27 February 2013
636
R. Linda:
This be a first for yours truly. Since the fashion and travel people are being forced to move the entire department a floor below, they've become a little crabby. One of them is out with a sore throat, actually strep throat, and there be an article due for the weekend that is going untended because everyone else downstairs is too busy with their own pieces or just not available. This last makes most of the newsroom suspicious there isn't a mini-rebellion going on.
Cruella is a fashionista of sorts so she's sad to see the fashion section leaving our floor. But she and the editor are thick as thieves and so, over an upscale "moving away" luncheon, where the two of them had one glass of wine too many she offered up a substitute reviewer for the fashion editor to do the piece she needs by the weekend. And guess who the lucky news guy is that's going to do it? Yup me.
I have filled in before as you know, so it isn't new to me to do a bit of fluff and sometimes I like the free perks that come along with it. But this time the assignment is a wee bit of a challenge. Just this morning a review came out from another newspaper that was less than flattering for this same to-be-reviewed eatery. I was to go spend the day at what has been described as up and coming (that is until said review appeared) restaurant that features southern cooking. When I asked for a little background on the owner/chef I was told to think Paula Deen. Well, okay and yeah right, but I went in spite of that.
Now this place is literally a door with one long vertical window next to it, that if you look in, there is a brick wall that goes the length of the room and there are tables with white linen tablecloths along it. Each table has a candlelight that is mounted to the brick, and it has an old-world charm to it. If you look to the other side there is a long bar which if you are waiting for a table you would go there for a drink. The bar is black, the wait staff is in black with white aprons and pristine would be the word. It's an attractive hole in the wall it is.
So I go in the shabby chic green door, and instantly the aromas are soooo divine I could float through the air to the kitchen. Anyway, it being that the restaurant is not open until dinner, I have the day to get acquainted with the owner/chef and sample some of her fare. You know me, food and I'm there. So I tell the girl at the door who I am and she directs me to a table halfway down the brick wall where the lady of the house is scratching out something and talking to a staffer at the only table without linen.
She is slightly plump, is short, has brown hair with artful streaks of silver through it, and wears black half glasses when reading, giving her a business-like look. I liked her instantly because as soon as she saw me she gave me a huge smile of welcome and got half up to shake me hand.
"Well sugar, look at you," she drawled in her Georgia accent.
I introduced meself, but she already knew who I was, and she told me to, "Sit it down and take a load off honey."
I did. She asked me to just "hold your water while I just finish this up," and so I was subject to the staffer saying in his Boston accent, "The reviewer was complaining it wasn't gluten-free."
"Oh for Gawd's sake!" She said, "What would he like me to do put on the menu, "Eat at your own discretion this dish is NOT gluten-free? Quite sincerely, honey, I ain't changin' a thing."
"Maybe we can do a gluten-free version?"
She looked up at him over her specs, he had been standing, and she looked at him like he had "Lost your cotton pickin' mind? I will not change mah recipe just for that man so f--k that!"
Oh heavens.
She flipped the paper she had written on up off the table and crushed it into his midsection. "Here go take care of that I have me a nice fella who wants to know all about me." And she grinned at me as the minion went off to do whatever he was to do with the paper she had crossed out near everything on.
She cupped her chin in her hand and leaned on the table looking at me with a dreamy expression on her face, "Hilda, get mah new gent and me a cup of coffee will ya?" The barista that was cleaning behind the bar went for cups of the fresh brewed coffee. Ah, a woman after me own heart.
"Problem with gluten?" I asked to start the conversation.
"I is mightily disturbed at that dang reviewer! He said mah recipes were early American because I haven't changed them up for the gluten-free population. Honeee, this was sprung on me as soon as I walked in here. I had just got me cup of coffee, had taped mah eyelids open, and was in no humour, I say NO HUMOUR to read that stupid review in mah condition. I WAS an early American just then," she laughed, "HOWEVAH, ah be settin' here thinkin' bout it and y'all bein' here put me on the mend. Yes indeed sweetheart you're what the doctah ordered." And she patted me hand.
