I got an e-mail from Trent informing me that there's a new sports drink made of - pickle juice.

A pickle juice sports drink?" Brilliant!

So a customer came in the restaurant last night. She informed the server that she had just been to the grocery store and wondered if she could give us the steak she just purchased - and have us cook it to her liking. She "would certainly order all of the sides to go with it, but hoped we would cook her steak".

My response to the server when she came in the kitchen to tell me was an drop-jawed blank stare.

I am still sporting it this morning.

The Bride was a little on the snotty side. Ok a lot, actually. But we're used to that, and so apparently was everyone around her. It wasn't obtuse, just a fact everyone knew and dealt with.

Even with that fact, the Trick was wonderful. Everything went smooth. The guests were wonderful. The food, I must say, was exceptional. It was one of those nights we walk away remembering why we love this business.

The best part of the night came when the family was trying to locate the Great-Grandmother. She's a darling little woman of the young age of 92. She still wears gloves and proper hats, still insists on precise manners and social graces. She is the epitome of a lady.

She was located in a quite room in the back...reading a racy, bodice-ripping romance novel. She peaked over her book to say, "Yes, I am here hiding. The bride is a snot and I don't care to be around all those people. I will be out when I am done with this chapter."

Classic.

Over at Epicurious they are promoting Wine.Dine.Donate to raise money for America's Second Harvest.

I am a staunch supporter of the food bank system, which meets the needs of so many worthy people. There is no excuse for hunger in a nation as rich as ours.

This also can be applied to those of you not living in the United States. Hunger is a worldwide tragedy.

It's been a week.

The kind of week filled with little to no time at home, too much traffic, and too many assholes enjoying the fruits of my labor. And when I say the word assholes, I say it with a long drawn out gravelly voicen normally used by Clint Eastwood in the Westerns he became so famous for. "Stop drinking from the punch ladle, or I will shoot you in the town square, asshole..."

Like that.

I am a summer girl at heart, though I admit I am wanting for the cooler - and shorter - days of autumn. Not so busy would be nice, too. I am grateful for all that we are afforded, but I am weary for all the time it takes me away from home - the very place I am in residence only long enough to sleep and catch a quick shower.

I finally had a chance today to sit down and write down some thoughts, only to be sidetracked by the plethora of e-mails proclaiming my stupidity over thinking zoos equate the natural habitat of things like elephants and lions. And then more telling me they hate.

When.

I.

Put.

Only.

One.

Word.

On.

One.

Line.

Like.

This.

Apparently my "arrogoance goes so far as to think my pathetic words rate an entire space of their own".

That.

One.

Made.

Me.

Laugh.

Really.

Hard.

As for the zoo, I know - I get it. Zoos are not natural habitats. But I don't live in Africa. Nor do I live in the rainforest of the Amazon. So when I see something set to resemble those areas and I see the beautiful - and well fed - animals residing in such places I can imagine what it must be like to be there. Kind of like watching Victor Newman share a tender moment with his wife/lover/former stripper Nikki in their overly dark and dramatic living room. Victor Newman is a ficticious character on television, but I imagine were he to be real he would actually live in a really dark and dramatic living room. Anyone who puts people in cages in their basements are bound to.

But I digress.

People have been in fine form over the last week. Last night was the capper to an 8 day run of - it's hard to find a word, really - but of the rudest, most miserable human beings on the face of the planet. A ten top walked into The Restaurant last night at 7:30. The walked right in, looked all around and then asked if we had room for them. When they were asked if they had a reservation, or called ahead, the scoffed and asked, "Do people actually do that?". Um, yes, people do. I realize they are part of the rarely seen pack of Roaming Nice People, but it does happen.

We were gracious - no matter how much we didn't want to be - and told them there would be a wait. Which then made them scoff some more. I don't know if all the scoffing was an allergic reaction to smiles and general kindness, but it seemed to be something they should be medicated for.

We got them seated, and they proceeded to order their own version of the menu, all the while letting two of the small children drink from the creamer carafe. Which is another post for another time because I cannot begin to tell you the anger this riles in me. Not the first time it's happened - doubt it will be the last.

So the Scoffers ordered their own creative versions of our menu items and proceeded to get up from their table no less than 10 times for different reasons. Their waitress would just leave their table, and they would jump up and run to tap her on the shoulder for something they forgot. It went like that for the entire meal.

By the time they left the service staff was exhasperated beyond belief - especially when they found a mere $7.00 tip on the table - buried beneath all of the soiled napkins, water soaked bread, spilled food and crumpled pieces of paper. Oh, and empty creme carafes.

After they walked out I locked the front door and made the announcement that we would be closing early. The Staff was thrilled - we've all had enough for a week.

Lemon drops all around.

The Husband had some research to do, so we spent the day at the zoo.

As we get older we forget how fabulous it is to see animals in their own habitat. My main purpose was to see the elephants, The Husband's main purpose the Komodo Dragon. Both fascinating creatures. We also stopped at all points in between and beyond, but careful (well, me anyway...) to avoid things behind glass that go, "Sssss...." and slither while trying to take down a gazelle in the wild.

Much like the wizard Valdemort of Harry Potter fame, snakes are the things who should not be named in my world.

*shudder*

The elephants did not disappoint. They are, I confess, my favorite animal. I have a list of reasons, one of them being they clearly are comfortable with their girth and spend no time hiding behind air mattresses in the pool as I do. It's also very fun to watch them eat.

