When it comes to the Tricks, I am all about the person writing the check. (I'm the Whore for a reason, people)

And what I mean by that is that I am all about pleasing my clients. I love if everyone attending the function is pleased, too, but my main focus is that person writing me the check. They hired me to do exactly as they desired. And that's what I aim to do.

So I get my back up when those not writing the checks trounce into my kitchen and give orders like I am a grunt at boot camp. Although quite frankly, I don't care how much the check is for - I don't want anyone treating me like a grunt. I mean, you all know this. I've whined about it endless times.

Anyway.

We tricked a wedding. And the bride and groom were a very young couple but were paying for the majority of this function themselves. The groom's parents, however, paid for the bulk of the reception. And the Groom's family paid because the Bride's parents felt they were doing enough buy flying in from the East Coast. And they were "doing work on their summer home."

Whatever. It's not my place to judge. Well, that's not true. It's the judging I enjoy the most, really.

So we're in the kitchen doing our thing when this woman comes in and says in her snotty way, "Are you the caterers?" I guess the jackets and aprons and plastic gloves are, in fact, a dead givewaway. "We are" I responded with a big smile.

"These fresh strawberries and they need to be cleaned and put in a bowl for the cake.. Oh, and it needs a serving spoon." And then she walked out.

Now, had she said to us, "I hate to ask. But would you mind cleaning these and getting them ready for the cake table?" She would have been greeted with a smile and a "We will take care of that right now" attitude instead of the behind-the-back raking over the coals she got.

It didn't help that she and her husband walked through the kitchen no less than 5 times and at one point he whined about how hungry he was as he was digging through our things.

At one point she snapped her fingers at us. And then, you know, I sort of lost my relationhip with God for a minute and may have said some unfortunate things within her earshot.

It worked, though.

And for about 32 seconds I felt bad.

I must be getting softer in my older age. There was a time when I wouldn't have felt bad at all.

I sort of have this problem when it comes to shoes. The Friend in Alabama says it's a disease. I say it's a rite to womanhood and a necessity for true happiness in life...along with good bread, dark chocolate, kalamata olives, and lemon drops. (And not necessarily in that order.)

Anyway - I have lots and lots of shoes.

I am really fussy about the shoes I wear when I Trick or work The Restaurant. There has to be a balance of support and "squishiness", with the right amount of non-skid going on. As you know, slipping is one of the many talents I hold in my resume'.

I've run the cycle of shoes and have tried about every chef clog on the market. The last pair I owned were good but they were way to industrial looking and I want something with a little spunk.

So while out and about shopping the other day I ran across these bad boys:

I got myself some Crocs. And oh my God are they the most comfortable shoes - ever. Ever! Now, the holes on top do present a slight issue when it comes to spilling large vats of scalding liquids on my feet - which I often do - so I have ordered another pair, sans holes. But in the mean time, I am the new and improved Mario Batali.

Well, without all the money.

And the baldness.

And the international cookbooks, tv shows, overall fame.

And, you know, I have breasts.

So we did the long-distance trick.

And there was a store up North we've needed to get to so we decided to kill two birds with one stone. In doing so, we bypassed the ferry landing and took the long way around.

And we had to drive over this.

Upon seeing this engineering marvel I closed my eyes and started to pray. The Partner thought it was an odd time for me to talk to God but I told her I was simply avoiding the view.

She told me I was being silly and to open my eyes and see how beautiful it was. "Yeah. It's all pretty until there's an earthquake and we go careening to our deaths in a pile of twisted metal."
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel while she took a deep breath and said, "Bitch."

You see, I am terribly - TERRIBLY - afraid of heights.

Oh.

And bridges.

I am starting to think that Vacation Food Whore isn't the real me. On vacation I was stress free, I was jovial, I was relaxed and, well, I was just plain enjoyable to be around. Which, I realize that's what a good vacation does to a person. But I went on vacation because I wanted to get back to the real me.

