Spoiler alert! I wrote this entry while I was a bit on the tipsy end - you find that out at the end. As I'm sure you know, I like to mock things/people and so now sober me will go through and laugh at the confessionals of three-okay-maybe-four-glasses-of-wine me.
Today, was the absolute worst day of work ever. (Nice opener.) It was a Sunday brunch shift - typically, pretty simple. And at first it seemed as though this one would fall politely into pattern. When noon rolled around, the place was still empty as when it opened, just Alcione, Cort, Karina and I sitting in the back drinking coffee. A welcome and refreshing start - I didn't get home from Apex until three last night, so I was not too psyched to be catching a metro ride to work at nine .
At some point between 12:00 and 1:00, the place went nuts - it was packed. Two groups with babies, both demanding the single high-chair we owned. Overlapping orders, special drink requests - the place went absolutely fucking crazy.(Nuts AND crazy? I'm surprised the men and white coats didn't shut us down! I need to diversify my set of comparisons for situational clusterfucks) Alcione, who insists on making all drinks, from lattes to cocktails, himself disappeared for twenty minutes, creating a colossal back-up of drink orders. Cort, for who knows why, wasn't writing his table numbers on the ticket which caused the crisis to culminate with us bringing an order of food to the wrong table. We spent the next minutes apologizing profusely to the table whose order we had fucked up, the table who was wondering where the hell their food had gone, and Karina, who was mad as hell that she had to make the same order twice. That last bit nailed it. I freaking love Karina, and while Alcione gets pissed at me about twice a minute, Karina has never been anything but a doll to me (A doll? Since when do I use that expression? How very... gay).
Needless to say, Alcione was incredibly angry. I didn't really care - the problem started when he let the whole place get backed up on drink orders. And the tips, as a result of the long waits and mess-ups, were pretty poor. Alcione basically berated Cort and I for the thirty minutes it took for us to finish our sidework, and then I left to walk to the metro in the rain. (EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-mo! I'm an awfully whiny wine-o)
By now it was three, and my day was in the shitter. But I had plans to reclaim it. (Turning point in the narrative arc, blunt but well established).
I ate an early dinner (having not had lunch) with a side of the Pinot Noir I had swiped from Park Cafe a couple weeks back. Delicious. It was then that I decided to correct that awful culinary situation of my Dad's apartment by cooking up a spectacular sauce for Wednesday night. I could even use the Pinot Noir! Knowing that Andrew and my dad were both fans of spicy food, I resolved to make a kick-ass arrabbiata. (This segment tries to do too much backwork in justifying why I, for really no reason, became super fixated on cooking an arrabbiata sauce).
Bit first things first - I finished the first half of Angels in America. Incredible, incredibly depressing, Now I wasn't sure I wanted to go out on my food-making mission. Mopey, yah? I needed some instant comfort - (that sounds like a tampon commercial) -, so that third of a carton of French Silk ice cream sitting in the freezer got killed. Indulgent? A bit. But there is probably nothing I love more than ice cream, and that delicious chocolate-y goodness melted away whatever frustration had lingered from the hellish morning at the restaurant. (This passage gives the mostly untrue impression that reading the book made me mopey after I had stopped moping. Really, I moped continuously until ice cream time. It was a very poor-me kinda day). With newfound energy, I set off to gather the ingredients for my pasta sauce.
Trader Joe's for the first time in memory, disappointed. I got the garlic and tomatoes - but they had no crushed red pepper, nor did they have my fall-back substitute (Cayenne pepper). So I marched a few block out in the rain to the Safeway, only to be let down again. What the fuck is wrong with this town? - I thought. I'm looking for a spice that I could literally walk into any fast-food pizza chain in the country and swipe off the table, and not a grocery store in the District carries it! And then it hit me - fast-food pizza chain! There was a Papa John's just a few more blocks from my apartment. So I made just one more trek through the rain to that humble proprietor of pizza.
"So this is a weird question," I asked the kind of-imposing-manager, "but when people order pizza, do you ever give them crushed red pepper?"
"Give them?" He scoffed - "We sell it to them." He drew a few packets of the red stuff out of a cabinet. (Nice verb selection with scoffed'. This sounds so much more confrontational than it actually was).
"Well," I put on my best haggling face - "How much for that much, right there?"
"15 cents a pack. So... $1.25 for this."
The tension broke (Hahaha... so ridiculous). "Great!" I couldn't help but enthuse. "I went to every grocery store in the neighborhood and couldn't find this stuff!"
I forked over the cash and walked away with about three times as much pepper as I needed. VICTORY!
So I got home, Cued up my soul mix, and made some pasta sauce. Sadly (AKA not sadly at all), once the allotted amount of Pinot Noir had entered the sauce (giving it a thick but subtley tangy flavor that goes nicely with the bite of the pepper), I couldn't really resist the call of the open bottle - (the call of the open bottle sounds like dialogue from a really bad Lifetime movie about alcoholism) - and the remaining wine was consumed during the hour-long marathon of chopping, pouring, frying and boiling. But seriously - I have never had an experience as therapeutic as this soul-jamming, wine-drinking, sauce-cooking marathon of AWESOME. The sauce turned out... well, let's just say it's a pasta sauce so good it DEFIES REASON. I just hope a couple days of refrigeration doesn't hurt it at all.
So let it be known: no matter how awful a day has been - a cup or so of ice cream, a bottle of wine, and some sweet Southern soul (not my expression - one song I listened to is actually a meta-soul song that namechecks a lot of soul singers and talks about how great they are) can turn any day around. Today... has rocked. And now,I'm off to read the second half of Angels in America.
(PS: this definitely a drunk LJ entry. I do not apologize at all for any incoherency or nonsensibility.)
(Now, I actually do apologize).
Current Music: Ike& Tina - "Proud Mary"