I don't particularly like to bartend at Tricks. For the most part it's fine, but sometimes people get surly and it makes the entire process unenjoyable.

But for the nights when everyone is pretty well-behaved it's pretty entertaining to listen to conversations and watch people make fools of themselves.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The food portion of the trick went fabulous, by the way Actually, the entire thing went well. The Client was wonderful as were all the guests. So shockingly, I can't find anything or anyone to bitch about.

Anyway.

I am behind the bar checking the stock of liquor when these two women come up and take a seat. I mixed them up each a cocktail (Tanqueray and tonic for one, Crown Royal on the rocks for the other) and they began talking about breasts.

"Well this should be fun", I thought.

So Lady 1 one says to Lady 2, "What do you think of my breasts?"

"Yeah."

We pride ourselves on making sure every need of the client is met. Any menu item they desire, any dietary request needing attention - we do it all. Or at least we do our damndest to try.

So The Client calls and has a request - two of his guests are vegetarian and he would like us to make special dishes for them. And he wants us to make special dishes for them because every time they attend a conference or function of some kind, they are left eating the side dishes. Basically they get whatever they can scrounge up that does not include meat. He went on and on and on about the inconvenience they face in the meat-eating world of corporate functions and how they are weary of never having any special considerations. And since we were serving prime rib and salmon, the Client asked if we could make them something special - something they both adore - Macaroni and Cheese.

No problem. I will make them my famous 10,000 Cheese Macaroni.

At the start of the event The Client came into the kitchen to point out the guests in question and wanted us to make certain they were served the right dishes.

So the meal is set and being plated and after the salad course the two guests in question were served their lovely gratin dishes filled with delicious and creamy macaroni and cheese. And then went about serving everyone else their prime rib and salmon.

So the night goes fabulously well and we set about to pick up china from the tables and we notice that the macaroni and cheese - both servings - are barely touched. My heart kind of sank thinking that they hated the dish. Although they would have to be foolish because the dish - if I do say so myself - is divine.

But then I became concerned that they were Vegan instead of Vegetarian and me using all the butter and heavy cream and 10,000 cheeses. But The Client was very clear on the fact that he wanted macaroni and cheese for them. So clear, in fact, it took him 5 entire phone calls to make certain we had this area covered.

I didn't know whether or not I should ask as I didn't want to embarass The Guests but I also wanted them to know that if, in fact, they did not find the Mac&Cheese pleasing that I was sorry and would have gotten them something else.

Anyway - so I got up the courage to ask one of The Guests about the Macaroni and Cheese and when I did she got a really funny look on her face.

"The Macaroni and Cheese? Oh. Well."

"Um. Well. The thing is. The Macaroni and Cheese was fine - although I do prefer Kraft Shells & Cheese. I am all about the Velveeta."

The concerned smile on my face began to turn to a raised eyebrow lip bite.

"But the thing is, neither of us had room for the Macaroni and Cheese because we were so full on vegetables and... um... salmon."

"Wait... aren't the two of you vegetarians? The client said you were very dedicated to a vegetarian lifestyle."

She got a funny look on her face and shuffled a bit in her chair.

"Well we don't eat meat...red meat...but we both love seafood!"

I smiled and told her I was glad they were satisfied and then I made my way back to the kitchen.

I have to admit, however, that for a brief moment I really just wanted to shove her face in the macaroni.

Any free or spare moments I have had in the last week has been spent helping my friend move into a new house. And I can say with total certainty that I would rather Trick for Atilla and the ravaging Huns than move one more box or paint one more piece of trim.

I am going to open a new restaurant and call it, "Your Place."

And the menu will just be a blank piece of paper that says, "Order Whatever The Hell You Want" across the top.

BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT PEOPLE DO, ANYWAY.

So there was a gorgeous buffet station filled with Fabulous foods. At the request of The Client, The Menu was set for meat lovers (prime rib) and vegetarians (pasta primavera) alike.

"Excuse me lady? Hey, Caterer? Hey - YOU!"
Eyebrow Raised. Smile Food Whore - Smile. "Yes? How can I help you?"

"Well, is there any way to get chicken?"

Well yes, there is a KFC down the road.

"I am sorry, there's no chicken tonight. But there is a lovely pasta primavera if you don't prefer the prime rib."

"Shit. This sucks."

Indeed it does.

How can you not love a friend who - immediately upon returning home from a deluxe Carribean Cruise - brings you a delectable rum cake.