Turns out the real me is just an angry bitch who walks around bitching about people's eating habits. And really, it's not so charming.

This week has been a particularly bad one. The Wine and Chocolate buzz lasted for about an hour and then I had to face the rigors of the restaurant where we spent another night bastardizing our menu just to make people happy. I am telling you, we are within days of literally ordering our new menus saying, "Just tell us what the Hell you want and we will cook it for you - $19.95". As if that wasn't bad enough, a client who booked us for July 9th called LAST WEEK to say she made a mistake and had, in fact, meant to book us for July 2nd.

Beyond that I am dealing with what The Husband calls, "The Week He Just Stays The Hell Out Of My Way", also known as PMS. And in this house PMS stands for Pretty Mean Shit. And you know, I hate it when people roll their eyes and say PMS doesn't exist.

Ask anyone who knows me, it just fucking does.

So I did what I do when I am in a mood and craving the kinds of foods I mock others for serving their children - I went shopping and bought this:

Only I tried to hide it. I can't mock something and then turn around and buy it. Well, I can. But I go to a different grocery store and pray to God I don't see anyone I know. It's kind of like going in the back door of a porn shop - sneak in, get the goods, sneak back out and hope the church elders don't see you.

Only this time out damn if someone I knew wasn't right in front of me in line. So I nestled this can of goodness behind the bananas and fresh basil I bought, hoping they wouldn't see it. As if they would care. But I cared. Because I am just that messed up.

And damn if 3 more people I know didn't get in line behind me. I started to wonder if word was out I was shopping for my Dirty Little Secrets and people rushed to the store to catch me in the act.

So my items get checked and bagged and I was in a hurry to just get the Hell out of there when the checker hollers, "Ma'am! Ma'am! I am so sorry, I forgot to put your canned ravioli in your bag. You can't have Italian for dinner without this!"

I wanted to keep walking but he would have kept hollering so instead I turned around and faced my demons like a big girl and said, "Oh, Thank you! My husband is craving this stuff and he never would have forgiven me."

That's right - I blamed it on The Husband. But he will never know. This is the week he just stays the Hell out of my way.

*Author's Note: Do you see that message on the can where it says "Look! Easy Open Top". Well that's just crap. I nearly severed a digit in my struggles and in the process splattered that fake tomato sauce all over my backsplash. Damnit.

I just had a client stop by my office to drop off 2 bottles of wine from Sterling Winery along with a box of the most decadant triple dark chocolate truffles from a specialty chocolatier.

It was her way of saying an extra, "Thank You" for making her party so fabulous last week.

Clients like her make me remember why I do this kind of work. It's not about the money or the accolades.

It's clearly about liquor and chocolate.

During the Key West portion of our trip last month...

...wait... give me a minute to let my mind go back to what it was actually like to be on vacation.

*Sigh.* That's nice.

Anyway.

So during the Key West portion of our trip last month we had the great pleasure of staying at The Gardens Hotel.

And when I say pleasure - I mean that this is by far THE most fabulous place I have ever had the pleasure to stay while traveling. Absolutely everything about this place was incredible. It was like being in a tropical oasis.

And the poolside bar, as you can imagine, was my favorite place.

In fact, my absolute favorite meal for the entire vaction was a juicy burger from Crabby Dick's, eaten poolside with a lovely cocktail. (Ok, 2 cocktails) Actually, one of these stools has my name on it:

If you ever have the occasion of traveling to Key West, stay at The Gardens.

They don't serve Velveeta there.

About a year or so ago I posted this story.

I can't tell you how many times over the last year I have regretted not being honest with this woman. And not because it's my heart's desire to be cruel. But because every time I run into her she feels the need to share with me a new recipe that she has created. A recipe which she is "just certain I could use for Tricking!"

She's even called and sent e-mails and each time I am polite and gracious and hope to God she's not actually telling people that she is the source of my recipes.

So last week we were at our mutual friend's and Bad Recipe Rita was there with her husband. As soon as she spotted me she made mad dash across the room to tell me of her latest creation.

