Not much in the way of excitement lately:
1) Yesterday, I was minding my own business, clarifying consommé (please don’t laugh), skimming away and dicing like a fiend, when I noticed that it smelled like smoke, but somehow that information never made it’s may from the murky depths of my mind in which vague perceptions reside to the more cognizant and actionable (we hope) part. Not a minute later this poor stuttering fellow of undetermined Asian origin starts gesticulating in my direction with alarming rapidity. I was confounded, absolutely confounded. I think he might actually have flipped me around (which, given his timidity and obvious fear of physical contact should impress upon you the gravity of the situation). It turns out that my notebook was on fire (yes, you guessed it, the one where I write down all the recipes, including the one I was working on). By the time I’d fetched it from the grasps of my pan, it was completely alight. With licking flames, I tell you. The chef wanted to be vexed, but I think he ended up wanting to give me a hug, for he was sporting an expression of “you unfortunate child of the world, whatever are we going to do with you?” Did I mention that I had scorched the notebook the previous day in his presence? I sort of patted it and kept on cooking, but apparently the fire was still raging, unbeknownst to me, for a good few minutes. Only when the chef had finally extinguished it did he come over, triumphantly indeed, to share this knowledge with me. What I want to know is how I managed to set fire to the bible of my current life twice in a row, and in a kitchen without gas burners? Yep, I produced fire from whence there was none. Perhaps I just have overly developed caveman skills? However dubious my position in the modern world, it is a comfort to me to know that I would have been extremely successful as a member of the Homo habilis genus. Come on, I know you’re turning green with envy.
2) Today, I arrived at my demonstration ON TIME!!! I believe I was actually glowing with pride, but whatever luminance I radiated was quickly dimmed by the following scene: As soon as I sat down and crossed my legs, the girl next to me told me to look at my shoe with the same secretive facial grimaces and knowing glances one quietly tells a friend about the hunchback across the street or the “developmentally challenged” kid around the corner. I was intrigued, to say the least. I looked down, and do you know what I found? There was a pair of my underwear dangling from my sneaker. Underwear! And the lacy kind! I thought stuff like that only happened in adolescent novels penned by authors with far too vivid imaginations. I am a mystery to myself. I wonder how long my underwear was there? I didn’t see it when I was biking, so at what point did it attach itself to my shoes? And how? I don’t trundle around with spare underwear in my bag. It’s just not standard practice in my life, so how on earth did it get there? Well, at least my panties are now well traveled, as is Tchae and most other things involved in my life. In fact, if I look upon the scenario in a benevolent light, I’m inclined to think that I provided this undergarment with a free voyage, a chance to see Paris. And after all, is it not entitled to the same enriching experiences I am? Oh, how selfless am I. Almost a Mother Theresa of sorts. Granted, my projects are smaller and my impact less widespread, but it is valuable work nonetheless.
3) It is the belief of my class that our interpreter was high today. Personally, my money’s on the twitching chef. Suspect, if you ask me.
Honestly, what kind of a life do I live?
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Tapenade, and Pine Nuts