And the beautiful vanilla-flavored sponge cake is so soaked with rum you actually get lightheaded and slightly slurry when eating it.

And by "it" I mean nearly the entire cake.

Screw world events.

Food is really the only thing I need to talk about.

*Hic

I've mentioned before that I suffer from a bad case of OCFD - Obsessive Compulsive Food Disorder. And while some people (ok maybe just me) find it to be a charming trait, I am starting to become alarmed at my inability to hold a meaningful conversation about current world affairs without forcing the subect of food to take center stage.

I just spent the better part of 30 minutes discussing the logistics of a good scallopini with The Friend in California. We should have been discussing world events, our families, the state of the stock market, but instead we were focusing on the goodness of cooking with wine and butter.

Which, hey, I could talk about the goodness of wine and butter all day. But have I become so single-minded that I am not enjoyable to be around? Is my inability to see things without food connotations attached an unnatractive trait?

I did pick up a newspaper this morning to read with my coffee. And I did start reading about the housing market and how the cost of single family homes was rising exponentially compared to the national median income.

And I started to feel good about broadening my horizons and taking part in world financial matters, but then I totally got distracted by an add that beef tenderloin steaks are on sale.

And I haven't picked up the paper, since.

So I had a call today from a potential Client.

Daughter is getting married.

Next Saturday.

I never ceases to amaze me how people put Food at the bottom of the scheduling list when the engagement commences. They freak out about finding a good DJ, a good venue, and even a stupid feather pen (yes, people still get those), but they don't freak or panic or even concern themselves with finding someone to make food for their guests.

Food IS the priority, People. How many times have I stressed this? It should be the first call you make after securing The Venue. If you can't get a DJ, you can have Old Uncle Louis bring his Sinatra on Vinyl Collection and be totally ok. You can even get by with Drunk Uncle Howard being the bartender. But what will you do without a caterer, give everyone a Lunchable?

Needless to say, we're booked and can't help. And needless to say, there's a panicked MOB (Mother Of The Bride)on the loose.

I give to you The Tong.

Wonderful invention, The Tong.

Ergonomic. They fit nicely in that lovely crook between thumb and fingers.

Simple. If you can maneuver your fingers to meet the tip of your thumb - you've got it made.

Irreplacable. If all I had was a good chef's knife and a tong, there's nothing I could not cook. (Or eat, for that matter)

I cook with them. I serve with them. And I allow people to serve themselves with them.

It's simple - grasp the food, place it on your plate. Grasp & place. Grasp & place.

So much better than a fork. Ever been to a beautifully appointed brunch and have to spear a piece of melon with a fork and then try and try and try to shake it off on your plate? Only then to be forced to try the "scrape it off on the side of your plate trick" which, let's be honest, rarely works. You end up having to set your place down and pick it off the fork, causing the overzealous (and hungry) person behind you to sigh loudly in an effort to speed you up so he/she can get to the Omlette Bar.

But not The Tong. So sleek & so fabulous. Just Grasp & place.

So this brings to mind some questions:

In the picture above, do you see anything resembling a blender? Do you see blades and gears? Are there vibrating and moving parts that would say - force a person to throw food about at their will?

Do you see anything in that picture resembling a Pom Pom? Any hint at all at what would make a person take a tong full of food and toss it about like a buxom babe cheering on the winning team?

Do you see any electrical currents that may, oh, short out, causing a spasm-inducing shock which may or may not lead a person to tossing food all over a finely appointed buffet station or dessert display?

Anyone see any of these things mentioned above that would cause any number of nimrods to toss food around the table like beads at Mardi Gras??

Anyone?

Beuller?

Grasp & Place, people. It's all I ask.

My life would be so much simpler if all knew how to Grasp & Place.

And I would swear less.

I don't do well at stodgy social functions.

That's one of the reasons I love being a Caterer so much - I get to attend and see everything. But I get to do so from behind the scenes and not have to take part in all the protocol. I much better at serving snobs than I am being a part of their clique.

I love to get dressed up, so it's not a fashion issue. It's just that I don't have the personality to sit still and make sure to keep my laughter at a low tone and pretend I am interested in mundane things for the sake of social graces. I am kind of the Bridgette Jones of social functions. So I wouldn't do well if I was invited to a place like Buckingham Palace for an audience with the Queen. I am sure I would say something off-color and cause some international incident forcing Tony Blair to denounce the United States right there on the front steps of 10 Downing Street.

And I mean, let's be honest, I am a total klutz.