"Oh you're here! I have got such a fantastic recipe for you!"

The people around me were shifting to get a look at my face. It's become a game, really, to see if I can pull off yet another genuine-looking smile and reaction to another one of Rita's creations.

"Ok, this one would be fabulous if you ever had to do something like a family reunion or something like that. Have you ever catered a family reunion?"

"Oh my family loves it. Anyway. I call it Mashed Potato Surprise. Isn't that a great name?"

All I could think of was, well, wishing I was somewhere else. My friend Julie was biting her lips in a attempt to keep from bursting out into guffaws.

"Wow... so, do you hide something inside the mashed potatoes?"

"Oh how funny! No. Here's how it's done. First you layer instant mashed potato flakes on the bottom. I use 1/2 a box. Then over that you pour 4 cans of Cream of Mushroom soup. On top of that you do chunks of velveeta. I use an entire brick! Don't you just love the way Velveeta melts?"

Sweet Merciful Jesus. I didn't even have time to respond, my entire focus was spent on making sure my face didn't look like someone punched me in the gut.

"Ok so then on top of the velveeta you add 3 cans of lima beans, corn, and carrots. Wait! I don't mean 3 cans each. I mean one can of each, 3 total. Ok so where was I... oh! Ok so on top of the vegetables you layer chopped ham and then you cut up a cube of butter and drop that over the ham. And then you cook it on 275 all day or until the mashed potatoes bubble up from the bottom. Which is why it's a surprise! No one knows there are mashed potatoes in there! Isn't that fantastic?"

In unison, the entire crowd turned to look at me in anticipation of what I was going to say. And it took me a while. So many things were going through my head. The muscles in my neck were actually stiff from trying to desperately to keep my face from contorting into looks of shock, confusion, horror, and just general fear of what may come out of my mouth.

"Well", I said. "I can certainly see why people would be surprised. But you know, um. We generally don't do the casserole thing - there's just not a lot of call for it. But thank you so much for sharing that with me."

"Oh you need to try it. Promise me you will at least try it!"

"I will try it, sometime. Perhaps in the Fall when it's cool outside."

"That would be perfect! I can't wait to hear your review. I plan to make it one of these days and I will bring you a sample."

Please let "...one of these days" be close to the time when Hell freezes over.

The Trick we catered last Sunday was filled with people from out of town; family members, friends, old school pals.

The meal, if I do say so myself, was fabulous. One of our best. Everything clicked; the weather, the location; the set up and the Client was a dream to work with.

So during clean-up we were approached by The Far Away Guest and were asked how far we would be willing to travel for a Trick.

"So how far is too far away?"

"Keep in mind, I am willing to pay for your travel expenses."

"Well does it involve a plane ticket?"

"No. Nothing like that. Is 120 miles too far?"

I could tell The Partner - the 'more than eager pleaser' of the two of us - was ready to blurt out, "No problem!", when I shot her a look and said, "We would have to talk about it."

"Well as I said. I will pay your travel expenses above and beyond the cost of the food. Does $1,000 sound fair?"

That question brought to mind a saying my grandfather used to use for moments when answers seemed to be an obvious 'yes', 'Is the Pope Catholic?' I didn't say that, however.

Instead I smiled and said, "That sounds more than fair. Here's our card."

I could be dishonest and tell you that had the offer even been $100 we would have said yes because we love the work and knowing we would make these people happy is more than enough to cover the travel. And in the big picture, 120 miles isn't that far.

But let's get real. I don't call myself The Food Whore for nothing.

Today while sitting at a stop light I noticed the man in the car next to me cramming some sort of burger in his mouth.

I hate it when people eat and drive. I get why they do it. I mean, I know what busy is. But I hate the concept that we're all in such a hurry that people are forced to buy crappy food and slam it down during their time at stop lights.

Anyway. Enough preachiness.

