La Cucina

Chapter 1 - Aperitivi

She was the chef. Now in this country people think that means the head cook sort of. No. Chef means boss. Chef means absolute monarch in the kitchen. Enlightened despot or not so enlightened. There is a saying, “Le Chef a toujours raison, et meme quand le chef a tort, le chef a raison.” The chef is always right, and even when the chef is wrong, the chef is right. Elena was the chef, although no one actually knew her name. Those who worked in her kitchen assumed her birth certificate just said “The Chef”. Was she tough as nails? Nails wished they were that tough.

Adele and Victoria were the cooks in her kitchen (her domain?, her kingdom?, her world? all applicable). They were inspired to work in that kitchen. The were constantly in fear in that kitchen. They looked forward to the end of every shift. But there was no place they would rather be. No place they could learn what they did learn in that kingdom. Ben was the dishwasher. The only one in that domain that The Chef would defer to. Dishwashers have a permanent hall pass. Those who have worked in restaurants will know this. (And everyone should work some time in a restaurant. Should be required. Would cut down on all kinds of pomposity). Ben would drink. One could say that The Chef would turn a blind eye, but it was, in fact, The Chef who gave him his tipple. Don’t ever lose your dishwasher, especially a good one. Really.

Work day started for The Chef at 7/24. For Adele and Victoria they were suppose to arrive at one but they were usually there shortly before noon. One or two quick shots of coffee and get the notebooks out. The Chef would detail the evening’s menu. She would ask who would like to do each task. All for show because then she would say, “Actually I think Victoria should do that.” Le chef a toujours raison. Whining will not be tolerated. Work stations must be kept clean. CLEAN. No unnecessary talking. No radio. No headphones. Permission to go to the restroom? Well no, but it felt like it. If The Chef asked for this or that vegetable to be a 1/4 inch dice it better be. Oblique rollcut (look it up) had to be oh so oblique. Every thing “soigneuse”. 

Where The Chef got her “chops” was a bit hazy. No resume. She certainly could not have learned from a book or any cooking school, whether sensible junior college or high brow big bucks private place. There was a rumor that she had worked in a fairly high prestige restaurant in rural France. One of those places glittering with Micheline stars. The rumor went on to speculate that that experience was quickly terminated when the sous chef got too “handsy” with her and was told he would soon be missing an appendage. And the sous chef was scared. Her knives were sharp. Very, very sharp. When dishwasher Ben had asked if she wanted him to clean her knives she said, “No thank you. My knives are sharp and no one touches them.” The sous chef at that Michelin starred place was quite relieved when she was asked to leave (booted out the door).

Other stops on her culinary education tour frequently ended the same way, with some sort “misunderstanding”. But don’t you dare misunderstand my knives. And she just had no tolerance for big ego driven males in a kitchen world dominated by males. 

Her restaurant was in Portland Maine. It was named “The Arts”. Such an incredible restaurant town for not a big population. There were 24 seats in “The Arts”. Reservations could be made for 6:15 or 8:15. It started slow but did not take long. Full house every night now. Two turns. Knowing a full house every night makes the business end easier. Trust me. A “numbers not working” restaurant is not a happy restaurant. Necessary pieces of the business such as ordering, menu planning, staffing, wine orders etc. are really so much easier when they can be reasonably estimated. Without having a good idea of how many customers are to be served, all those necessary pieces can all be wild cards, sometimes very wild cards. After the service concluded she would have one glass of wine with the staff (Ben was about 5 or so ahead of them at this time). Just the kitchen staff. Dining room staff not included. Kitchen clean. All put away properly. Go home.

The chef would get in her car and put on her hat. Her grandfather’s cap. A New York Yankees cap. Signed under the visor by Yogi Berra. Gramps would have been a team mate other than that disastrous crash into the left field wall. She was a die hard Yankees fan.

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Note: the following is a first glance at a song The Chef sings to end the first chapter. This is planned to be a massive Broadway musical hit if I hadn’t mentioned that already.

What do I think
I won’t share that much
I have passion for my work
There, I have told you enough
I don’t care much
For normal news of the day
Without any thought from me
It just seems to go away
One more thing
And I tell you it’s the truth
Waiters are
The assholes of the world

Chapter 2 - Antipasti

Constantine was a waiter. FOH. Front of the house. He worked in The Chef’s restaurant. She, of course, worked in the BOH. back of the house. My sympathies to any of you who are just learning those terms. Resolve yourselves to do some time in restaurants next incarnation. Really. Ok, back to Constantine. He was the only one who knew that name and perhaps he had forgotten it himself. Every one knew him as “The Duke”. Those who worked with him, those with whom he was acquainted at the assorted after hours bars, even the local police who had become sort of appreciative of this oh so once in a long while life form, were certain that his birth certificate indicated his name as “The Duke”. Most did in fact simply address him as “Duke”. With a respect due for his particular sort of slovenly royalty.

