German - Italian

Tonight was my last night managing at the club. I'm not quitting the place entirely,  however for my own sanity's sake, I demoted myself to bartending.  Better money, better scheduling,  and no more bitchy  emails on my days off!
Coincidentally,  tonight feels like the best night I've ever managed in that place. I went for broke tonight, simply ceasing to give two shits and a fuck about what anyone thought, and boy, did it pay off. I wound up emulating my mom in the best (and funniest) way possible. And got called racist for my efforts (or lack thereof).
You see, I was closing bartenders out for the night when one came to me needing a credit card transaction voided. The guy had changed his mind, the drinks were not made yet, no harm no foul. I go ahead and tell the bartender to let him know that I was voiding it, and to warn him that his bank would hold those funds for up to three days, but he would ultimately get the money back. She does so, and the kid starts getting snotty and rude. He asks to see the manager. I, being right there and having witnessed the exchange, introduced myself. The bartender begins to explain to me what just occurred in front of me, and the kid cuts her off and gave her "the hand". He tells her, "I'm talking to HER now"
I begin to lose my patience at this point. I inform him that there is no need to be rude to my bartender.  He then decided to cut me off. And I went off.

"You're right- you ARE talking to me now. And you are now going to shut the fuck up and stop interrupting me so this can get through your thick fucking skull. For starters,  you will NOT disrespect my bartenders. They are cool as shit, and all this one has been trying to do is assist you and be nice about it. Two- no, I told you to shut the hell up and stop interrupting,  you're done- two, you will get your money back, that is guaranteed.  Three, you are done talking to any of us at all because you didn't tip anyway before this happened. And lastly, if you want to discuss things like an adult, you need to behave like an adult in the first place. Instead you get this- management, bitch!"

I waved my staff badge at him, and finished closing out my bartenders. He tried to continue complaining to the other bartender who happened to be standing by us all, which is when the racist remark got dropped. Dude got looked at like he was frickin' stupid, and we all finished our night and lived happily ever after. 

Moral of the story? Don't be that twat.

Timing?

On October 2, J and I will have known each other for a year. This is easily the longest relationship I've been in. And I have no idea what to think at the moment.
The last time he and I had a "relationship" talk, he said he wants to get to know me better. My hopes, dreams, what I want out of life, what makes me angry, that whole shebang. Fair, valid. I want to know the same. About him, and myself. 
I'm not really one for planning. I don't really have a solid, end-all be-all plan for my life. I have things I want to happen, but no timeline. In my mind, life is too fluid for that. I know I want to get married. I want kids. I want to own a bar. I kind of want to be Malory Archer, haha. I would prefer to have J there with me.
However,  I don't know if now is the right time for us. I love him, there's no question about that. But I don't know if he can give me the amount of attention I need right now. Being long distance and in restaurants is freaking hard. We text every day, and manage to phone most days, but lately I've been feeling lonelier than usual.  I almost wonder if I should take the pressure off both of us and make our relationship more casual. I can't pretend that's not selfish of me, I want someone here with me. But that's just cruel of me, whoever I would be with would be a placeholder. I have no right to do that. I honestly have no idea what to do. Give up the man I love for temporary comfort,  or stay with him and put up with the loneliness that I don't even have a guarantee will end? When is enough, enough? And when does this just become settling? I hate making responsible decisions.

$16 Olive Oil

Craft beer. Boutique wines. Local, small-batch cheese. Every time I turn around, someone is making specialty something-or-other edible that I just HAVE to try. And even better for me if I get the chance to see how/where it is made! You make sausage? Let me see your butcher shop. I go on brewery tours just to say that I've been to a specific brewery- I can already explain the brewing process in detail. I am a nerd for this kind of thing, and if you let me I will get all up in somebody's cheese cellar to poke around.
These days, I'm noticing olive oil is making a more definitive footprint. Food magazines rave about it,  and the grocery store shelves are bursting with variety. When I was younger,  I thought it was overkill- oil was oil was oil, right? And when I did discover olive oil imparted a different flavor,  I was still unimpressed. I was using a very generic brand, and all it did was give it a skunky flavor. A friend of mine tried to turn me on to using olive oil as a dipping sauce for bread- I remember thinking he was off his rocker. I just could not get my head around the idea that this weird greenish grease could not suck. I don't even remember what changed my mind- sometime in the recent-ish past, I gave it another shot. That time, I got it right. The subtle,  nuanced flavors of a higher quality oil opened my eyes... and gave me another expensive flavor hobby.
Now I find myself sipping on straight oils during tasting events. I experiment with infusions.  I spend twice as much on an 8oz bottle than I do for my eyebrow waxes. And now, I'm contemplating dragging J four hours south of Atlanta to tour an olive farm. Fun fact- apparently Georgia grows splendid olives! There happens to be a pecan farm near the olive farm, too, so maybe I can get more into nuts while I'm there...