With utter calm and grace Sir Trunks-A-Lot here roamed his feeding area with the casual attitude I so admired. A little swish of the trunk and Oh! A carrot. Another swish and Oh! Lettuce. It was refreshing to watch him meander, not shove, through the buffet laid before him. Never once did he crowd, overfill his trunk, or tap on any shoulder of his catering staff wondering if he could get a little extra shrimp since the lady across his table decided to opt out of the shellfish course. Never once did he barge his way into the kitchen, nor did he rest his large hump on the table. He was, to me, the perfect guest.

If only...

E-mail Message:

"This is Angela. I got your name from Becky. You did her wedding last December, remember? Everything is in place for my wedding. The long engagement is finally coming to an end! Yippeee! Now we are putting the final touches on the day. I am just heading out the door to see the florist, and I am hoping to have a sit-down with you this week since now would be a good time for me and I hope hope hope! you can do it. Your food is awesome!

My phone number is XXX-XXXX, and you will now have my e-mail.

Oh, and the wedding is August 20th. Just a little more than a week away. SO EXCITING!"

Now would be a good time?

Sometimes a girl just craves a biscuit. A flaky, cakey, slathered-in-butter, possibly even dredged through gravy biscuit.

This happened to me on Sunday morning. My eyes shot open at 6:30 a.m. desperate to remember what day it was, fumbling with the clock and sitting up in a confused state of thinking I was late for a meeting. And then it dawned on me - Sunday. My day of rest. And the day the desire for a biscuit was so strong that I was willing to grace the aisles of the grocery store at 6:45 a.m. with morning hair and mismatched flip-flops.

I've tried the biscuit thing. But it's hit and miss for me. I don't do well with recipes of any kind, and I've been far too exact with measurements in my previous biscuit attempts to get anything I felt was perfect. So this time I was determined to eschew the rules of baking and wing it.

So with a pile of self-rising flour, a schlep of Crisco, some chunks of chilled butter, a pinch or three of sugar and enough buttermilk to make a shaggy, congealed mass - I had my dough. It just felt right in my hands. I had worked the Crisco and butter into pea sized chunks, knowing they would create lovely layers. Or at least hoping against hope... And in keeping with the "no rules/no measuring" moment I was having, I opted for cutting the biscuits free hand instead of using a biscuit cutter. Then with a hefty slathering of butter on the tops, in the 375 degree oven they went, and I set about cleaning up the flour that spilled when the bag tipped over.*

About 20 minutes later I dared open the oven - and they were perfect. Slightly browned on top, and doubled in size. I couldn't wait so I grabbed one from the corner and split it open - and it was full of soft, flaky layers. I had done it. I was victorious.

I am a biscuit master.

Ok so maybe Biscuit Master is a little presumptuous. But as The Husband kissed my flour dusted forehead* he told me his Granny would be very, very impressed, and that's good enough for me.

*(Oh my God there was flour everywhere...)

Pardon me.

Excuse me.

Both very polite gestures to either get someone's attention, or to be courteous when trying to get by someone, or when you've accidentally gotten in a person's way, right?

Apparently not.

The trick was a small affair - only 100 people - at a small but beautiful venue. The Client asked for buffet, and then wanted the buffet removed to make room for her guests to dance. The room was pretty crowded so getting to the buffet was a challenge, but most people are really gracious about moving out of the way when we come out of the kitchen with platters of food.

Most people.

There's always that person - the person who's rudeness and austerity inflicts upon our job. This particular person - Rude Randy - consistently stood in the entrance to the kitchen alcove so that every single time we had to come out of, or go into the kitchen, we had to say, 'excuse me', in a polite and professional manner. Which is not a problem, that's what we do. But he knew that was our path, and yet he made that his home for the evening. Until the time came to take the buffet stations down. Then he made his home by resting his butt on the edge of one of the tables.

So we're packing up platters and chafing dishes and having to go around him each time. Which wasn't the worst part, the worst part was his attitude. He would sigh and roll his eyes to whomever he was talking to, or even just to himself.

And I have to be honest, it's times like these that I wish for that Five Minute Break in the Space and Time Continum so I could grab Rude Randy by the shoulders, knee him in the groin and drop him like a container of peanut sauce in a restaurant cooler. He knew he was in our way, and it was like a constant test to see how long we would be polite before we would break code and get in his face. But we never cracked.

We never cracked even when we tried to remove the linens and he wouldn't get off the table. Instead I said, "Excuse me", and he didn't budge. So I stood with a bundle of linens in my arms waiting to gather the rest of them so we could get on with it. And I stood there, smiling, calm - serene, if you will. And then Randy's friend came over and said, "Rude Randy, get your fat haunch of that table so these people can get their jobs done. Don't be such an ass." I had to bite my lip and look away, and an embarassed Rude Randy stammered and stuttered as he walked away.

As I walked back to the kitchen the nice man who scolded Randy followed me and said, "I am sorry for my friend. He's just an obstinate ass. If he gets in your way again, kick him in the knee." And with that he winked and walked away.

Fortunately for Rude Randy, he never bothered us, again.

I totally would have kicked him.

I am all for romance.

The looks, the gentle touching of the hand. The kisses, and the whispers of deep dark secrets only couples share. The Husband and I saw the most darling elderly couple the other day walking hand in hand on the beach. They were so charming - so in love.

What I don't like is the couple who sat at table seven last night and proceeded to rub, caress and tongue thrust their way through the salads. The kicker was the part where the man rubbed his hands through the woman's hair and then held on to the back of her head while he fed her...following each loving spoonful with a probing kiss.

I have no idea where her hands were. But they weren't on the table. Nor were they on her lap.

I am all for getting your grove on, but go find your thrill somewhere else. Perhaps Richie Cunningham saved you a spot on Blueberry Hill.