If only I was single and she wasn't so old. I liked her! The coffee was placed in front of us and I took a sip, oh my gravy (as me Dragon-in-law would say), it was heaven in a cup!
"Listen here honey, those damn gluten-free are even sendin' me emails on mah website. When ya gonna put in gluten-free dishes? How come ya ain't workin' on creatin' those dishes? When ya gonna do this and when ya gonna do that? Where are you? Don't ya answer your email? Are you ever online? Why can't we find you? Why did you block us? How come your IMs ain't workin'? Trash talk in the culinary business honey, trash! And the answer is NO! Ah refuses. I don't even change the kitty litter."
I had to chuckle, but she grabbed my arm and leaned forward and said, "I am thinkin' ah should hide out with YOU! Someplace in a secret room inside a plantation. Ah tole that damn reviewer that now that he has announced to the world we are NOT gluten-free that I was leavin'. Yes, honeee I am leavin' the bus-i-ness! And he can give any excuse he wantsta as to why. Tell his readers I had an accident! But he won't say what kind, the fool, so Lordy knows what the gluten-frees are gonna do when they don't have mah purty ass to kick around anymo." And she sighed heavily and said, "Probably tell everyone I tripped over the cat and fell and broke mah neck . . . sum thin like that. Mah sorry ass will be sittin on the veranda down on the plantation cussin his sorry ass from Mobile to Atlanta and back agin. Ah be pouting now."
Oh my. She stuck out her lower lip and I had to laugh. What a piece of work, but she was a delightful and refreshing piece of work.
"Sounds like you've been fussed at enough, why don't I, Mr. Gluten Tolerant, start our interview?"
"Ahhh Mr. Gluten Tolerant, I knew the moment I set eyes on ya I was gonna fall in love." And she batted her eyelashes at me. She turned to the back of the house and called, "Jimmeee bring us tonight's dessert woulda please?" And then she turned to me, took my hand and crooned, "Mistah GT, y'alls gonna like what I got."
Oh, I bet I will, I thought to meself. Gees the woman! And I did. Take a look at this caramel flan would ya.
"Start mah sweetie off with sumthin' sweet," she said as I chowed down. "I believe in dessert first there Suh, so I hope y'all likes it and woo eee by the look of ya I guess ya do!" She said happy. "Iffin' y'all wantsta lick the plate I won't tell." She laughed and I was tempted!
"So . . . this gluten-free movement?" I started as I came up for air.
"I have to become more invulnerable to attack by the gluten-frees," she said watching my enjoyment in devouring the flan. "It used to be so easy if someone did sumthin' y'all didn't like, you say to 'em, spanking or hug? I can see you'd be the type like the spankin," and she laughed as I almost choked on that last bit of flan. WOWEE! I was not expecting THAT remark. She pointed to what was left of the flan and said, "Not gluten-free!" Then she giggled.
When I had meself back breathing again I told her how much I liked the flan, gluten-free or not, it was wonderful.
"Well honee, I kin see that," and she laughed. "I'll give ya a minute to savour the last bit of taste and bring out sumthin' else I think will tickle your fancy." And she winked.
"I'd like nothing better than to help you out," I said glancing at my notes. "If all your dishes are as delectable as the flan well . . . " I gushed.
"Ah would like nuthin' bettah, but y'all uppity reviewers seem to have an uncanny knack of startin' a review off well and then gittin' on one minor thing and runnin' like a dog with a bone!" She said with some consternation. "Like right now ah am bein' hunted down by a bunch of rabid gluten-frees. I'd be powerful glad you'd not do that to me. Tell y'all a secret, when I heard your paper was comin' to interview me, I have worried mah pretty little head bout it for the past two days I have, and won't stop anytime soon I reckin' till the review is in the can or whatever ya call it. I do hope y'all be fair with mah food or I'll be cussin your ass mighty good . . . just sos ya know and don't do anythin' stupid."