To say The Duke was casual in his demeanor was a wild understatement. One might compare his casual presentation to a cooked noodle. A cooked noodle could only dream of being so casual. The Duke could put on a perfectly starched shirt and apron and it would be wrinkled 10 out of ten on the wrinkle scale in less than a minute. The clothes he wore knew who he was. His ambiance with the customers was not what one would expect from such a fabulous restaurant. Outrage at his familiarity should have been obligatory. But people just loved him. Perhaps it was that people do indeed love a rascal. (Which is true). Perhaps it was that people loved a scoundrel. (Similar and also true). Any other life form that tried his shenanigans would be tarred and feathered on the spot. Perhaps shot or at the very least strung up by his corkscrew. But he had undeniable particular talents. He sold all the specials The Chef would have prepared for the evening (every chef in the world

wants to “move” the specials). He sold more wine and better wine that anyone else. And he drank quite a bit of the wine he had sold to customers. And somehow it was all OK with everyone. That bottle is empty? We’ll get another one.

The Duke rarely had to go into the kitchen. He stayed in the front (FOH) and there were runners to bring out the food. But once in a while he had to venture into The Chef’s domain. Adele liked The Duke. Victoria liked him more. Ben recognized him as a soulmate and probable co-conspirator in some previous lifetime scheme. The Chef despised him. Her oh so sharp knives despised him. Every inch of her “mis en place” being despised him (go ahead and google it). So he should have been gone like well, instantly. But … and this is common in the restaurant business. He made things go. Always had the highest check average.

Always sold the high end wines, and more of them (and, yes, helped himself to quite a bit of that wine. One must constantly ensure the product is up to snuff, yes?). And the customers adored him. There were so many requests to sit in his section that he sort of worked every table. His FOH fellow servers didn’t mind. Given a choice between server pride and much better gratuities being shared … well you figure it out. So there was this brilliance in the kitchen and this somehow irresponsible behavior in the dining room (FOH). And The Chef hated it but did love the numbers. What good is a too proud restaurant that must close its’ doors?

OK. Service over. The Duke would share all the left over wine he had somehow squirreled away during the evening with the other servers. Yes, The Duke was really quite good at “squirrelage”. In the kitchen they planned respectfully for the next day’s menu (one glass of wine). In the FOH the wine flowed. And they discussed which after hours bar they would grace with their crazy ass presence that night.

OK. Non restaurant people should know. There are two shifts in a supper service. The first takes care of the customers. The second shift is for the servers. It is an obligatory two or three hours of unwinding. Trust me, no one can/should/would go to sleep after service. With a certain consistency, Adele and Victoria would somehow find their way to join those FOH rascals. Who doesn’t want to either be or hang with rascals? Not many, certainly not many with any kind of respectable pulse. Just one rule. No talking about The Chef. Them’s the rules. Sacrosanct.

The Duke would eventually somehow go home. He would put on his beloved Boston Red Sox hat (the one signed by Carl Yastrzemski), somehow ramble home and shamble off to bed.

Chapter 3 - Primi Piatti 

Anonymous food critics never are. They have a modus operandi as certain as fingerprints or airport facial recognition. Some of these characteristics are common. They are usually accompanied by two or three other diners. They arrive neither too early nor too late. Everyone gets appetizers, entrees, dessert and wine. If one of those folks selling roses came by the table they would probably go for that also. (Well, maybe not). The idea was to get as complete a picture of the food and service as possible. And while one may see some sharing of forkfulls of this or that in a restaurant, the forks at this particular table would fly around like helicopter blades. The reservation is always in a made up name. The paying credit card carries that name. This, of course, maintains anonymity for two visits max. The word gets out. Abraham Lincoln would have a better chance of going incognito.

Louise Daniel was the critic of whom we speak. A tad non-distinct in appearance or even “frumpy”. Her credit card (which lied) (and I would say lies like a dog but it is quite impossible for a dog to lie) anyway her credit card and the name on the reservation was “Susan York”. The credit car did not know it was living a lie.