Autumn Morning

I've just gotten off work, and it feels like fall this morning. There's a chill in the air, and the smell of leaves dead and dying haunts the air like a schoolyard memory. I had to wear a sweater all night. I am simultaneously estatic and pissed off, all at the same time.
Much like any othed human being with a pulse, I love Autumn- there's gorgeous weather, pretty scenery, pumpkin-flavored EVERYTHING, and the promise of holidays devoted to sheer maddening gluttony. Fall means I can go to the mall in the middle of the day in the middle of the week, and it will be a ghost town. I can load up on random costuming shit I may only wear a few hours, but hoard for a lifetime. Oktoberfest. Fall-seasonal beers. Fall fucking roooocks.
At the same time, I fucking hate it. Because that chill in the air? That dick chill is a threat of the cold that has yet to get here. The promise that I have to stock up on sweaters and coats, because SOMETHING got mothed/molded/generally just became awful in my closet over the summer. The incessant nag that I probably ought to drop money I don't want to spend on stupid winter boots that also mysteriously disappear into my closet. It's a massive pain in my ass.
I know, it's unavoidable where I'm living at the moment.  And it will continue to be so for a while. I will enjoy the season while I can, but at the end of the day, it's my mom's favorite reason I'm out of the house- she no longer has to listen to me bitch about the cold!
This year might skew on the more fun side, though. I recently started a garden! It's a fairly good-sized square in my back yard, I would say 5'x5'ish. I already planted some tomatoes, thyme, basil, and oregano;  and I'm attempting to start some bell pepper and string bean sprouts in the house. I've also started a potato.  I have no idea if I have anything resembling a green thumb, but I'm excited to find out!  I'm spending some time tomorrow figuring out what else I want to put in it- spring is going to be far more interesting next year, that's for sure!

Junkie

A food high is a wonderful thing.

It is the sort of sensation that has led me to say to prior exes, "Food does things for me that you have no hope of accomplishing. "

A food high is when you put something so delicious, so fresh, so clean and simple and pure in your mouth, every last pleasure center in your brain fires off. The taste lingers on your tongue an extra second, you honestly feel a bit light-headed, even dizzy. A feeling of utter ecstasy just short of an orgasm builds up in your body, begging for release. The memory of which will get you salivating at the mere mention of the last place you had such an experience.

Food highs are why I demolish restaurant literature.  Food highs are what get me volunteering for festivals. Food highs drive my obsession, and cause me to drop money on subscriptions to Food & Wine magazine that result in me only reading each issue once, maybe twice. 

It's a never ending struggle between my wallet and my tastebuds. It's also a dangerous addiction- after all, one cannot quit eating.  But at the same time, isn't this the addiction we should be persuading people towards? Drugs, alcohol- while those can be enjoyable, they lead to poor decisions.  I have yet to have a truly terrible food addiction experience (I stand by my decision to have beer ice cream at 6am as a marvelous decision).

Sure, there is the possibility for obesity.  But if we introduce kids to a variety of food growing up,  not just Fatty McWendy King's bullshit, I wholly believe kids can grow to make better food decisions.  My body is smart- it informs me when it thinks it needs something via cravings.  It's a great system.  And having introduced it to so much variety has given it options as to what to crave. Stop hating your body. Listen to it. Treat it. It'll tell you what you need to know.

Nights at a Round Table

For supposedly being part food blog, I have done shockingly little writing about food. Probably because I have been eating like crap lately.  Between wonky scheduling and still clearing remaining debt accrued from lack of pay at former jobs, I've unwittingly been only eating maybe one, two meals a day. Oops. Not good. And the proportion of that that is fast food? J would be ashamed.

It's definitely a tough cycle to break,  though. I get home at the crack of dawn, maybe stopping for Waffle House if I'm starving. Sleep until 2pm, or 4 if it's been a rough night, then make myself a little something and back to work. If I'm lucky enough to have the day off and find myself with friends,  I may eat a bit more as a social thing, but for being so obsessed I can't seem to make time for it. Maybe that's part of why I am so fascinated- I never really get enough.

I love eating with friends, though. It just feels more, I don't know,  familial I guess. The best meals are the ones friends cook for me, though! Don't get me wrong,  I love cooking for my friends. But when they welcome me into their home and make me dinner? I will always be exceedingly greatful. I know the effort that a meal takes, and the value of food in the cupboard. So, much like I value time that people give me, I value any effort they put into feeding me exponentially moreso. And one of these days, when I'm rich and famous?  Every last one of them is getting something special.  I have no idea what, but it's going to kick ass.