Begin again begin again

My triumphant return to the blog world begins with my current obsession.

Just 'cause you're an MC doesn't mean that you get to be an asshole.

So I work in this restaurant. This awesome restaurant with great food and great wine and amazing cocktails and a swank-ass ambiance. This restaurant is also known for its late night scene, happy hour, drunk ass people. I've always thought this to be a strange collision of atmospheres, but whatever keeps food in my belly and liquor through my liver, right?

This weekend we tried something new. We brought in this big-deal DJ and turned the front area into a night club scene at 10pm. This is not really my thing, but again, it'$ really not up to u$ employee$ and I'm ju$t happy to have hour$ and blah blah blah $$$$$.

What have we learned? Music brings out a weird side of people. The exhausted servers who got their asses handed to them for the last six hours wiggle their bodies to the music as they walk through the restaurant. The bartenders, still in the weeds, high-five when good songs come on and sing at the top of their lungs as they pour from the tap, splashing beer everywhere. The kitchen staff at the tapas bar teach each other dance moves and wave their utensils around. It's sweet relief from the awful faux-Spanish elevator fucking music that we listen to every goddamn day.

And then there are the intoxicated. Drunk men in suits flailing their arms around as if to save themselves from drowning. Girls in extraordinarily tight clothing attempting to dance but can't really move as much as they could if they were wearing sweatpants. Let's all yell the lyrics to 80s songs as LOUD AS WE CAN BECAUSE RICK ASTLEY BRINGS EVERYONE TOGETHER.

I have no point. It's a weird scene.

272022

What did I learn my first week at school?

-I hate perspective drawing. Looks like G1 Drawing & Perspective is gonna suck for me.

-When you're 18, it's okay to have an 8am breakfast of Hawaiian Punch and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Am I old?

-Artists can teach, but they may not be teachers. My syllabuses are riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. Good lord.

-6:30am isn't the hard part. Noon is the hard part. Well, closing at the bar that night is the hard part.

-All graphite pencils are not created equal. Furthermore, all erasers are not created equal, and also completely suck, depending on the graphite pencil used. This shit better come in handy someday.

-I have absolutely zero interest in making friends with my classmates. ZERO.

-Easy way to spice up a boring project? Add a pop culture reference.

School is going quite well, thanks for asking.

Babes.

3:45 am.

Cold meatball sub, delivered an hour and a half ago. American Spirit Ultra-Light, bummed from a boss for the price of an over-zealous errand and light physical/verbal abuse. A long ride home with my new male counterparts.

Bartending is a boys' club. I fit in pretty well.

I Have a New Job.

I have a new job -

both my Bosses love me.

They buy me drinks after work and have a desire to pinch my cheeks.

They teach me because they want me to learn and care

and in turn, they make me want to learn and care.

I strive to do my best because

both my Bosses love me.

I have a new job -

I'm actually making Money.

I work long hours

I lift heavy objects

I get down and dirty with the dishwasher

I work hard for it because

I'm actually making Money.

I have a new job -

I have a new Disposition.

I no longer feel a heavy oppression poisoning my extracurriculars

I have a light and happy heart

I smile. A lot.

Spring feels springier because

I have a new Disposition.

The moral of this poem is

be nice to every single person you've ever met

in your entire life

because sometime

maybe even three years later

they may offer you a job that

you never

ever

ever

EVER

would have gotten on your own.

2011 - the year I make desserts.

I've only made two so far this year -- one success, one... less than success.

The first, a chocolate mousse, care of Julia Child.


The boyfriend came over to dinner a few weeks ago. I made an excellent coq au vin, which I affectionately refer to as Purple Chicken. Quite good, chicken with bacon, mushrooms, assorted aromatic veggies, and a sauce made from red wine. I made the chocolate mousse for dessert, which was fucking great. I used rum, espresso, and the wife's vanilla sugar, and it was, for lack of a more accurate descriptor, perfect. I didn't get an "after" picture, as it would only consist of two adorable people shoving puffy chocolate into their mouths at top speed.

The second, a raspberry soufflé, from the Good Housekeeping cookbook.

I was cooking for said boyfriend again last night, made a pretty good pasta dish with bacon (see a theme?) and peas and onions and a bunch of cheese. I was going to make the soufflé for dessert, but we ended up having brie for a starter and were pretty wrapped up in a Dexter marathon, so I decided to make it upon arriving home this afternoon.

The process began with a mild egg white/yolk separation issue, but I recovered well, until I realized that we don't have a soufflé dish. I put it in a bread pan, hoping for the best. However, when the timer buzzed, I pulled this from the oven:


What the fuck is that? A thousand gross zombie and flesh analogies come to mind, but they're too gross to verbalize. The bottom line is that my soufflé fell and it looks gross. I tried a bit of it, and while it's quite tasty, I am finding it difficult to want to continue eating it.

So one success, one not-so-success. The second does not deter me from further attempts, as I want to keep trying this out. Fear not, faithful friends, I have a solid workout routine to combat the increased sugar intake that this project is sure to include. (If the pictures are as gross as that last one, I won't post them. Probably.)