not my problem anymore

I first heard of Anthony Bourdain because of No Reservations way back when. I thought the whole thing was pretty cool, traveling to cool places, eating food, drinking liquids, and generally having a good time. I like cool places, I like eating food, I like drinking liquids (you know what I say about liquids: you gotta drink them.), this is the kind of television I could get into! One of the Chicago episodes of his shows slightly freaked me out because it was like he was following me around. It was all like “Go to El Asadero,” and “Check out the Mutiny, and “Hanging out at the Old Town Ale house and chatting with Bruce!” But I only recently have I read his breakout book, Kitchen Confidential. I’ve been missing out. The book tracks A.B.’s career in the culinary world and is peppered with some essays that shine a light on the behind the scenes of restaurants. There’s one chapter, A Day In The Life, which a joy to read because it really conveys how much frantic Bourdain’s work as a chef could be, it’s goddamn exhausting just reading it! The book is packed with lots of interesting characters, locales, and fucking crazy situations. There’s also a few good arguments against brunch, which is great because I’ve been saying fuck brunch for years now. It just sucks. Just look at the mimosa, a way to ruin perfectly good orange juice and champagne in one fell swoop. You want to drink before noon? Fuck it! Do it, you can do whatever you fucking want. I feel like a lot of brunching takes places outside too, out on sidewalk seating, and by big opened up windows. And if there’s one thing I dislike more than brunch it’s watching people have fun. But people arguing over brunch, now that’s something that’s going to make me slow my walk down to a nice saunter. The theater of watching someone have an emotional breakdown over gluten free muesli can be exquisite. I actually like to cook, so luckily I’ve picked up a few of the terms that might be bewildering to someone who doesn’t know the difference between a saute pan and a skillet, but in the long run one won’t be hopelessly mired by cooking terms. I read Kitchen Confidential as an ebook which had a grammatical typos, and if I noticed that someone with better grammar might be actually annoyed. Might it be an ebook thing? I don’t know! There’s also food, so much food. So it might not be the best book to reading while waiting for the people who have goaded you into going to get brunch finally get their shit together while you sit there hungry. The main takeaway that I got from Kitchen Confidential is that no matter how much of a freak you are, there is a place for you somewhere and you might just find it.

The breakfast guy was late today so he called me up so I could set up the waffle bar. Of course I didn’t know where the light in the back room of the kitchen was, so I had to break out one of the lanterns from the front office so I could try and get that shit together. There I was, stumbling around the pantry of a hostel with a lantern trying to set up a make your own waffle bar.  I’m gone by the time people actually start up showing up for breakfast, but when I previously worked there I would often be conjured to the dining room to pry open a waffle maker where the batter had become carbonized. Luckily that’s not my problem anymore.

Power Trip’s latest album, Nightmare Logic, is a vicious rocking thing. It would go perfect with a couple of espressos. It’s the kind of music that you demands, at the very least, vigorous headbanging. Here’s the first track, Soul Sacrifice

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