Saturday night I was mingling; as in "Smiling pretty and laughing and shaking hands with strangers." as that was part of my job. I wasn't going to eat anything during this "Suck Up To The Big Spenders Cocktail Hour" but after a day of setting the place up - I was starving. So I discretely nibbled on Brie and a couple of grapes. And then I carefully sipped champagne as I mingled but my stomach kept growling so I went back to put a schmear of cheese torte on a water cracker.

I tried to hide out behind the chilled prawn display but was caught by the organization president - she wanted to introduce me to a potential client. And they approached me just as I was taking a bite of the cracker so they got to witness the large chunk of cracker and cheese tort tumble down my top an into by bra. Well, they didn't see the bra so much as the asumption the chunk had to stop somewhere.

It was one of those slow motion moments when you have to stop yourself from doing the natural thing by shoving your hand down your shirt to retrieve the spillage (ok so maybe that's only natural for me) and in a then split second think of how you will handle the akwardness of the situation.

And it was totally obvious. I think if Helen Keller were there she would have been keen to the moment of utter horror on my part, and uncomfortable eye shifting on the part of those around me.

I opted to just play it off - for the moment. And went about my "nice to meet you's" and "so glad you could make it's" and then sucked it up and said, "If you will excuse me, I think I need to spend some time in the ladies room for a small retreival mission."

Two of the people laughed - men, of course. The other two - their wives - gasped slightly.

I am pretty sure Miss Manners would have scolded me and told me I handled the situation all wrong.

But I bet Miss Manners has never had pokey cracker and gloppy cream cheese in her bra.

So I took a call from a Potential Client and this is how the conversation went:

"Hello - Food Whore here."

"Well this all just became very stressful."

I wish I could say this is the first time something like this has happened, but it's not. People have a lot of damn nerve. I think it's great if they want to check out XYZ - but for God's sake, don't tell me you're actually wanting to use us as Plan B. Quite frankly, we're no one's Plan B.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner, damnit.

I was on my way to a meeting and had to make a quick stop at the store. I was thirsty and grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on - a carbonated mineral water from Sweden called Ramlosa.

So I am guzzling the water and hustling to my meeting and I reach the table and stick out my hand to greet and say hello and instead of the word "Hello" leaving my mouth, the sound heard 'round the world was a great big gigantic burp.

I freaking burped.

I wanted the Earth to open up and swallow me whole right then and there.

Now, I could have just pretended it never happened but who's kidding who, small Bedouin tribes in the Sahara Desert heard this burp. Their camels siezed up and for a moment the hot desert winds stopped blowing.

Without knowing what else to do I just laughed and said, "Well, some cultures think burping is a complement to the chef - I promise all of your guests will be burping, too."

Thank God The Client has a good sense of humor.

So we're milling about the reception room last night bidding on silent auction items when The Sister leaned over and asked, "Do you smell something burning?"

I did. I had noticed it earlier, actually, and did a quick case of the tables to make sure the candles weren't fire jumping creating a case of possible mayhem.

But it wasn't the candles.

I took a sip of champagne and nibbled on my slice of brie and replied, "I think they have burned something we're about to eat and I am starting to re-think my logic in not taking more grapes of the champagne table for fear of looking like a pig."

At the same time The Super Hyper Friend approached and asked, "Do you smell something..."

With that, The Sister and I raised our eyebrows and tilted our heads in the direction of the kitchen.

It all started out earlier in the day when I was doing a final check on the seating arrangements when The Competitive Caterer was there setting up the buffet stations. I smiled and said hello and got nothing in response. The Event chairperson was standing next to me and said, "I think you just got snubbed."

"Oh I think so, too."

So the afternoon went on and just before I left to go home and get ready for the evening, I took one last opportunity to be nice. I said the tables looked fantastic and I couldn't wait for all the great food.

I got nothing in response.

So by the time I came back a few hours later I could smell a hint of burned something in the air, which is when I did my candle check. It dawned on me as I was walking passed the kitchen entrance that the smell was wafting into the dining room from there.

And honestly, my heart fell. Not out of selfishness fearing that my food would be icky. But because anyone who's ever been in food service understands that shit happens - and it happens at the most inopportune times. Things burn, breakers blow and ovens die, things get dropped and broken. It's the nature of the business that most nights can run as smooth as silk and then there are nights that you can't even get the damn can opener to work.

And I reminded myself that mocking those who ride the same train will only come back to haunt you.

But then I saw The Competitive Caterer again and again I smiled, and again I got nothing. So I thought, "screw it - game on."

