Eating Out vs. Eating In

The other day, J4 and I had brunch with a couple he used to live with. One of them is a sous chef, and was telling us about working in the restaurant. J4 used to cook at a few different restaurants and I have years of experience, so this is all something we can relate to, but as I’ve never been in fine dining, I didn’t know what a sous chef did exactly.

J4 explained the hierarchy of a fine dining kitchen.   Apparently there’s a person called an Executive Chef.  She’s the ideas woman.  She dreams up the menus and recipes.    However, she doesn’t really cook anything.    And she’s probably not even in the restaurant when you’re there.    Her name is probably on the website for the restaurant.

Then there’s one or two Sous Chefs.   They’re the grunts who are actually at the restaurant 14 per day.  She’s the one who actually cooks the food that you order.     The Executive Chef may have dreamed up the Mahi Mahi with Mango Salsa, but she’s the one who didn’t burn it, and made sure it looked good on the plate.   She’s the unsung hero of the kitchen.   Her name is probably not on the restaurant’s website.

So, as J4 was describing this to me, I realized something.   J4 is my sous chef.   Frequently I think up some idea of something I want for dinner, i.e. poached eggs over tomato on English muffin, and I make J4 cook it for me.   I don’t really like to cook that much, except for when I do.     I would much rather just sit down and have somebody hand me food to eat.  That’s why I like eating out so much.

Having a sous chef is awesome.   If you have the means, I highly recommend it.

Just sayin’.

Playlist: Alton Ellis
Be True To Yourself – Anthology 1965-1973 

My First Hate Mail

I am very excited to announce that someone hates me and my blog. And yet, even though they think my life is pathetic, they’re still reading. So you see, the joke is on her/him. The funniest part: it’s apparently my mom who thinks I suck. One question though, who are these ‘people’ that my mom purports to represent; you know, the ones who “only visit to get sick amusement out of how pathetic [my] life really is?”

Two stupendous firsts in two days!

Just sayin’.

Playlist: Flogging Molly
Drunken Lullabies
Original Release Date: February 2002

The Hi-Jinks Perpetrated by the Mischievous PLW and J4

I frequently hang out with a group of bikers, even though I don’t ride myself. They’re a fun group of people, and some of them are really good friends. Some of them are nuts. I think that could be said of any group of people. I usually see this group every Wednesday night. We get together and socialize at different bars around The City, like Molotov’s on Haight or the Hi Dive on Embarcadero. There’s a lot of taking the piss with one another, and several little pranks that folks in the group like to play on each other. My favorite is the kill switch.

On a motorcycle, the starter is different from a car, in that there’s the key and then there’s a button. To start the bike, turn the key and push the button, basically. To turn the bike off, push the button. The thing is, unlike a car, everything is out in the open on a motorcycle. Also, when you’re riding with a group of motorcycles, you usually pull up to stops and what not side by side.

One night, months ago, after leaving the bar, J4 explained the prank while I was sitting on the back of his bike at stop with Dub next to us. He hadn’t really been meaning to encourage me, but I caught on pretty quickly. Just as the light was about to change, I reached over and smacked the switch on Dub’s bike, and J4 took off, leaving Dub sitting at the now green light. I thought this was hilarious.

Last night, we were out as usual, only we had taken my car instead of one of J4’s bikes. As we were leaving, several of the others were pulling away on their bikes. One fellow, who I’ll call Yellow, came to the first light with us on my side of the car and waved. At the next light, he was on the passenger’s side. I said to J4, “you know what would be funny is if you could lean out of the car, and get his kill switch.” The difference between this and what we did with Dub was that I really was trying to encourage J4. Well, it didn’t take much.

J4 leaned out of the car window, and couldn’t quite reach the switch, but he did manage to turn the key, and shut the bike down. Just as it died, the light turned green, and J4 pulled himself back in. We heard the most awesome, “AAAAAHHH” from Yellow as I pulled away from the light.

We were pretty freaking pleased with ourselves, and we giggled all the way back to Oakland.