It was one of those days. Despite the new alarm clock, I overslept and missed one of the last weekly meetings of the year. In his walkthrough, Chef Rick saw a server struggling to open a bottle of wine. She couldn’t get the aluminum wrapper off the top of the bottle, and Chef tried to help her with his tasting spoon.
Chef Glenn had said he wants to exit the chef position, humble himself and become a line cook again. He said he had learned mass production, and now wanted to learn fine tuning. I just thousand yard stared in disbelief.
It was the kind of day where darkness and uncertainty, circular chaos, seemed to take on a life of its own. I listened to Nelly’s “Country Grammar” weaving my bike through rush hour traffic.
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