She would arrive thirty or forty minutes or so before the her companions arrived to join her at table. “Susan” would sit at the bar and grill the bartender. “Good job?” “First time here, how’s the food?” Small restaurant talk and she felt like some sort of undercover investigator. But she was certainly not undercover whilst at the bar. She would have two bourbons on the rocks, every visit. Or if the bartender (she or he) was cute and charming perhaps just a wee bit more. So much for preparing the palate for a proper evaluation. And this practice earned her the nickname “Madame JD”. She really couldn’t be more obvious.

Well Madame JD had made her reservation at “The Arts”. The Chef saw the name on the reservation book. Holy Moly! Reviews were important. Important for putting customer’s bottoms into seats (which was really not a problem at “The Arts”). But ego! EGO!

As much as The Chef and every other chef on this or any planet detested critics, they all have massive egos.

She had confidence in her menu. Confidence in the cuisine’s presentation. Not too cutesy but a real casual perfection. Her kitchen was solid. But that slob out in the FOH!! She asked him if he needed a day off? He replied that that was quite thoughtful of her, but no. (Where else could he drink so much good wine while getting paid for it?) Also he knew Madame JD was coming. This would be more fun than recess in third grade (one of the few things in school at which he excelled).

The Chef had asked the FOH folks to come in a bit early. She had new specials to present. She inspected the dining room. Yes, parfait! Special wines to be offered this evening to dance with the chef’s creations. Yes, parfait! Confidence in every direction, that is but for one compass direction. “That slob!” “That buffoon!” He was capable of … no that was just too terrifying to contemplate. She wished she were Catholic so she might recite fifty or so “Hail Mary, …” so she wouldn’t have to think about the fifty (or more) things that could and probably would go wrong because of that sack of sloppiness. Heading back into the kitchen she got back into form. Must concentrate!

The Chef was indeed an artist. Starting with envisioning every aspect of her offerings. She ordered and received the best of provisions. Of course the various provisioners tested her at the beginning. Order a case of organic zucchini and the zukes on the top are all perfect but the ones on the bottom less so. And she would always get to the bottom of every case, so to speak. “Take this case back and bring me a correct order. And I need it today before three.” You do that a few times and then you get nothing but the best. “Receiving” in a restaurant is crucial. Trust me. As I have mentioned, her kitchen (domain, kingdom, etc.) was spotless and a place of absolute professional concentration. Even Ben the dishwasher was well focused (well, perhaps focused on his wine but that did not interfere with him being a very good dishwasher. Never, ever lose your dishwasher). 

The difference between a cook and a chef and The Chef? Cooks can assemble proper ingredients and put together something that tastes good (don’t skimp on the butter). A chef has more management type of tasks in the kitchen. And the food from the kitchen was now called cuisine. In this day and restaurant age the plate presentations are quite important and some of these chefs consider that to be oh so important. The Chef was a chef and so much more.

This chef (The Chef) knew well the importance of color, texture and placement. She had no use for carving a carrot into the Eiffel towel or any such nonsense. Her presentations were perfect in there minimalism. Perhaps she had been a Japanese gardener in a previous lifetime.

Back to the important stuff. Madame JD. What to serve? Don’t appear too eager to impress. But nail it. Offer a well known dish that was easy to produce so it tasted good. But then nail that dish so that everyone would know there is a real chef in the kitchen. The Chef.

Chapter 4 - Secundi

On the big night, “le soir de Madame JD”, Duke put on a freshly pressed and clean white shirt. Unstoppable cosmic forces quickly rendered that shirt to a condition befitting The Duke. He had considered arriving early but that would be most un-Duke like. He had worked for a brilliant chef some years earlier whose most important rule was “don’t start drinking till you get on the job.” So The Duke honored that rule (usually). He did suspect there would be some quite good wine being served that evening and he was quite intent on having his share. So he arrived fresh and ready for some Tom-foolery. I don’t know who Tom is, but I am quite sure he would have been proud of The Duke. Yes, this was to be a fun night and his motivation was quite high to (1) infuriate the chef, (2) ensure that all customers had a wonderful evening and (3) drink so much of said customers’ wine that Bachus would want to officially adopt him. Grand ambitions indeed! So he sharpened up his rascal horns and was ready. 

