Too Many Cooks Spoil The Bisque

WELL.. what a weekend I've had! Sorry to all of you who may have logged in to try and read my most recent posts- as it turns out, my internet is a bit of a troubled child and has a tendency to run away from time to time.



So I find myself in the Parkdale Public Library, blogging beside people who are watching quasi-pornographic videos on youtube, and searching up religious paraphernalia within eyesight (there should be a law against such things).



For those of you who don't know, in addition to my job at a classy restaurant in the heart of downtown, I also hold a position as a server at Medieval Times. My proper position title is "Serf", but I find myself referring to it as "Man Wench"- due to the insane amount of wench work I have to so within the span of 3 hours. This weekend, I was given the lofty task of doing something called "chicken dipping". Why they call it dipping is beyond my realm of conscience, as there's simply no dipping involved. During the show, right before chicken is served- there are a handful of people who are chosen to present the food to the king. It's quite a process of following music queues, and stair hopping to get in the right place for the light design. Because it was my first time, a co-worker friend of mine helped guide me through the process. I was to follow her lead, and present the chicken- and then seal the deal with a bow. So, I grabbed my 30 cooked chickens from the colourful kitchen staff (a story for another day)- and followed my co-worker to the arena. Everything seemed to go smooth up until I got to my mark in the arena. The light came on me, and I got ready to do my big bow. Upon hearing my cue, I looked over at my co-worker to get confirmation to make my next move- and in the heat of the moment, ended up performing a big COURTSEY in front of the king. Well, needless to say, it provided most of the staff with a fantastic laugh- and a decent amount of humility for me. I guess some things just come naturally.



Onto more exciting things: TODAY IS THE DAY! I'm officially starting my 2 week trek down skinabee lane. Re-reading my grocery list last night was an eyeopening task. You see, there are certain restrictions that really do make you second guess what the hell the inventor of this diet was consuming while writing the book. On any given day, I have the complicated choice of choosing 15 almonds, or 30 pistachios as a snack of choice. I actually caught myself questioning this logic out loud with an emotional "FOR REAL?" escaping my lips. But who am I to question the South Beach scientists?



So, off I go now to the grocery store to buy a weeks worth of supplies- and am secretly hoping that almonds come in packages of 15- as my willpower when given a plethora of snack is slim to none.



I plan on updating again at some point today, in order to make up for my delinquent internet connection this weekend. Much love to all you readers out there- and thank you so much for the surprising emails of praise. Don't spoil me too much with compliments, I have a tendency to get cocky.

The Princess' Last Supper

Sadly my reign as a "special" eater is over. Apperantly my sous chef friend has been scolded to catering to everyone's diets after my initiative. I can't say I blame others, I mean.. if I could, I'd say I'm on an all ostrich diet- simply to benefit from the super expensive dishes we serve. Alas, I will have to eat the same meals as my co workers. Luckily, there's always salad readily available- I just may have to grab a burger and pass the bun.

Everyday on the walk to work, I always pass the same homeless man. Here's the thing- he's been around for years and I always notice him on Queen St. when I'm walking about. Monday to Friday, he seems completely sane- and I've actually chatted with him on and off when tossing him a loonie (which has acquired me a daily nod of recognition). However, if you catch him on a Saturday- all bets are off.. I feel like there may be a sale on street drugs that starts at 6am on Saturday (or maybe tips get better - are they tips or donations?). He turns into the life of the party on Queen St, and as far as I'm concerned deserves a stage. All of a sudden, the reserved kind street man turns into Jekel- grabbing women's boobs, yelling out obscenities, and general chaos instigation (I almost feel like my loonie donations are admission to the shit show on Saturday). Perhaps I should save my burger bun for him.

Well, I hope this makes up for my lack of posts.. I've been diligent with all my eats today- and am now off to play bingo with the most talented ARTIST I know, Vicki Skandalaki. Have a good night all, and until tomorrow.. skinabee you later.