Just Talk
My Dearest Love,
Sometimes my strongest need is just to talk to you. You know, about the small stuff, the quirky, off beat stuff, the family stuff. I need to continue to weave that web that tied us together within the larger fabric of the universe around us.
Here is an example that I have been sitting on for a whole week. Last Sunday, I started the day in my usual way by sitting down and slowly reading the Sunday paper after taking care of the dog, making coffee, and on this day, getting the bread making process underway. And as I worked my way through the political bullshit, the war bullshit, the gossip bullshit, I finally reached the section that dealt with local society bullshit. There was an article on the nasty insides of the local restaurant scene. You would have so loved it.
I was thinking of you as I read the juicy insider stories of who was suing who about deals gone bad along with the scraps thrown in the compost. I was thinking of that movie we watched, "Dinner Rush" where plotting and intrigue both in, and out of the kitchen steamed along with the gorgeous and creative gastronomic art that was laid before the unsuspecting diners. Well, I was almost to the end of the article when a name caught my eye. It was your restaurant, my love, making news in the most unwelcome way.
It appears that the current GM of your restaurant is being sued by a former head chef of a restaurant that he owned, but that's not all. The paper went on to repeat scandalous rumors of gay torture chambers in the basement, male strippers stalking the kitchen, sex in the corners, whooo-hoo. I was stunned. What would you have done had you been in your old spot across the table from me. What kind of shock waves were going to ripple out through the food biz strata? What were D and M going to do when they heard about it all. Your restaurant tarnished in the most tawdry way. It was luscious in a seamy sort of way and I HAD NO ONE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH. I was so bummed.
It was almost a week until I could get up there and see for myself how the staff were responding. There were some grim faces and I can't imagine what all is happening. The timing of this was suspiciously terrible too. Your head chef had her last night there a day before the story broke. She is off to be a star in Hong Kong, a shining light in the gluttonous east. I haven't met her replacement, but the whole staffing situation must be in turmoil. If you were here, I would know the inside scoop and we could talk about it in all of its lovely, grimy, and smutty intricacy. How I miss you.
In other goings on, your son is about to turn fourteen. I fell into a panic last week when I realized the proximity of the event and the fact that I had done nothing really to prepare. Our family is still paralysed by this schism that was cleaved by your two sisters, so a family gathering is out, even though that is the one thing he wants most. Your sister is throwing a family party for him at her house, but seems to have lost my invitation.
Yesterday, I took him and his two long-time best buds to an indoor go kart race track and we inhaled poisonous fumes for a bit as we raced little low-slung rockets around a loopy track set up inside a large pole building way out in bum-fuck county, half way to St. Cloud. Your boy was brilliant. On our first race, the four of us were the only ones on the track and I proceeded to lap them all on my way to a victorious finish. It was exhilarating and surprisingly intense. These little carts could reach 30 or 40 miles per hour and had amazing grip. I felt pretty pleased with myself for arranging it on short notice.
After a break to breath slightly less toxic air in the lounge and to play some race games on video machines, we went back in for round two. I once again was last out of the starting gate (it was sequential) and had to corner aggressively to gain a leadership position when I became aware of someone hanging right on my tail and no matter how well I set my line in the hairpins, I couldn't shake him. Then, when forced to brake for a much slower driver ahead of me, I felt a punch as my follower rammed me into the boards and roared on by. Guess who. Yes, our son, and the chase was on.
I couldn't catch him. He is truly a gifted and skilled driver. He was laying down better, smoother lines through the corners and displayed a natural skill at dominating his position. It was not until several laps later when he had to slow for the same poky driver that I was able to return the favor he did me by edging him on the inside and forcing him out into the boards, allowing me to squirt ahead for the final lap. Little good it did me, for he turned in the fastest lap time of the four of us, beating his old man by a some thousandths of a second. He made me very proud.
From there, we were off to Sammy's Pizza for lunch and then home where the boys holed up in J's bedroom and played computer games until nightfall. He was a happy camper and celebrated by making cookies all by himself last night. They were good too. You would have been pleased at how he did it all without any assistance and left a sparkling clean kitchen when he was done. He is a good kid.
We would have talked about that too. Or maybe we are? I don't' know.
D.
