Coming back from vacation is depressing enough without being inundated with a huge work load. I think there needs to be a post-vacation period in which everyone is allowed a good solid 4 days to slowly reintegrate back into their jobs. Every time I turn around there's an issue to be addressed and a stack of phone messages dying to be dealt with.

A Whore's Work Is Never Done, that's for sure.

So I was talking with The Sister who was part of the group I traveled with on our recent excursion to the opposite coast. We were reminiscing about the food we were served at the event we attended during the Key West portion of our trip.

Oh, did I mention we went to Key West? Fabulous place. Just Fabulous. I will tell you all about on the next go around.

Anyway.

We attended a function on the Island - a catered affair. It was so nice to sit and relax for once and not have to worry about a thing. My biggest concern was getting in line for drinks to allow myself enough time to never have a fully-gone mojito.

I did feel empathy for the caterers, though. Working in that kind of heat and humidity is merciless and the waiters floating in and out of the crowds (hauling platters of fresh sushi and coconut prawns) were showing the strains of it all.

And the heat apparently had a mind-numbing effect on The Meat Carving Chef, too.

The Friend in Texas (another to join the trip) was in line ahead of me and when asked by The Meat Carving Chef how she liked her beef done, she responded, "Medium Rare". And The Meat Carving Chef pushed a piece of well-done beef toward her plate.

And there's a lot of things The Friend in Texas will overlook, but serving her the wrong slice of beef is not one of them.

There were a few words exchanged. The Meat Carving Chef was trying to be suave and flirtatious but The Friend in Texas wasn't having it. She got her medium rare beef and a little wink and I am pretty sure she responded with an under-the-breath "go screw yourself, buddy", but I can't be certain.

She did, however, continue to bitch about his inability to know the difference between medium rare and well-done. And I can't blame her. The guy was an idiot.

And just so we're clear, The Friend in Texas is quite a charming young woman. But I make no jokes when I say she takes her beef seriously. She does live in Texas, after all.

So the rest of the night was fabulous and a good time was had by all. Pictures were taken, drinks were drank, and a few brave enough to face the heat danced to the sounds of Barry Cuda and his fine band. As the night dwindled we opted to walk back to our hotel so we could catch the sighs on the infamous Duval Street and who do we see standing in the middle of the sidewalk but The Meat Carving Chef, himself.

Well, he wasn't so much standing as he was kind of swaying back and forth.

His chef jacket was unbottoned down to his waist and it was covered in the juice and blood of the aforementioned beef he carved. And he was trying to get his hands on anyone who would stand still long enough. The Sister and I, included. Due to his apparent intoxication, it didn't take much to escape his grasp.

It's a good thing, too, because beef blood on his jacket would have been the least of his concerns.

I'm barely back and already the crap starts to roll.

We had bride whom we've been dealing with for her upcoming nuptuals. She's been persistent about getting together and making sure we were available, etc.

The wedding is far enough out that nothing had been signed and no monies had been deposited. But it was pretty much a sure thing.

Until today.

I get home and there's a message for me from The Bride stating, "Um. yeah. I have a friend who's wanting to get into the catering business and so I won't be needing you for my wedding. But, um, since my friend is just getting started, perhaps you would be willing to loan out some of your serving pieces?"

Perhaps we would be willing to loan out serving pieces? Are you freaking kidding me?

Will she call the photographer next and tell him that her brother is trying to get into photography so they won't be needing his services but could they go ahead and "borrow" all his equipment????

There aren't enough days in the sun and enough drinks by the pool to make up for the fact that PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS.

It wasn't just the food issue.

It was also the luggage handling.

If this gives you any indication, The Friend's luggage just arrived today.

The state of aviation has been forever changed. I don't know if it's the economy or the price of oil or September 11 that has caused this shift but it's different, that's for sure.

And I am not just talking about all the extra security at airports.

I am talking about food.

Now, I've never been one to brag about airline food. Let's be honest - a pastic tray filled with mystery items it's hardly a lunch at The Four Seasons. (I once comforted myself with an entire box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts while travelling back from Hawaii because the "chicken" put before me was not a recognizable part of the bird.) But the meal portion was just something to break up the monotony of listening to the passenger next to you snore and I actually looked forward to the choices.

