I often daydream about food, staring off into the distance as my mouth waters and my eyes close in the blissful calm that comes over me.

I think about simple things - simple things like freshly torn chunk of rustic bread pulled through a puddle of the best extra virgin olive oil that has been riddled with fresh cracked pepper.

Or a layer of warm, creamy fresh mozzarella topped with a thick slice of heirloom tomato. Atop the tomato sits flakes of the best sea salt while a river of fresh balsamic cascades it's way down to to the tender basil leaves below.

Sometimes it's fresh blueberries bubbling under a crust of an oaty-brown-sugary-buttery crust while the homemade vanilla bean ice cream sits in the freezer just waiting for all that warmth.

And then I am jolted back to reality by the sounds of food runners calling for more salmon, and debating whether or not to tell me that someone spilled their glass of red wine all over the platter of fresh oysters.

Or I walk out to a buffet line after 300 deranged guests plow their way through like pigs attack a trough of slop, and I ask myself why I even bother to create beautiful displays when all anyone cares about is filling their plate higher than the guy in front of him.

I find myself watching people - people you would assume had some class with all the sweet smiles and Prada loafers - people who nearly rip the plate out of a server's hand simply unable to wait the 2 seconds it takes for a plate to be properly placed in front of them.

It's Wedding Season, people.

Bridezilla is alive and well. Drunken conga lines wind through kitchens while unattended children poke at wedding cakes. Newly minted in-laws squabble over cake cutting, and girls who catch the bridal boquet end up puking from all those martinis. Grown men demand the DJ play AC/DC while grandparents cover their ears and shuffle their way to their cars.

There are nights when I feel like a victorious food artisan who has just served the perfect meal to the perfect crowd.

And there are nights like tonight when I sit here in my stained apron with trickles of sweat cascading down my back and I feel like nothing more than A Pig Farmer.

We have a routine, when I get home from The Restaurant or A Trick, that The Husband will come close enough to get The Signal, and then ask if I want a hug. And he asks because once he hugged me before I could tell him to give me a minute to change out of the jacket and apron covered in garlic juice. (Long, long story)

And its not that he doesn't love me enough to hug the dirty its just that our love is strong enough that I see no reason to have to wash what he is wearing, too.

So we have a system. If my arms go outstretched - he hugs. If they don't, he waits until I shower. No words. Just a smile and small salute while I make way to the laundry.

And let's be honest, its me. Rare is the night the arms go outstretched before the shower.

So the other day we had a trick and we spent the day outside grilling salmon and steak for a large crowd of guests celebrating whatever it was they were celebrating.

I brought the salmon already fileted and wrapped in parchment. I placed in a box covered with a large plastic bag filled with ice. Ok by 'large plastic bag' I mean it was a clean garbage bag - and I specify clean because I don't need the stress of all the e-mails - and... where was I... oh yeah, the bag was filled with ice...

Anyway.

So I prepped the filets in The Client's kitchen and used the box for the clippings/trimmings from the rest of my prep and took it out to The Van. I don't like to leave that kind of garbage for A Client to find/smell later in their garbage can while 40 cats cling to the side.

The Trick was fabulous. Happy people. Great food. And only one small glare in the direction of Dennis The Menace as he repeatedly pelted me with his rubber band gun. In defense of him - his parents did not seem to care what he was doing. And I maybe stuck my tongue out at him once or twice.

So at the end of the night we unloaded our wares and at the last minute I rembered the box tucked in the corner. So proud of myself for saving The Client from the inconvenience, I smiled as I hoisted the box over my head to toss in the dumpster. Mid smile I was hit with a cascading waterfall of a lovely melted water/raw fish juice/tomato seed/garlic skin/mystery juice. I was like the bar rag at a sushi counter. And as I am always want to say, 'No good deed goes unpunished'.

Before I even had a chance to get my salute out The Husband smiled and said, "I could smell you coming up the stairs. Love you."

Good times.

A man called late Saturday afternoon wondering if anyone had turned in his teeth.

Yeah.

I know.

And yes, they had. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, and from asking the obvious...'why did you take them out in a restaurant of all places?'. But I held strong.

"We do have them here. Wrapped in parchment and placed in a box."

"Good. I hoped someone would be honest enough to turn them in."

Which begs to ask... who in the Hell keeps found dentures??

Anyway.

"Well they are set aside for you. Will you be coming by soon?"

"Nah. Well. I dunno. Maybe. Just put my name on them and I will get them when I get them."

He got them at 7:30 tonight. Smiling brightly with a very profound toothless grin.

So many questions. So little time.

It's Graduation time and I've spent my share of the last few weeks cranking out fruit platters and salads and salmons and all sort of goodies for all sorts of graduates. Its fun work, actually. Creative little meals I can drop of or that get picked up and I still have enough time at the end of the day to have a nice cocktail. Or, you know, 4.

I don't do contracts for this kind of work which makes me a bit of a renegade in this industry. Its small piece work, its quick, people pay cash up front and it all turns over really fast. It can be a nice change from meat carving and hauling around platter after platter of crudite' and the like.