Speaking of sharpening, The Chef’s knives could split an atom. Look up obsessive-compulsive in the dictionary and you will see a picture of The Chef in mid-sharpenage. Grownups will please explain to the younger audience what a dictionary is. But The Chef was ready. Chef jacket ... impeccable. Work station ... spotless. Same for Adele and Victoria. As “The Arts” was located in Portland Maine she had a choice of ingredients of which Escoffier would be envious (if need be dictionary -> Escoffier). Incredible seafood. Incredible everything else as

Maine had been “farm to table” before most places had even heard the concept.

OK. Let’s talk food. The specials. The first special was Lobster Thermador. This is a most decadent dish reportedly made famous in Delmonico’s in NYC. This is so decadent , in fact, you will take care of your entire month’s cholesterol requirements at one sitting. Many have put it on a menu. It is easy to make it taste good (with ingredients lobster, heavy cream, cheese, more heavy cream, don’t skimp on the butter ... you get the idea). But to make it soar to the heavens takes a special touch. And Madame JD would surely note the presence or absence of that touch. If the later Madame JD would surely sharpen her guillotine and let The Chef be beheaded in print. It takes “balls” to offer lobster to such lobster understanding folks as existed among her clientele. More “balls” to offer it as a special on the night of Madame JD. And at a price of $65 , well, more “ballage”. And The Chef had them.

Another of the evening’s specials was her signature rack of lamb. Served with a gooseneck (go ahead and dictionary if you must but you really should know what a gooseneck is), anyway a gooseneck with a cranberry and mint reduction. Somehow sweet, salty, tart, savory and many other taste directions we don’t even have names for. Even the lamb purists loved the stuff. She had been asked for the recipe/procedure so many times it was comical. The Chef would just shrug. Even Adele and Victoria didn’t know. With the rack of lamb were crisp oven roasted potatoes. Again, what’s the recipe? This one Adele and Victoria knew. Some rendered duck fat to baste the potatoes with. And then small portions of vegetables. Carrot puree that everyone thought was sweet potato (no, just cook the carrots in the minimum of water. Carrots have plenty of sweetness but most of it gets thrown down the sink after the carrots have been boiled). Sometimes three or four small broccoli florets lightly seasoned with tamari and a sprinkle of breadcrumbs. Rack of lamb by The Chef was a dish to die for (only appropriate for the lamb had already died).

The Chef, as I have mentioned, never tried to impress anyone with carving cauliflower into Mount Rushmore or any of that nonsense. Still, her platings were beautiful. She instinctively knew how the colors and contours and even the smells of her cuisine would best dance together(and she had worked so very hard to develop that talent, that particular instinct didn’t come free of charge). No beets carved into flaming hearts with an arrow through on Valentine’s day. 

The Chef had her last addressing of the staff. “Let’s do this just right, just like we do it just right every night. Well maybe a bit more right. On the Credenza are some hand picked wines I have been saving for, well, a night like this. Please sell the lobster. We have 48 customers tonight. I have 24 portions of the lobster. I want none of it left over. Sell the lamb if you must.”

One final look at the dining room before service. Impeccable. Bartender … sharp and professional. Waitstaff … “I really am so proud of them, maybe I’ll tell them some day.” And then, and then she cast eyes on The Duke. Oh all kitchen gods anywhere please keep an eye on that slob. Please.

Chapter 5 - Fromaggi

The night. The big night. Started casual. All 24 seats filled. Nome of those seats filled with Madame JD and party. Their “reses" (yes I’m making it an official word. Websters Dictionary to get back to me soon) were for 8:15. Early shift just fine. Nine of the twenty four lobster specials sold. Another half dozen or so of lamb. The rest just the normal fabulous stuff on the menu. There was one two top that ordered the filet but they were from Massachusetts so they didn’t count that much. Filet can be so very, well filet (yes tender and expensive and boring). Service, prompt and smooth. Food, well you know by now. Check average pretty high due to some really nice wines being bought. Great wine for the customers. And The Duke.

OK. Thank you for coming (kind of like Maine to tourists after Labor Day). But you really need to go because we have another seating. Thank you very much, do try to come again. Good night.

Tables turned. Change what was the evidence of a good time had by all to a wonderful welcome saying “oh you’re really going to like this”. Nothing like having customers who really want to be there. Trust me.

The Chef was focused in her kingdom. Plates had been properly ordered by the front (FOH). No bottlenecks in each person’s duties (never ever put oysters on the menu unless you are an oyster bar). All good. Compliments from the DR (dining room, c’mon people). Next seating at 8:15.