But now unless you're one of those people who have the luxury of flying First Class, you don't get bupkus. We flew nearly 6 hours from Seattle to Miami and all we got was a damn cookie. A COOKIE. Well, we got some pretzels, too, because apparently peanuts are just too damn much money.

Ok and while we're on this subject - what's with the serving of salty snacks? Between the air and the altitude most people swell like marshmallows and they try to induce that by forcing sodium laden products down your throat? The lady across the row from me had ankles so swollen it looked like she was wearing leg warmers. But she ate the pretzels - what else was she going to do?

Sheesh.

Anyway - this cookie. I looked at our Flight Attendant and said, "A cookie? Really? There's no smoked salmon spread in that cart, is there? Baked Ziti? A baked brie, perhaps?" Humorless, she sighed and said, "Do you want the cookie, or not?"

I raised my eyebrow and grabbed it out of her hand.

Of course I wanted the damn cookie. We were somewhere over Arkansas and had just survived flying through a major lightning storm which caused whiplash -inducing turbulence. I would have eaten my shoe had I been able to reach it but because the person in front of me insisted on leaning their damn seatback down my throat, the shoe was out of the question.

I knew there was no longer any silverware on board the planes, but would it kill them to serve up a sandwhich?

So I am back. And I am off to get pictures developed and get all my thoughts down.

The trip was fabulous and there are a lot of stories to tell.

So it's time to go.

My bulging suitcase is sitting by the door. The Husband is certain I will have to pay extra for the poundage. "So what", I say. "You just can't put a price on fashion."

In other words, I am a horrible packer. Well, I am not so much horrible as I am the kind of person who packs a lot of 'Just In Case' items. "Just in case I spill on this shirt... I have this one as a back up... " And in my world, the 'Just In Case' stuff gets used a lot.

So anyway. It's time. Thank you for all the great tips on places to eat. I will get to as many as I can and take as many pictures as I can. I can't tell you the last time I went on vacation - it's been far too long. This one came just in time as I was starting to envision a hot chafing dish as a weapon.

I have turned off comments for while I am gone as I don't need to come back to 10000 comments telling me about the benefits of The Super Penis or The Viagra Pez Dispenser. And if I wanted to play Texas Hold-Em, well, I would go to Texas.

Anyway.

Be good while I am gone. And check out this site: Very Good Cooking

He's a wonderful writer who makes wonderful food. And it will give you a nice break from my pessimistic and bitchy attitude.

Don't worry, though. I packed that in my suitcase, too.

See you in a week!

I have ranted about this time and time again and still remains one of those things that can drive me to the brink.

Have you noticed the general insanity theme, here? Can you see why it's time for a vacation?

Anyway.

I get that people have special dietary needs and I get that there are food allergies and things that people simply cannot have. And you know what? Fine. But then order something else.

I take great umbrage when people come in and insist on stubstituting the hell out of an order and bascially create something they should have shopped for and made at home.

I once dated a guy - correction - had one date with a guy. And the reason it was only one date is because when ordering his food, he substituted the hell out of it and I knew right then and there a relationship would not follow dessert. How could I ever date a man who could not just be happy with what the menu was before him? How could I date a man who would certainly end up telling me he liked the dress but would like it better with different shoes, a different pair of earrings, a different bracelet, and oh yeah - why don't you go ahead and get new boobs while you're at it.

It just wasn't going to happen.

And I get that being raised in this industry gave me an advantage, but I was also raised by no nonsense parents; if you don't like it, get something else. It was really that simple. I hated tomatoes as a child and spent a lot of time picking those bad boys off salads and burgers and sandwiches. But I would have never dreamed of saying, "And can you hold the tomato, please?" because I would have certainly found myself with a menu upside the head from The Mother.

So I was just having this conversation with friends the other day - venting about the endless list of substitutions people demand - and I will be damned if that night we didn't have an order come up for a cobb salad, sans bleu cheese but with - get this - chopped Swiss instead. And of course, they were looking for a substitution for the bleu cheese dressing, too. The place was packed and the night was choppy and seeing that order nearly did me in.