"Now, now I haven't even begun the interview and after that delicious flan . . ." I threw out, but she interrupted me.
"I would really hate, hate, hate, sittin' out on the veranda back home watchin' the sun come up by mahself. I like ya honee pie, for sho' I does, but a bad review could put me out a bus-i-ness." And she smiled beguilingly at me.
So I just had to ask.
"Are you married?"
"Why sugar are ya interested?" She perked up.
Uh oh.
"For Gawd's sake extracurricular activities rate high when your bus-i-ness is going under cause of gluten-free addicts. Who knew?" She leaned forward and whispered, "The entire time you've been here, the cats, oh excuse me, THE ladies who work here have been checken' your fine self out. If I didn't know bettah, I'd think you had a can of tuna strapped on your back."
I turned around out of reflex and yes, there were five young cats, I mean ladies standing behind me whispering behind their hands, all grinning at me. If I didn't know better I'd think me trousers were split or something.
"OK, JIMMEEE bring this fine man some biscuits and gravy will ya." Then she said to me, "This isn't on our menu, but you look like you could use a hardy southern breakfast.
Not one to object I thought, Oh yeah bring it on!
R. Linda:
This be a first for yours truly. Since the fashion and travel people are being forced to move the entire department a floor below, they've become a little crabby. One of them is out with a sore throat, actually strep throat, and there be an article due for the weekend that is going untended because everyone else downstairs is too busy with their own pieces or just not available. This last makes most of the newsroom suspicious there isn't a mini-rebellion going on.
Cruella is a fashionista of sorts so she's sad to see the fashion section leaving our floor. But she and the editor are thick as thieves and so, over an upscale "moving away" luncheon, where the two of them had one glass of wine too many she offered up a substitute reviewer for the fashion editor to do the piece she needs by the weekend. And guess who the lucky news guy is that's going to do it? Yup me.
I have filled in before as you know, so it isn't new to me to do a bit of fluff and sometimes I like the free perks that come along with it. But this time the assignment is a wee bit of a challenge. Just this morning a review came out from another newspaper that was less than flattering for this same to-be-reviewed eatery. I was to go spend the day at what has been described as up and coming (that is until said review appeared) restaurant that features southern cooking. When I asked for a little background on the owner/chef I was told to think Paula Deen. Well, okay and yeah right, but I went in spite of that.
Now this place is literally a door with one long vertical window next to it, that if you look in, there is a brick wall that goes the length of the room and there are tables with white linen tablecloths along it. Each table has a candlelight that is mounted to the brick, and it has an old-world charm to it. If you look to the other side there is a long bar which if you are waiting for a table you would go there for a drink. The bar is black, the wait staff is in black with white aprons and pristine would be the word. It's an attractive hole in the wall it is.
So I go in the shabby chic green door, and instantly the aromas are soooo divine I could float through the air to the kitchen. Anyway, it being that the restaurant is not open until dinner, I have the day to get acquainted with the owner/chef and sample some of her fare. You know me, food and I'm there. So I tell the girl at the door who I am and she directs me to a table halfway down the brick wall where the lady of the house is scratching out something and talking to a staffer at the only table without linen.
She is slightly plump, is short, has brown hair with artful streaks of silver through it, and wears black half glasses when reading, giving her a business-like look. I liked her instantly because as soon as she saw me she gave me a huge smile of welcome and got half up to shake me hand.
"Well sugar, look at you," she drawled in her Georgia accent.
I introduced meself, but she already knew who I was, and she told me to, "Sit it down and take a load off honey."
I did. She asked me to just "hold your water while I just finish this up," and so I was subject to the staffer saying in his Boston accent, "The reviewer was complaining it wasn't gluten-free."
