Objects in Mirror are Closer Than They Appear...
Haven't been here in a while.... this is my horoscope...
As fiery as you are -- and that's pretty darned hot -- when you say you're ready to get the show on the road as far as a work project goes, there's absolutely no doubt that it's all going to come together, and quickly, too. You're set to pull off something like that now, and there'll be no stopping you, either -- just as long as you manage your time carefully and don't waste a single moment. You can do it. You just need to believe you can do it.
And I'm going to start up a restaurant, taco truck, something....So I have to get the plan under way.... Here is a poem I wrote... I want to add, that the temporary dementia of certain kitchens when there is no air, or sound, or anything but the concentration of the task at hand....is when I'm happiest!
I wish I was still a cook
Screw the 10 dollars more an hour I make now....I would rather hear the dishwasher & silverware, breaking plates & sizzling food.
I wish my nails were gunked & all my rings. I wish I was sweating like a bastard, instead of wearing a sweater in the air conditioned office.
I wish I could feel my face burning off & I had ass rash again. Nothing a little baby powder wouldn't take care of.
I wish I had all the culinary tinctures at my grasp again.... all the bastards in the kitchen to talk shit with ...... about the waitresses!
I long for my clothes to smell like nothing else smells, unless you've basked in the grease & smoke all night long. Not being able to get it off my hands no matter what, because I can't help but grab my garlic with bare hands.
Grease stains on my pants, because I wipe my hands on my apron all night long & it soaks through.
I love the little pinche cook feeling in my heart...the one where I know that I'm worth so much more than they give me, I do it because I've got a massive work ethic & all I care about is the food. I love not having insurance, and toughing out all my injuries with toughness.
The kitchen after hours.... beers & tucker for those left to clean up all the mess. Maybe some grappa from across the street.... the camaraderie with others of the checkered pants persuasion...riding their bikes to one restaurant or another.
The adrenaline of a busy night, focus, memory, perfection. It's a dance....a dance that few people know.... the kitchen ballet. I miss it & I want it back.
As fiery as you are -- and that's pretty darned hot -- when you say you're ready to get the show on the road as far as a work project goes, there's absolutely no doubt that it's all going to come together, and quickly, too. You're set to pull off something like that now, and there'll be no stopping you, either -- just as long as you manage your time carefully and don't waste a single moment. You can do it. You just need to believe you can do it.
And I'm going to start up a restaurant, taco truck, something....So I have to get the plan under way.... Here is a poem I wrote... I want to add, that the temporary dementia of certain kitchens when there is no air, or sound, or anything but the concentration of the task at hand....is when I'm happiest!
I wish I was still a cook
Screw the 10 dollars more an hour I make now....I would rather hear the dishwasher & silverware, breaking plates & sizzling food.
I wish my nails were gunked & all my rings. I wish I was sweating like a bastard, instead of wearing a sweater in the air conditioned office.
I wish I could feel my face burning off & I had ass rash again. Nothing a little baby powder wouldn't take care of.
I wish I had all the culinary tinctures at my grasp again.... all the bastards in the kitchen to talk shit with ...... about the waitresses!
I long for my clothes to smell like nothing else smells, unless you've basked in the grease & smoke all night long. Not being able to get it off my hands no matter what, because I can't help but grab my garlic with bare hands.
Grease stains on my pants, because I wipe my hands on my apron all night long & it soaks through.
I love the little pinche cook feeling in my heart...the one where I know that I'm worth so much more than they give me, I do it because I've got a massive work ethic & all I care about is the food. I love not having insurance, and toughing out all my injuries with toughness.
The kitchen after hours.... beers & tucker for those left to clean up all the mess. Maybe some grappa from across the street.... the camaraderie with others of the checkered pants persuasion...riding their bikes to one restaurant or another.
The adrenaline of a busy night, focus, memory, perfection. It's a dance....a dance that few people know.... the kitchen ballet. I miss it & I want it back.
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