 At two minutes before 8 madame JD arrived. The Duke (who knew who she was) greeted her with, “We’re kind of busy right now getting ready for the next service, but if you’d like, ma’am, you might wait at the bar and I promise Luke will make you quite welcome.” What a casual attitude this guy has … but yes I’ll go to the bar and have something while watching this crew in action.

“Hello Ma’am, I am Luke.    May I offer you a ….”

“Yes please. Jack Daniels on the rocks.”

Word quickly communicated, and I mean turbo quickly, to the kitchen. Confidence running high. Nervousness running high. Worries about that slovenly insult to all appropriate tight running restaurant ship gods , he could destroy everything.

Second seating smooth. Madame JD and party seated at a good table without feeling like the were being pandered. Still have 17 Lobster Thermidor specials to sell. A challenge as there are 24 guests at this seating. Kitchen (BOH) ready. Dining room (FOH) ready. Wines (and those that wanted something created by Luke) ordered and served. Time to get the orders into the kitchen.

Oh why now? Why now!!? Power out. Not altogether not that infrequent in a city in the path of famous Nor’easters. Kitchen ran on natural gas so that worked. But dark and the dining room likewise. The Chef was going apoplectic. Quickly Michelle (dining room, we haven’t met her yet) brought in a half dozen burning candles. Where did they come from? But what’s going on in the DR (dining room)? Like wise candles appeared. All those 4” utility candles which would never be fashionable except when needed most. All based in those old champagne “coup” glasses that were so out of style. All because The Duke was The Duke. The Chef peered out of the kitchen door to see, well, how could it be? DR calm. Each table candles lit. But it got worse. 

The Duke was leading the entire DR in a shameless rendering of “Candle in the Wind”. Elton F. John for crying … And almost the entire DR was singing along. The Chef was shuddered back to the kitchen wondering what Twilight Zone episode was happening.

Then the orders started coming in. The Chef and Adele and Victoria were ready (candle light is plenty for those that know what they are doing). Ben was fine. Ben was always fine. The orders: two Lobsters, a Lamb (MR of course) and a Halibut. Four Lobsters … the entire four top! In the orders came and out that oh so magnificent kitchen did its’ thing. More Lobster orders. Some Lamb. The two top from Massachusetts … well discount that. And then the “compliments to The Chef” started rolling in. Big time. The Chef had never heard such obvious fun … FUN! Going on in the dining room. Oh what is that buffoon up to? Every time she dared take a peak she saw a chef’s dream. Happiest customers in the world. She also saw The Duke at the credenza drinking a glass of (the customers’) wine. Well more than one glass, truth be told.

At the end of the service customers would open the kitchen door and express that culinary delight. I mean just about every customer. And remaining 17 Lobster Thermadors had all been sold! Remarkable. But how did Madame JD react. Any clues? The dining room staff might have had a clue but they were already high fiveing and guzzling the very good wines left on the credenza. (All somehow paid for by happy guests. I mean, business is business). It was too much for The Chef. Emotion overload. She skipped the normal “post mortem” glass of wine with the Adele, Victoria and Ben. So those three migrated out to the FOH and joined the team. It was quite late (early) when after the credenza wines had evaporated and the late night bar had closed and the later night bar had closed that everyone made it home safely. There would be hangover hell to pay to get back to work the next day but these were pros and their credit was good.

But what sort of review would the infamous Madame JD deliver?

Chapter 6 - Dolce

 The next day all reported to work. Yes, all were tad ragged. Perhaps ragged is too generous. But these were pros and there was coffee. Lots of it. The weather system that had forecast snow of a medium size (6-8 inches … this is Maine we know how to deal with that) had quite quickly warned of a really big Nor’easter moving in. By two o’clock we are seeing blizzard. (Again, this is Maine so relax …). By three thirty it was obvious this would not be a restaurant night. Customers were called to inform the restaurant would be closed due to … please accept our apologies … we will somehow make it up to you.

 So ok, “The Arts” would not have service that night. All the staff were there and basically starting to pack up what prep work should be packed up. But the big thing was the review.

THE REVIEW. Not published in the morning Portland Herald Press as usual. At quarter to four Jsnice, who lived locally and was the sales rep for a wine distributor that moved quite a good amount of “product” at “The Arts” came in. Shaking off the significant snow she had accumulated she announced, “The review is in the afternoon paper.” Silence. So silent you could hear a cork drop. Jasmine offered the paper to The Duke. The Duke said, No this privilege (good or not so?) is The Chef’s.

