breakfast after a day of failed bakes and an evening of grappa tasting.
Everything seemed to go smoothly until the croissants refused to rise. I have a history for failing bakes like the simplest muffin mixes and now an all new record has my name written all over it: the frozen croissants I simply had to put on a tray and into the oven. flat as pancakes they teasingly lay on the tray. If only I weren’t gluten intolerant I would stuff them in my mouth and chomp them down for sweet revenge.
Most beautiful old couple for lunch today. The husband read a piece of poetry to his precious wife, looking at her endearingly, her eyes sparkled with youth and gentle tears. The joy to share these tender moments
It’s an absolute mess outside today. It’s windy and raining, then hailing, then hailing and raining at the same time. All the while we are all cosily tucked in the restaurant with good company and wine. As per usual the gracious host Anne Marie’s only concern is keeping her patrons full and satisfied, so all the staff are positioned and at the ready. With all the bustling inside, it was the kitchen’s time to perform.
So here I was at my post giving a hand and overseeing. But this time I seemed to take the ‘giving a hand’ a bit too literally. The inevitable happened. There was an extremely sharp blade, a wicked slice, semi blackout then instinct took its natural place. I had sliced open my ever chatty middle finger to the bone. I grabbed a rag and naturally hid from the hostess and my over caring mother. I knew she wouldn’t be able to handle this. I tried to hide outside but blood was gushing, clearly visible from the other side of town. When my mother saw she grabbed her hair, face, then boobs and the pain lined across her caring face. I told her I am fine, its just shock. She walked around like someone on fire and abruptly left to attend to the patrons needs.
Fifteen minutes later I was stitched up and promoted down to barista, high on shock and spirits.
Passio 