"Oh for Gawd's sake!" She said, "What would he like me to do put on the menu, "Eat at your own discretion this dish is NOT gluten-free? Quite sincerely, honey, I ain't changin' a thing."
"Maybe we can do a gluten-free version?"
She looked up at him over her specs, he had been standing, and she looked at him like he had "Lost your cotton pickin' mind? I will not change mah recipe just for that man so f--k that!"
Oh heavens.
She flipped the paper she had written on up off the table and crushed it into his midsection. "Here go take care of that I have me a nice fella who wants to know all about me." And she grinned at me as the minion went off to do whatever he was to do with the paper she had crossed out near everything on.
She cupped her chin in her hand and leaned on the table looking at me with a dreamy expression on her face, "Hilda, get mah new gent and me a cup of coffee will ya?" The barista that was cleaning behind the bar went for cups of the fresh brewed coffee. Ah, a woman after me own heart.
"Problem with gluten?" I asked to start the conversation.
"I is mightily disturbed at that dang reviewer! He said mah recipes were early American because I haven't changed them up for the gluten-free population. Honeee, this was sprung on me as soon as I walked in here. I had just got me cup of coffee, had taped mah eyelids open, and was in no humour, I say NO HUMOUR to read that stupid review in mah condition. I WAS an early American just then," she laughed, "HOWEVAH, ah be settin' here thinkin' bout it and y'all bein' here put me on the mend. Yes indeed sweetheart you're what the doctah ordered." And she patted me hand.
If only I was single and she wasn't so old. I liked her! The coffee was placed in front of us and I took a sip, oh my gravy (as me Dragon-in-law would say), it was heaven in a cup!
"Listen here honey, those damn gluten-free are even sendin' me emails on mah website. When ya gonna put in gluten-free dishes? How come ya ain't workin' on creatin' those dishes? When ya gonna do this and when ya gonna do that? Where are you? Don't ya answer your email? Are you ever online? Why can't we find you? Why did you block us? How come your IMs ain't workin'? Trash talk in the culinary business honey, trash! And the answer is NO! Ah refuses. I don't even change the kitty litter."
I had to chuckle, but she grabbed my arm and leaned forward and said, "I am thinkin' ah should hide out with YOU! Someplace in a secret room inside a plantation. Ah tole that damn reviewer that now that he has announced to the world we are NOT gluten-free that I was leavin'. Yes, honeee I am leavin' the bus-i-ness! And he can give any excuse he wantsta as to why. Tell his readers I had an accident! But he won't say what kind, the fool, so Lordy knows what the gluten-frees are gonna do when they don't have mah purty ass to kick around anymo." And she sighed heavily and said, "Probably tell everyone I tripped over the cat and fell and broke mah neck . . . sum thin like that. Mah sorry ass will be sittin on the veranda down on the plantation cussin his sorry ass from Mobile to Atlanta and back agin. Ah be pouting now."
Oh my. She stuck out her lower lip and I had to laugh. What a piece of work, but she was a delightful and refreshing piece of work.
"Sounds like you've been fussed at enough, why don't I, Mr. Gluten Tolerant, start our interview?"
"Ahhh Mr. Gluten Tolerant, I knew the moment I set eyes on ya I was gonna fall in love." And she batted her eyelashes at me. She turned to the back of the house and called, "Jimmeee bring us tonight's dessert woulda please?" And then she turned to me, took my hand and crooned, "Mistah GT, y'alls gonna like what I got."
Oh, I bet I will, I thought to meself. Gees the woman! And I did. Take a look at this caramel flan would ya.
 |
| Tell me that doesn't look delicious, um um good! |
"So . . . this gluten-free movement?" I started as I came up for air.
"I have to become more invulnerable to attack by the gluten-frees," she said watching my enjoyment in devouring the flan. "It used to be so easy if someone did sumthin' y'all didn't like, you say to 'em, spanking or hug? I can see you'd be the type like the spankin," and she laughed as I almost choked on that last bit of flan. WOWEE! I was not expecting THAT remark. She pointed to what was left of the flan and said, "Not gluten-free!" Then she giggled.