I wanted to send back the order slip with a big fat "NO" scrawled in red pen next to it.

It's not that I don't want the customer to be happy, it's just that I want them to be happy with what is offered.

And I want them to stop being such pains in the ass.

This is the kind of stuff that makes me want to dress like a circus clown and run through the streets singing show tunes.

A couple of weeks ago we did a small trick in a private home. Upon our departure, there were still a few platters and a vase in use and the customer asked if we would mind leaving the items and she would get them back to us at a later date. We had no problem with this. Our work was done and waiting for the items would only leave us in the way.

I haven't given the items much thought because we've been busy and haven't missed them.

So cut to last night when the doorbell rings at my house. When I opened the door, there stood the lady with our dishes and vase, apologizing that they took so long to return. And apologizing that she was bothering me at home. We exchanged pleasantries and she left.

I did a quick scan of the dishes as we were talking but I pretended not to notice - they were dirty.

Dirty.

She kept our things for 2 weeks and did not bother to wash them.

So do you think she ran out of soap? Was her dishwasher broke down? Sink not working? Was she raised by wolves???

I may never come back. I might just get myself a polyester floral dress and live out my days in Boca.

I had to add a new category for the subject matter. Shockingly - it's the category, "Vacation".

Even saying that word is new to me.

After three years I am actually taking a real live vacation where I pack a suitcase, get on a plane, and sleep in a hotel. And eat - wow do I plan to eat.

So if anyone has any suggestions for restaurants spanning the area from Miami through the Florida Keys - give me the heads up, will you? I promise to take pictures (Well, as best I can) and give commentary on all the places I eat. Unless of course I get caught and my camera is confiscated by a big bouncer named Bubba Crusher.

I can't begin to tell you how much I am looking forward to this time away. Just the idea of twinkling my toes in the sand puts a smile on my face. I can't wait to come back relaxed and recharged.

I just hope I don't lose my bitchy edge.

So the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi there, my name is Jeffrey and I am calling from ABC Event Catering."

They would be one of our competitors. They just bought a new facility to the tune of $2.5 Million Dollars and they have been pushing their business all over the planet to keep it up and running.

"Yes?"

We would love to sit down with you to introduce ourselves and possibly schedule your next employee event!"

I thought to myself, "They're talking about you, all right. But it's not about singing your praises..."

"Where did you get my phone number?"

"You've reached the XYZ Catering Company."

Click.

I know it was low.

But I could not resist.

At least I didn't tell them the part about the last 3 venues we tricked at jacking up the price of the cleaning deposit because of the horrendous mess they left behind. And the burned food. And everything else that "preceeds" them.

I mean, I can't be that much of a bitch all of the time.

It's just too damn exhausting.

So the wedding is done. And it went off without a hitch.

Wait.

There was a hitch.

Oh, you know. That all sounded better in my head. Anyway - it's done. Thank God.

I was able to round out my lovely weekend by dealing with The Unruly at The Restaurant.

You know, I've talked about this 1000 times - and have bitched just as many - but it just never seems to work itself out... people behave like idiots.

We had numerous reservations for Mother's Day. Two of the largest being 3 groups of 12. The tables were set and we were ready to go. The first two groups had arrived and had been "W&M'd" - Watered and Menued. And then the third group arrived when the hostess came into the kitchen and said there was a problem. The last group of 12 to arrive was actually a group of 20 and was upset because we didn't have enough seats for them.

By the time I got onto the floor the person in charge of the reservation was stomping around the restaurant looking for empty tables. When I approached her, I was greated with snottiness laced with a bit of indignation.

"This is so wrong - you don't have enough places for us to sit."

"Well what's the big deal? So it's 8 more people. I suggest you find a way to seat us."

I took a minute to compose myself. I didn't want to lose the group. But I also didn't feel like being berated by some self-righteous twit, either.

"Well, we're working on getting more seats added to your table. But it's going to take some creative planning so you will have to bear with us."

"Why not? What's the big deal?"

