My first professional cooking gig was at a Moroccan restaurant. I ate there while in college and I asked the waiter if they were hiring. The owner met me at the end of the dinner and asked if I could start tomorrow. Suddenly employed, I was thrown into the fire sink or swim. Lucky for all parties involved (my readers included), I swam mightily against the current heavily spiced by turmeric. Beyond the lessons I learned prepping the same dish 200 times in an evening, there were the waitresses. These girls acrobatically poured sweet Moroccan tea into cups balanced on their heels. You can imagine the possibilities afforded by such flexibilities. The floor was there domain; but the kitchen was my domain. I was the gatekeeper to tantalizing scents emanating from the kitchen. Despite all the heavily spiced Cornish game hens or complicated dishes like bastella, the simple Moroccan-style potato salad I made sealed the deal. There was way mo rockin’ with customers gone and the “privacy please” sign on the supply room door. Read the rest of this entry »
And along comes the second installment of the emotional Douche Bags VS. Cook To Bang guy saga. This time the douches crash and burn spending serious coin at a fancy restaurant. The Cook To Bang guy kills it by simply cooking and banging at home.
Stay tuned for the final DBag chapter. 1 week until the CTB BOOK hits bookshelves! I know you’re waiting with baited breath.