Please disregard yesterday’s post. I think I’m suffering from male PMS… This morning, one of my two big bosses actually ducked into a meeting I was having with my direct superior and told me how well management thinks I’m doing, how much smarter than anybody else on the floor I am, etcetera. This naturally gave me a little boost, though it didn’t decrease my desire to walk home with the lotto jackpot anytime soon, or change jobs. And the stupid fluff I keep airing about O. is just that… Stupid fluff. I can’t help but think that there is a transition coming, but it should be pointed out that I don’t believe it will amount to anything more than an internal change to the relationship. So, in all, I’ve learned two big lessons today. #1, keep smiling. It’s a lot more effective than frowning. #2, shut up until a smile is fixed on your face, rictus-like. Even if it makes your face hurt, it’ll turn the ol’ attitude up a couple notches.
I’m also SUPER excited, because I’m to cook my first really complex, uncompromisingly sexy gourmet dinner this weekend, and did my wine shopping during lunch. I ended up with a couple real steals, and a good idea of what I just may buy for dessert, depending on what the guests are bringing. Additionally, there’s finally a clear idea for the amusee bouche (sp? – no hablo frog,) forming in my mind. Mission fig, stuffed with crushed pistachio, feta and onion, wrapped in prosciutto tied up like a bag with a long string of candied orange peel. After spritzing with just a touch of juice sqeezed from a fresh-cut orange, putting under the broiler for about a minute so the prosciutto gets crisp and the feta molten. I think I want it to eat me.
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