I walked away. It's hard to convey the tone of her voice and the look on her face. But I know bitches. And this lady was a bitch. And she was one of those women you would like to take out back and slap her silly.

Well - if you're prone to bursts of violence, that is.

So I walked away in search of the best plan to expand their table when I will be damned if she didn't go over to the other table and ask those people to move. Before I had a chance to flail my body across the table at her, she made her case - and guilted those people into moving. She stood there tapping her shoe and She didn't give them any options. So up the people went and over to the other table they filed, water glasses and bread chunks in hand.

Back at the table, Reservation Lady was looking all smug as she commanded The Hostess to bring her party back to her. I went over to The Table of 12 who had just moved and apologized all over myself. But they were unfazed and so kind. And they rolled their eyes when speaking of the rudness of others.

As I walked past Reservation Lady, she had a look of victory on her face.

But what she didn't know was that I was going to step into the kitchen and cook her food.

No Soup For You! Come back, one year! ~ The Soup Nazi.

So I was in the grocery store.

And over in the hot deli they have a soup bar with a selection of about 5 different soups. And on this soup bar was a sign that said, "Please feel free to sample the soups" and under that was a basket with spoons and little portion cups. Any reasonable person would understand that you put a little soup in the portion cup to get yourself a sample, right?

Hold that thought.

Even though the soup bar resembeled a buffet atmosphere - and we all know how I feel about buffets - I thought I would be open-minded enough to try a few samples for the sake of research. So I approached the bar when woman pulls up her cart, reads the "please feel free to sample" sign, grabs a spoon, and plunges it into one of the soup pots. She then took the very same spoon and put it into another pot. And then again in the third pot. Each time smacking her lips and saying, "That was ok... not bad."

Each time she plunged her spoon into the pot I looked for an employee of the deli to make eye contact with, praying they would see what she was doing and tell her to stop. By the time she plunged her spoon into the fourth pot I gave a little cough so she would turn around and see me.

"Oh, hi. Aren't these soups great?"

"Oh, please. You're being dramatic."

I so wanted to say, "You idiot!", but instead I smiled, chuckled a little, and walked away. About the time I got to the end of the deli counter, one of the workers came out to speak to the lady. I didn't stick around to hear what was said. I am hoping The Food Contamination Police gave her a permanent ban from the soup bar and revoked her priveledges to shop there. (I have a very vivid imagination)

No soup for me. Ever.

Sorry for the sporadic writing.

I am helping a family member plan a wedding. I'm not tricking this one.

But today if I were given the choice to help a family member plan a wedding or trick for 500 ungrateful slobs who leave mounds of shrimp tails encased in cocktail sauce on their plates and just for the fun of it wad up their linen napkin and lay it in said cocktail sauce, and then out of sheer boredom make pyramids out of butter balls, and then because they are trying to be helpful (or pains in the ass) stack up the plates so that when you're unstacking them in the kitchen you have to grab silverware out of lakes of cocktail sauce full of shrimp tails, thereby getting your hands full of cocktail sauce and other people's spit ...

...I would totally take the trick.

Because I've had that trick before and it's just a lot easier to do the job and bitch about it but then get the luxury of going home, rather than to have to find places like coat closets to hide from the family.

*sigh*

Ever heard that saying, "...The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions..."?

Yeah. Well, in my house, the saying goes a little something like this, "The Road To Hell is Paved With Frozen Bananas."

Like any other well-intentioned cook I am the kind of person who takes an overly ripe banana and sticks it in the freezer. I do this because A) I don't like to throw food away and B) it makes me feel like I actually am the kind of person who plans ahead to bake some banana bread or some fabulous banana muffins like my friend Veg4Me

But the gig is up.

I'm not fooling anyone.

We had ice maker issues so I had to I clean out my freezer. I set all the contents on my prep island and when it was all said and done, I found 14 - FOURTEEN - frozen bananas.

The Husband walked by and said, "What's with all the frozen bananas?"

"Yep, it was delicious."

He stood there nodding his head and looking off into the distance... while I shoved the bananas back into the freezer.

I promised him I would use them very soon and make something fabulous. He smiled and patted me on the back.

I think we both know it's never going to happen.