Sometimes my strongest need is just to talk to you. You know, about the small stuff, the quirky, off beat stuff, the family stuff. I need to continue to weave that web that tied us together within the larger fabric of the universe around us.
Here is an example that I have been sitting on for a whole week. Last Sunday, I started the day in my usual way by sitting down and slowly reading the Sunday paper after taking care of the dog, making coffee, and on this day, getting the bread making process underway. And as I worked my way through the political bullshit, the war bullshit, the gossip bullshit, I finally reached the section that dealt with local society bullshit. There was an article on the nasty insides of the local restaurant scene. You would have so loved it.
I was thinking of you as I read the juicy insider stories of who was suing who about deals gone bad along with the scraps thrown in the compost. I was thinking of that movie we watched, "Dinner Rush" where plotting and intrigue both in, and out of the kitchen steamed along with the gorgeous and creative gastronomic art that was laid before the unsuspecting diners. Well, I was almost to the end of the article when a name caught my eye. It was your restaurant, my love, making news in the most unwelcome way.
It appears that the current GM of your restaurant is being sued by a former head chef of a restaurant that he owned, but that's not all. The paper went on to repeat scandalous rumors of gay torture chambers in the basement, male strippers stalking the kitchen, sex in the corners, whooo-hoo. I was stunned. What would you have done had you been in your old spot across the table from me. What kind of shock waves were going to ripple out through the food biz strata? What were D and M going to do when they heard about it all. Your restaurant tarnished in the most tawdry way. It was luscious in a seamy sort of way and I HAD NO ONE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH. I was so bummed.
It was almost a week until I could get up there and see for myself how the staff were responding. There were some grim faces and I can't imagine what all is happening. The timing of this was suspiciously terrible too. Your head chef had her last night there a day before the story broke. She is off to be a star in Hong Kong, a shining light in the gluttonous east. I haven't met her replacement, but the whole staffing situation must be in turmoil. If you were here, I would know the inside scoop and we could talk about it in all of its lovely, grimy, and smutty intricacy. How I miss you.
In other goings on, your son is about to turn fourteen. I fell into a panic last week when I realized the proximity of the event and the fact that I had done nothing really to prepare. Our family is still paralysed by this schism that was cleaved by your two sisters, so a family gathering is out, even though that is the one thing he wants most. Your sister is throwing a family party for him at her house, but seems to have lost my invitation.
Yesterday, I took him and his two long-time best buds to an indoor go kart race track and we inhaled poisonous fumes for a bit as we raced little low-slung rockets around a loopy track set up inside a large pole building way out in bum-fuck county, half way to St. Cloud. Your boy was brilliant. On our first race, the four of us were the only ones on the track and I proceeded to lap them all on my way to a victorious finish. It was exhilarating and surprisingly intense. These little carts could reach 30 or 40 miles per hour and had amazing grip. I felt pretty pleased with myself for arranging it on short notice.
After a break to breath slightly less toxic air in the lounge and to play some race games on video machines, we went back in for round two. I once again was last out of the starting gate (it was sequential) and had to corner aggressively to gain a leadership position when I became aware of someone hanging right on my tail and no matter how well I set my line in the hairpins, I couldn't shake him. Then, when forced to brake for a much slower driver ahead of me, I felt a punch as my follower rammed me into the boards and roared on by. Guess who. Yes, our son, and the chase was on.
I couldn't catch him. He is truly a gifted and skilled driver. He was laying down better, smoother lines through the corners and displayed a natural skill at dominating his position. It was not until several laps later when he had to slow for the same poky driver that I was able to return the favor he did me by edging him on the inside and forcing him out into the boards, allowing me to squirt ahead for the final lap. Little good it did me, for he turned in the fastest lap time of the four of us, beating his old man by a some thousandths of a second. He made me very proud.
From there, we were off to Sammy's Pizza for lunch and then home where the boys holed up in J's bedroom and played computer games until nightfall. He was a happy camper and celebrated by making cookies all by himself last night. They were good too. You would have been pleased at how he did it all without any assistance and left a sparkling clean kitchen when he was done. He is a good kid.
We would have talked about that too. Or maybe we are? I don't' know.
D.
Copyright ©2003-2007 Phaedrous
posted by Phaedrous at 9:28 AM
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