn, I can learn from the right chefs and the right restaurants. He felt that though he was a straight A student at Johnson & Wales, they were just a company looking to get their hands on his money. He felt that he learned much more from being in the right kitchens and so on and so forth. He gave me a lot to think about. I'm sure that I'll be able to talk to him much more over the next couple of weeks, since he is filling in for some of the people who left the restaurant. I hope to learn much, much more from everyone that I meet in the kitchen.
Another random thing was that when we were talking about people in the kitchen, we were talking about the new grill cook. Mark doesn't like the kid, because he's a dirty cook (meaning messy) and feels that he just doesn't "get it, so to speak. I told Mark to hold off until the end of August and that I would probably be available to take the position. Mark then said to me that he didn't really see me as a grill cook, but more of a sautee guy, which is why, I guess, that he wants me to trail with him tomorrow. Aww, man. So freaking cool.
Anyways, it's time for me to go to sleep. I have a big day of sauteeing ahead of me.