So I look over and he's cramming his burger in his mouth and in an effort to pretend I was not, in fact, looking at him I scanned over his car. He was driving one of those new Ford Mustangs that are modeled after the old style.

So I'm looking and I happen to scan back in the car and see him picking his nose.

Picking his nose.

So with one hand he's eating the burger and with the other he's picking his nose. And this time there was no pretending that I was staring. I was. And I had a complete look of horror on my face.

And he saw me.

About that time the light changed to green and I took off wondering which hand he freed up to drive.

And then I gagged.

The Husband and I have a golden rule that we never complain about one another's jobs. When you have a business or are trying to build one it takes huge amounts of time and that just can't always be helped. All we can do is make the most of the time we have with one another and be a huge support during the times we are apart.

But it does get tough. We're on opposite schedules lately and it's been difficult to connect for more than a "hello and goodbye". Having a meal together means eating from the same cold pizza sitting in the refrigerator, unfortunately it happens at opposite times of the day. We check in by phone or leave one another notes to stay in contact. In fact, the note I found last night ended with a "Screw You", followed by a "No, I am not mad at you. That was my attempt at foreplay from a distance". Quite the joker, that Husband.

I've only spent sleeping hours at home since Wednesday night so this afternoon when I got home - finally done with the whirlwind Tricking - I was greeted by The Husband wearing a "Hello My Name is The Husband" sticker on his shirt. As I reached out to hug him I noticed the microwave was unplugged and off the counter. I didn't want the first words out of my mouth to be, "What happened to the microwave..." so I bit my lip.

Before he let me go he said, "It's so good to be at home at the same time, isn't it? Let's just enjoy this hug for a moment and if you pretend you don't see that the microwave has been moved, I will pretend that I didn't accidentally put tinfoil in there and cause sparks."

*sigh*

I have a small Trick tomorrow night and needed a few things that weren't worth ordering from Mr. Food Supplier. So to Costco I went.

And I swear that every time I pass through the big doors and flash my member card (with the picture that looks like I've been on a 3-week bender), a neon sign lights up on my ass and flashes, "Follow Me! Look in My Cart!"

I can't get through that place without some hanger-on who peers into my cart every chance they get and who seems to follow me down every aisle.

Tonight's hanger-on was Simon McNoseypants.

I first noticed Simon when I was checking out the new set of glass hurricane candle sconces. I had already placed a large 12-pack of paper towels in my cart and for some reason, Simon found them interesting.

I looked at him, smiled, and was on my merry way to the vegetable cooler.

And while placing a package of sugar snap peas I looked over my shoulder and noticed Simon checking out a bag of romaine hearts while pretending not to watch me. "Don't look now", said The Partner, "We've got a cart stalker."

So we went our separate ways; The Partner to the watermelon, and I to the dairy cooler. Simon didn't seem to follow until I rounded the corner to the freezers and there he was picking out a box of those mini cream puffs. I didn't make eye contact this time but could see out of the corner of my eye as he looked over all the items in my cart.

I kept walking and beat it down the coffee aisle when I noticed Simon pass over to the next aisle. I decided to throw off the pace by swinging into the book section when I noticed Simon stop over at the sock display. While he was distracted I headed down the spice aisle to grab a bottle of olive oil when he comes up behind me, looks at the dried onion flakes, and then grabs a bottle of olive oil for his own cart.

So I'm moving - I get crackers, Simon gets crackers. I get a box of Honey Nut Cheerios for The Husband, Simon gets a box, too.

Sure it could all be coincidence. Or Simon could be a bored and lonely Mr. McNoseypants who finds great pleasure in being a Costco Stalker.

Either way, I decided to mess with him a bit. Because, you know, I'm totally insane like that.

So I grabbed a bag of dried cranberries and shortly after, Simon did, too. And then I turned around and put mine back. But he kept his. Hmmm... interesting.

I turned into the next aisle and Simon didn't follow. "Just a fluke", I thought. Until I found myself face to face with him in the pasta aisle. He never looked at my face - just scanned my cart, scanned his, and went around me.