Now - before I go on - let me say that the percentage of people who can't control themselves at a buffet is about 2 in every 10. And what I mean by, "cant' control themselves" is that they can't seem to get the main concept behind a simply tool like a tong and they throw food all over the damn table. So you almost need one person just overlooking tables and reaching in to clean up around the serving pieces just to keep it from looking like breakfast time at a frat house. It's also something we spend a lot of time bitching about in the kitchen.

And as I saw last night, this group was no exception. Except The Competitve Caterer didn't have someone watching over the table to clean up the spills because it was a mess. It looked like The Tazmanian Devil had touched down in the salad greens and then took a swan dive into the mushroom sauce. Which, I later found out, was the offending burning smell coming from the kitchen.

Beyond that, the beef was cold, the vegetables over done, and the breads were dry. And everyone at my table agreed that it was a good thing there was an open bar.

And then I felt bad because God - it can happen to anyone. Your worst fear is that you'll run out of food or it will just be bad. And no matter how many times you do it and now matter how confident you get you keep that fear in the front of your brain so as not to get so cocky that you do dumb things like burn the mushroom sauce.

As the night went on I observed that I was not the only one being snubbed and treated poorly. It became clear to me that The Competitive Caterer must not have received the memo from Whore School that stated you must always save the bitching for the kitchen and put on a big smile when your everywhere else. Pick only on the unruly and use every ounce of charm you have when dealing with the rest.

And remember to always be on your best game in case someone in the room has a blog.

So tomorrow night is a Trick Free Night.

But hear this - I am actually going to a Trick.

I sit on the board of an organization - (I know, could I be more vague?) and tomorrow night is our annual fundraiser. I was asked if I wanted to Trick the gig but I declined - it's no fun watching all your friends eat fancy food and drink fancy drinks while you sweat it out in the kitchen.

This is pretty new for me. It feels a bit strange to know that I will be one of those annoying as Hell people certain to be mocked by the kitchen crew.

But I think I have the upper hand on this one.

The Caterers - our some time competition - are asses. I don't use that term lightly as I consider it verbotten to mock anyone in the industry. It's hard ass work and I gravitate toward the co-dependant when it comes to my fellow Whores.

But this particular company does nothing for it's reputation but leave a trail of anger and a great big mess that the rest of us in the business end up paying for with large kitchen deposits and signing cleaning contracts in blood.

How the continue to get Tricks in the immediate area is beyond me but they got this one by calling in a favor for a friend.

So I can't wait until tomorrow night where I will meticulously check the china for cleanliness, the stemware for spots, and the food for good flavor. And I might even be one of those annoying folk and go to the kitchen to ask for something mundane like Tobasco sauce - just so I can peek at the mess.

I will be brutal.

I will be heartless.

And I will be blogging about it on Sunday.

People with money - lots and lots of money - never cease to amaze me.

I got a call for a Trick from Rich Rita. Nice lady, Rita. I know her socially. But she's wanting to hire us for a "small cocktail party" and "budget is no issue". (I love those words .... budget is no issue...)

So we're talking menu and dates and when I ask her how many guests to figure on I had to ask twice to make sure I heard her correctly.

"There will be 8 people."

"It's perfectly fine. I will take care of you and it will be fabulous."

8 people are coming over and she simply cannot be bothered with whipping up some snacks. It's not that I am not greatful for the business, but seriously, it will take me more time to actually go out and buy the food than it will to prep and serve.

But Rita is a peach and, well, she's a helluva tipper.

I'm such a Whore.

So as you can see, Diary of The Food Whore has a new look! Thanks to my friend, Echo (and I call her friend because she's smart and so fabulous to work with AND talented and - you know, puts up with my odd behavior). Round of applause for Echo, please.

So we also have a new recipe section - see sidebar under "in the kitchen". I have started off with the Lemon Drop recipe and will be adding more to the mix. AND, if you have a recipe you want me to post here, send me an e-mail. I will try focus on getting a few up a week. I promise that if you send me a recipe, I will do my best to cook it and take pictures. Bad pictures, but pictures just the same.

And, please notice that the comments are now below each entry, instead of above. I just wanted to get that out there so all the comment spammers could tell me about teenage sluts in Cancun. (Bastards)

So enjoy the new look and tomorrow I will fill you in on how I was stalked by a member of the Lollipop Guild.

I was in a foul mood yesterday.

So it's pretty safe to say that much like fine wine I only get better with age.

And on the same vein, too much of me can give you a nasty headache.