When I had meself back breathing again I told her how much I liked the flan, gluten-free or not, it was wonderful.
"Well honee, I kin see that," and she laughed. "I'll give ya a minute to savour the last bit of taste and bring out sumthin' else I think will tickle your fancy." And she winked.
"I'd like nothing better than to help you out," I said glancing at my notes. "If all your dishes are as delectable as the flan well . . . " I gushed.
"Ah would like nuthin' bettah, but y'all uppity reviewers seem to have an uncanny knack of startin' a review off well and then gittin' on one minor thing and runnin' like a dog with a bone!" She said with some consternation. "Like right now ah am bein' hunted down by a bunch of rabid gluten-frees. I'd be powerful glad you'd not do that to me. Tell y'all a secret, when I heard your paper was comin' to interview me, I have worried mah pretty little head bout it for the past two days I have, and won't stop anytime soon I reckin' till the review is in the can or whatever ya call it. I do hope y'all be fair with mah food or I'll be cussin your ass mighty good . . . just sos ya know and don't do anythin' stupid."
"Now, now I haven't even begun the interview and after that delicious flan . . ." I threw out, but she interrupted me.
"I would really hate, hate, hate, sittin' out on the veranda back home watchin' the sun come up by mahself. I like ya honee pie, for sho' I does, but a bad review could put me out a bus-i-ness." And she smiled beguilingly at me.
So I just had to ask.
"Are you married?"
"Why sugar are ya interested?" She perked up.
Uh oh.
"For Gawd's sake extracurricular activities rate high when your bus-i-ness is going under cause of gluten-free addicts. Who knew?" She leaned forward and whispered, "The entire time you've been here, the cats, oh excuse me, THE ladies who work here have been checken' your fine self out. If I didn't know bettah, I'd think you had a can of tuna strapped on your back."
I turned around out of reflex and yes, there were five young cats, I mean ladies standing behind me whispering behind their hands, all grinning at me. If I didn't know better I'd think me trousers were split or something.
"OK, JIMMEEE bring this fine man some biscuits and gravy will ya." Then she said to me, "This isn't on our menu, but you look like you could use a hardy southern breakfast.
Not one to object I thought, Oh yeah bring it on!
 |
| It might not look as good as the flan, but it was a wow! |
"There is no way to make this dish attractive, just sos ya know it's a blue plate special," she said watching me dig in.
"Don't care, it's delicious," I said, me mouth full.
"So do ya love me yet?" She laughed.
"YUM, I luv ya honee pie, fa sho I duz," I quipped.
"Ya positive sure?" She asked and I nodded, shovelling the food in. "Man aftah mah own heart," she giggled at the ladies who had come closer. "Let this be a lesson to y'all, food is the way to a man's heart, so y'all bettah learn to cook! I do worry bout y'all not a man among ya hovering over this poor hungry soul like he was fresh meat or sumthin'." And she grinned and they giggled, I chewed. Then she said to me, "I wish I could give up all this shit, but ya know I live for it. I've been on pins and needles for two damn day worryin' bout you and what kinda review you'd give me. I'm glad you aren't like that last one, ate mah food then dissed me for not bein' gluten-free. What's up with that I wanna know? Heaven help me but if I could get mah hands on that man, I'd beat the hell out of em' for bein' so damn stupid! What possessed him?"
I looked up from the dish shocked, me mouth full. Did she just say what I think she said? Does that mean if my review doesn't meet her ilk, she'd want to do the same to her "honey pie?" This was going beyond my rational thought processes. I thought, quit while ahead Gabriel and beat it the hell out of there. But I realised I was surrounded. The boss lady sitting across from me, a shite-eating grin on her face, and the "ladies" had all come to stand next to the table and I could not get out! I pushed the empty plate away and one of the girls took it away. But her place was soon plugged up by the other four. Was I uncomfortable, you betcha! I was hemmed in and I knew it. I was going nowhere until I had a review written they liked.
