Tuesday: Me Today
DJDeedle kicks music mix ass. 'nough said.
If I said it once... actually, I'm not sure if I've ever said it, so let me say it now: there's nothing like getting work done early to make you feel good.
That's mainly about the freelance work that I do - narrating audiobook-type stuff - but it was really about today from the crack of dawn until evening. Work was a non-stop celebration of accomplishment, complete with marching band and dancing girls. My freelance work went swimmingly, and obviously, now that I've had an Americano to celebrate, I'm feeling in such a good mood that I can be completely dorky and feel no embarrassment.
My birthday is also this week and that makes me happy. I get to go to the restaurant of my choice, a tradition which has been in force since I was 7 years old (as if I really remember). But what I do remember is at least two trips to Long John Silver's for my birthday. I'm not sure what it was about Long John Silver's that I thought was so special. But we were not wealthy folk, so my choices consisted mainly of Long John Silver's, Hardee's, Godfather's Pizza and Sirloin Stockade. I liked something about all of those restaurants - who wouldn't be intrigued by the mysteriously named "Chicken-fried Steak?" - but I don't know what it was about Silver's that compelled me to choose it as Birthday HQ.
I could go back to Silver's today and eat a meal (OMG) but I wouldn't be able to re-create the thrill. It was not-very-good food back then, and it's even-worse-food now.
My boyfriend makes fun of me because I'm a sentimental eater. Quite often, I want to eat something awful because it was something I ate and enjoyed as a child. That list is long, ranging from Big Macs, to Hormel Canned Chili, to movie theater candy. When I do eat it, the experience is either immediately awful, or it's awful about 18 hours later. Sometimes both.
But it doesn't stop me. The next time, it's Pringles. I ate a "Fun Size" ($2, exact change appreciated) can of Pringles recently when my airline didn't upgrade me and I had an empty stomach. I swear, I could taste each chemical in those perfectly-formed chiplets. That's what having a boyfriend who only cooks farm-raised organic food will do to your stomach: it ruins the enjoyment of all that fake food crap... sigh.
Speaking of real food, we're now less than a month away from dining at the French Laundry, widely regarded as the best restaurant in the country. I'm excited to compare and contrast it to Alinea in Chicago, where we ate last year, also regarded by some as the best restaurant in the country. I'm doing my best to keep up with Ruth Reichl, who declared French Laundry the best restaurant in the country a few years ago, then went to Alinea in 2006 and declared it the best. In the world of food, no decree is permanent.
Oddly enough, my concern about Thomas Keller's Laundry is related to my adult experiences with childhood favorites: what if the French Laundry isn't as good as I think it's going to be? What if the unbelievable experience that I want to have there simply doesn't materialize?
Well, we could always just get drunk on the wine.