Put from the kitchen came the Chef. Informed that here was the review. THE REVIEW. And here it is:

I dined last night at The Arts and normally I would be offering my opinions but a special guest joined me that evening. An old friend who writes for the New York Times. Gordon Jeffrey. I asked him if he would write this review and he said yes. So here it is.

(Gordon Jeffrey was, well, just about as big a restaurant critic as there was).

I dined last night with a dear friend at a Portland Maine restaurant that was beginning to show on the radar. It was admittedly a challenging night for the restaurant as power went out soon after drinks were ordered. But more on that later.

Normally our party of four would certainly order four different entrees. But in a non-electric lighted dining room our waiter quickly somehow restored order. Candles were lit and arrived seamlessly. Lots of wine was poured. Somehow the (Head?) waiter charmed the room into singing an appropriate song for the candle experience. We didn’t order four different entrees. This (Head?) waiter addressed the entire room and charmed most into ordering the special … “Lobster Thermidor”. The rack of Lamb was also recommended. So our table of four somehow was enchanted by the candle light and the wine and this (Head?) waiter who certainly did not have the appearance of any professional normally seen in such a restaurant. We ordered three Lobster and one Lamb.

Now I must tell you that Lobster Thermidor is an easy dish to do “okay”. What’s not to like when the ingredient list includes lobster, cream, cheese seasoned breadcrumbs and so forth. But it is so often just a heavy offering with all those over the top ingredients. This Lobster Thermidor was celestial. Somehow wildly rich and respectfully delicate at the same time. Who was in charge … was it the lobster or the cream or the sauce? Nothing shoved its’ way to the front but all were there in glory. Never tasted anything quite like it.

Our one rack of lamb was perfect. Served with a sauce that I could not get the recipe for, try as I might. Accompanying potatoes (crisp and rich) were a treasure unto themselves. (It was disclosed they were basted with duck fat).

The service seemed wildly causal. The aforementioned (Head?) waiter looked like, well I don’t know. But he seemed to be well in charge when the electricity went out. And he was somehow wildly charming in a quite informal way. And he did know how to recommend perfect wines. In fact I was quite surprised to realize we had, in fact, consumed so many bottles. Thank goodness for expense accounts.

So all in all a most unexpected (after that electricity thing) and charming evening. And the kitchen. I didn’t get the name. Everyone just said She’s The Chef. This was beyond most of the highly praised restaurants out there. As I said this was celestial. And how I want to return and dine there again.

Gordon Jeffrey.

The Chef was silent. Hard to tell what was in the review or her reaction. She handed the review to The Duke and said, “read it aloud.” And so he did.

Next The Chef took command as was her way. “Dining room staff, prepare there room with one horseshoe shaped banquet table. Adele, Victoria … get the kitchen ready we are going to make some really good stuff. Duke … wine, champagne, whatever. Plenty of it. And the good stuff.” (As if The Duke would drink anything else). Tonight is us building a dream for us and by us. OK … let’s get cracking!”

I will not detail the menu and beverages for the night. Just think abbondanza of delight seasoned with well earned pride and yes, affection all around. And into the night it went. Late. A Nor’easter snow storm, even big by Maine standards, was dancing outside. But no damper on this party. Grab a seat and hang on!

Chapter 7 - Cafe e Grappa

 Well the only thing to do was for all to go to Adel and Victoria’s house. It was the closest and did have some extra room. There was no driving anywhere. There was pretty much not even recognizing where the cars were parked. So that merry band of rascals from “The Arts” grabbed provisions, and wonderful provisions they were, and Admiral Byrded there way to the aforementioned chateau Adele and Victoria. Bit of a miracle no one got lost in that no visibility trudge home.

The next morning was a tough one even for seasoned restaurant pros like that crew. Playing with the big boys and girls sometimes you get hurt. But hurt with a smile and no regrets. I couldn’t begin to tell you how the evening ended. I presume people sort of dropped when and where appropriate. Oh what a special night.

Coffee. Much of it. Carbohydrates. Yes please. Showers for some. But something was different. Something about The Chef and The Duke. Note please that somehow the baseball hat on top of The Chef’s head was a Red Sox hat autographed by Carl Yaztrzemski. The Duke’s hat was autographed by Yogi Berra. I’ll leave to you, dear readers to figure it out.

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Oh yes, and please tip well. 20% or north of there. And tipping in cash is most recommended. Pay for the meal with plastic but tip in cash. Trust me on this. Now if you will excuse me it is time for a trip to the wine cellar.