When I ran into Simon again by the soaps, I noticed he had gone back and gotten the same parmesean cracker breads I got and the 3 pack of English Cucumbers he missed while I tried to lose him by the tomatoes.

So to toally step up the game I grabbed a pack of Pampers and a bottle of Neutrogena Body Oil. "Take that, Mr. McNoseypants" ,I said to myself, and headed toward the checkout. He didn't follow and he didn't take the bait of the Pampers or the body wash.

I met The Partner in line and she said, "Um, what's with the Pampers? You don't have a child". "I know", I replied. "But I had to step up the game and I think I won."

"I have no idea what your talking about but I do believe you've gone and lost your damn mind."

Yeah.

She's totally right.

So I'm waiting in line at The Deli to get my fresh mozarella balls and I see Deli Girl sporting a hair net on the back part of her head, only. And the front has that lovely "center parted feathered" look of freshly shorn side bangs.

She got a haircut.

And she got a mullet.

"Do you like my new hairstyle?", She asked.

"Oh, um. Yes.", I responded while trying to sound sincere.

"Yep, I went for the mullet. I don't know why people mock this style. It's really quite convenient. I can wear this hair net and still have a fashionable feathered look. I am going to revolutionize respect for the style."

I didn't know how to tell her that feathering hasn't been fashionable since Charlie had some Angels, which was about the time that every kid in my 5th grade class carried a big-ass comb in their back pocket.

"Good for you - good luck with that."

"Thanks. That means a lot."

She stood there with that ever-present moustache and now that mullet and I stood there trying to avoid eye contact for fear of letting her see the laughter in my eyes.

I don't quite know how to break it to her but she looks like Joe Dirt.

Some people amaze me.

We were at one of our Tricks this weekend - a graduation party - and overheard a fight between mother and daughter.

And just for clarification purposes, this was the daughter's graduation party - not the mother's.

Daughter: "Mom - can I borrow some cash to get a few disposable cameras?"

Mother: "I don't have any spare cash and I can't even believe you would ask me that! I had to get my hair colored, a pedicure, a manicure, and a massage for myself, plus all The Caterers and decorations - I just don't have any cash to spare!"

Now, like I said. This was the daughter's graduation party. An important time for kids. A time they should be celebrated. Everyone deserves their own day, right? But the mother had to have her hair colored, a pedicure, a manicure, and a massage...

I just shake my head.

I live in a gorgeous loft apartment and the only downside to living here is not having an elevator.

I like climbing the stairs just fine - it's good for me. But when I do any kind of shopping - especially grocery shopping - schlepping all those bags up the stairs is a royal pain. And let's be honest, with my track record of being The Queen of All Accidents Waiting to happen it's just, well, an accident waiting to happen. Unless The Husband is home and then the schlepping is his problem. I can usually get a good lemon drop shaken by the time he's done and having a little cocktail while doing the dreaded task of putting groceries away makes it all a little more tolerable.

So anyway I am at the grocery store last night. I've been so busy since I got home from vacation that I have neglected basic things like making sure we have milk and bread without green spots. While most people find themselves doing fabulous things on Friday nights, I find myself either serving people food or buying it for myself.

There was a beautiful display of seedless watermelons in the middle of the produce section and I've had a craving for the juicy fruit so I decided to get in and start tapping. Everyone has their own way of picking the watermelon and I am a tapper. People think I am nuts when I stand there tapping melons like bongos but I know what I am doing. The method has never failed me.

So I am tapping and tapping and people are staring and I keep tapping and I found the one I wanted. It looked to me like it was in a safe spot but when I picked it up, 3 melons started to slide and in my efforts to get my melon in my cart and save the other 3, another melon broke free and went flailing to the floor. It all happened in slow motion as I was waiting for the big splat.

But it bounced.

3 times.

