It's rained steadily most of today (well, since I woke up at noon -- the sun set about midnight, and this day off is dedicated to laziness), affording the opportunity to read through some of my previous notes on cooking. A few days ago, when it was quite busy and I was plating my 87th side of bacon, I was reminded of the eternal hustle of the fancy restaurant where I trained. I'm thankful to no longer carry anything/everything (boiling pots of stock, fifty-pound bins of oysters, endless quarts of dill pickles) up and down a steep flight of stairs. I acutely recall the failure-panic of trying, in way too short a time, to prepare for service, and my resentment of seemingly minor requests or additions to the systematic labor thereof. If something prevented me from finishing slicing lemon wedges by 2:25, I just had to press on with the other parts of readying my station and hope for some spare, salvaged moments to catch up on the lemons.
Which brings me to: oatmeal to go. My fellow Americans...for fuck's sake, can you not even handle instant oatmeal at this point? Like, we could give you the already-boiling water -- for free! -- and you could effortlessly have oatmeal. Since you placed your order the night before, I intuit that you are capable of planning (perhaps next time you could purchase instant oatmeal packets). Since you're taking it to go, I intuit that you do not care about the pleasure of sitting and eating breakfast (consider injecting yourself with caloric fluid). Since half the time you order it plain, unadorned by raisin or pecan, I intuit that you do not care about food in any way (wood pulp is pretty much equivalent to plain oatmeal). What kind of sadist interrupts the earnest cooking of eggs and pancakes to procure oatmeal to go?
Please, stop doing this.
Gosh, I had a lot to say about that. Let's just calm down with a look at these pretty rain-spheres perfectly cupped by amiably outstretched leaves:
No comments:
Post a Comment