A Client Called - we will call her Tight Tammy - and ordered the same for her son's party that she had for her daughter last year. No problem, easy work, pick it up at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday. When she asked how much it would be I gave her the total, we exchanged pleasantries and I went on about my business.

Not 10 minutes later the phone rang and it was Tight Tammy. "Um, yeah. Say. I was looking over my records from last year and this year the price is significantly higher. Why?"

My first thought was to laugh. But I was kind, and patient, and explained to her that food costs have gone up. The price of gas has gone up. Had I known what I do now - that Mercury was in retrograde - I would have used that, too.

She sat in silence for a minute, and I asked, "Hello?" wondering if she had hung up on me or if she were figuring out the national debt in her mind.

"Well", she said. "I guess I am a bit taken aback. I still don't understand what that has to do with me paying a higher price."

I don't know if this woman lives in a hut at the far edge of civilization or she failed to pay attention in economics, but I do know I was able to end the conversation politely and hang up the phone without guffawing and calling her an idiot.

I would like to think I am growing.

Or perhaps I finally have enough liquor in my system that it all just seems to level out.

...2489 is the number of spamming comments I just deleted. That is what I deserve, I guess, for not knowing how to actually run this site.

It's also probably deserving considering my attitude these last couple of weeks. I've been a bearcat and have had to apologize for my behavior on more than one occasion.

I don't know if we are in a wierd moon cycle or what is going on but lately some of The Staff have been working a nerve like no other. And I've had to say things in anger - no matter how I have tried not to. But really - is it so hard to wipe a counter? These are basic things - simple tasks that I assumed had become so embedded in everyone's brain that it would not be an issue. But I've walked in one too many times to see a kitchen I was ashamed of, and people leaning over countertops as if the world would only spin if they held the butcher's block in place with their forearms.

And I've lost my patience. And I have yelled. And it makes me mad when it gets to that point. But we have a hot bath full of soapy bar towels for a reason - I expect them to be used.

And it happens everywhere - in every business. People get tired and burned out and they let things go. And then the pick back up where they left off and they've moved forward like normal. And I tried to assume that is what was happening but on day 3 I lost my biscuit over tomato seeds crusted to the prep counter. It's better now, and everyone seems to have found their grove again. And I pray it lasts - we're busy. Really busy. A blessing considering it costs $500 to fill up your scooter with gas.

On a positive note the world has a way of settling the score with me when I let things get the best of me. A last minute screw up with an order sent me to the store to get fruit and vegetables for a small Trick. And as I was unloading my cart into The Van a clamshell of grape tomatoes tipped over and sent approximately 5000 little red gems of goodness all over the ground. And then I stepped in them. And then in order to move the cart I had to roll over them. It was like my own little version of La Tomatina in Spain. People pointed and stared. I laughed - hard.

Ironic, really, when you think about it. Could tomato seeds be a metaphor for my waning sanity?

Perhaps I should have a lemon drop and think that one out...

No - I am not still on the couch. Though that would be nice.

I have actually spent the last two weeks staning on line behind the man at the crab display during brunch at Salty's.

Good God man it's crab, not gold boullion.

I swear to you, whether I am serving a buffet or browsing one, there never fails to be that person who believes that if he does not fill his plate to tipping capacity that the world will stop spinning and he will flail into space without getting his share of some tasty snack.

We met friends there - Salty's on Alki - for a birthday celebration brunch. The weather was gorgeous and it was nice to have the chance to eat someone else's food for a change. I have to admit, however, that I spent the majority of my time people watching - as I am want to do - and shaking my head at all the crazy people hoarding food like it was their last meal before The Big One. Though with the price of gas maybe they figured this was their last meal since they would soon be stuck at home not able to afford the $5698 it costs to even put gas in their Prius.

The Crab Man seemed to be right in front of me at all times. And given that I personally hate the buffet mentality it made me uneasy - like he in turn was watching me and making a fast track to whatever place in line I would be as to get the very last of whatever it is I wanted. The crab was the kicker. I wanted to badly to tell him I don't even like the stuff but he was too busy sweating as he tucked his plate into his chest to give the Pile O' Crustacean some stability. He just kept piling and piling and piling like these tiny crab legs were the very last crab legs ever to be harvested and by God he was going to get his share. And then some. I finally had to reach around him to grab some pineapple and managed to give a heavy sigh within his earshot so maybe he would get the hint to back away from the buffet already and give someone else a shot.

Watching him head back to his table taking very careful steps was somewhat comical. I kept waiting for a server with a tray full of plates to walk by and disrupt his flow and cause him to wobble a bit, maybe dropping a leg or two. But that never happened. Though if it did I would not have seen it. I was too rude to sit down before I ate a chunk of pineapple insisting, instead, to eat a piece as I walked and then I tripped a little and dropped it down my shirt while and entire 8-Top watched it all unfold.

That entire word picture is a metaphor for the last two weeks - people hoarding food, me sighing while watching, and ultimately misstepping to my own displeasure.

So things are the same here - just been a little to busy to tell you all about it.