I was glad I hadn't picked that one because a bouncing watermelon is not a good one. Those bad boys should crack and splat. For a moment I felt guilty like I should buy that watermelon, too. I did cause it to fall and it was clearly no good and I would hate for the next person to pick it up. But my guilt was replaced by reason and I put it back on the display. Surely the next person to pick would know if it was bad, right?

Whatever.

So I got about my business and get things paid for, bagged, and in the car. And then came time to lug it all up the stairs. It only took 2 trips this time but on my second trip up, one of the bags rip and in my efforts to save the contents from careening down the stairs, the mellon slipped out from under my arm.

I turned and watched as it rolled and rolled and then took one last leap off the 3rd step before it came down in a big, wall-splashing splat and cracked into 3 giant chunks.

I sighed and hung my head and then I turned and brought the rest of the bags into the kitchen.

I came back down to save what I could - ignoring the '5 second' rule - but it was mostly covered in specs of things. There was one clean spot and I picked off a piece and just as I had expected - crisp, sweet and juicy.

Damnit.

What is it about people that makes them think they are so superior that they can walk into a crowded restaruant WITH 7 OF THEIR FRIENDS and think they can just find a free table and get in an out within 1/2 hour???

WHAT?

We had a packed house tonight. Odd for a Thursday but nice. There was barely a table to be had and Mr. Dickweed walks in with 7 of his friends and becomes aggitated because we're so busy that they can't all sit together.

A) Call first, moron.

B) Don't take an attitude with my hostess.

C) Don't glare at the other patrons who got there before you and certainly don't glare at the table of 10 who had the brains to make reservations.

D) Did I say to call first, moron?

E) Don't act like you're doing us a big favor by being willing to sit at two separate tables. Be grateful we sat your sorry ass at all.

F) Don't ask how long the food is going to take. We've got a packed house and if you think your order will magically find it's way to the front of the line, you're a moron.

G) Don't harass the waitress about the wait time for the food because you're in a hurry. This is The Restaurant, not Minute Lube.

H) Don't flag down the waitress after 15 minutes and remind her you all have somewhere to be at 7:00. If you only had a half hour you never should have walked in the place. Because even if you were the only morons in the place, unless you planned on having a salad, 1/2 hour isn't enough time.

I) Don't make an ass of yourself and talk loudly on your cel phone telling the person on the other end that you're going to be late because, "The food is taking forever." We can all hear you in the kitchen. And we all know how to spit.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

J) When you walk out, don't glare in the direction of the grill. We have memories like elephants and will remember the next time you come in.

That Moron is now outside my Circle of Trust.

We have a client whom we trick for on a fairly regular basis. Holiday parties. Summer get-togethers. Anniversaries. Birthdays. Graduations. Or just "please come to our summer house and whip up a little party for the neighbors, mmmkay?"

We love her. But she's the grand chamption of the talking. She's makes my nonstop babble look like child's play.

Which is fine. She's perfectly charming.

But getting that woman to focus on the task at hand and keeping the conversation simple and to the point is a near impossible feat.

The Partner and I flip coins when we have to make calls to her. Whomever loses the flip has to put aside roughly 45 minutes of time when calling for simple information like choice of stemware.

Well today I lost the flip. The trick is next week and I still don't have a final headcount nor have we put the final decision down for the menu. All we know for sure is that it's Thursday and it's 150 people or so. Or not. Maybe.

So this afternoon I called and hard as I tried to get the goods from her I ended up on a tangent about shoes at Nordstom, blooming day lillies, a bathroom remodel, college graduations, serving platters from Williams & Sonoma, trips to Florida (hers, not mine) and a 10 minute marathon about disgust over the price of iceberg lettuce and gas.

For 55 minutes I "uh-huh'd", I "Oh I know'd", I "I totally agree'd" and I nodded alot.

55 minutes.

We're at T minus 7 Days and all I know is that I am tricking for her and there will be 150-ish people and we're going with white china.

What's going to be on that china is anyone's guess.