"Uh, you don't mean what you just said?" She looked at me like "What?" "I mean beat the tar out of that reviewer?"
"Oh no," she said waving her hand much to me relief which didn't last because she said, "I'd really take mah gun, loaded with sumthin' othah than kind rock salt . . . buckshot would be too good for all that wanna piece a me."
Oh great, good. I took a deep breath. The other girl had returned and the four let her back in. I truly felt hemmed in. I knew I wasn't getting out alive without a good review.
"To be honest with you, so far your food has been glorious." I thought that might appease her.
"So far?" She leaned back around and called, "JIMMEE BRING MAH MAN THE SPECIAL!" She smiled deviously at me. "We'll just fill ya up under those washboard abs." And she and the girls laughed and I smiled because I didn't know what the hell to do or say. "Now when y'all finish this next plate if ya git up, do it nice and slow, we don't want ya to double over from too much food, bang yer chin on the table when ya gut sinks ya back down." She grinned widely making me suspicious of her intentions. But the food came out and it looked like this:
 |
| I gotta tell ya, YUMMY! |
Why didn't I believe her? I wanted to shout to anyone who would help me (of which I thought there was no one) "OH WOE IZ MAH SELF NOW BIG TIME I DON'T LIKE THIS DISH!" But you know what, my mind overtook me tongue and I actually said it, oi, oi, oi!
The first I realised that, was the boss lady's brow creased and she said to me, "Honee what's up with that shit? You hate mah sorry guts? Why the sudden turn round? Ah just can't take another review aftah mah ass, not now ah jus can't do it!"
Uh oh. I looked up at the girls, they weren't smiling either, I croaked up at them, "Hep?"
"Oh this ain't a happenin'," the boss of all of us said, "Ah swears to ya," she said to me, "ah aint' been encouraging a good review no way, no how. Jus sos ya knows I ain't goin' no place anytime soon y'all can count on it."
I took a bite, O-M-G, but the beef melted in me mouth, the butternut squash had just the right amount of sweetness and it glided down me gullet so smooth and tasty. I closed me eyes and savoured, blotting the lot of them out. It was food after all, and it was wonderful ecstasy-producing food! I was making noises of pleasure and this just turned it all around.
"Suh?" She reached over and shook me as I was in the process of still savouring, "I'm powerful worried bout ya, you all right? Ya haven't moved since ya took that mouthful and ya makin' strange noises. I can't even think of nuthin' witty ta say to snap ya out of it, I was only joken wit ya." She shook me again, "I hope ya ain't done got mad and are thinkin' a stormin' out."
I opened me eyes as the food settled and smiled with a chuckle breaking free, shaking me head that no I was decidedly NOT leaving.
"Ah be okay Miz Honee Pie," I said laughing, "You roughed me up a bit with what you said about my predecessor, but I be fine, more than fine, your food is fabulous."
I was plied with a taste of every dish in the house after that. I crawled into work and am glad me face isn't still sporting gravy, sauce, and remnants of to-die-for southern food I consumed. I'm moving kind of slow I be, probably be like that for weeks I be so full, but I be fine, more than fine, me stomach is full to capacity and that makes Gabriel a very happy lad. So don't you worry none, but I did learn a lesson, I won't be going back there anytime soon, no how as the boss lady would say, because when I left I got a bag of goodies, a fresh coffee and quite the smackeroo on the Irish lips from me "new darlin honee pie," with a "come back real soon y'all."
I be thanking the gods of feasting that I be happily married or I'd be married to that woman, dragging my gut around at a good 350 lbs. I'd marry her for her cooking alone, I mean constant feeding would be a dream for any man, but alas I won't be challenging me metabolism and skinny self to seeing how fast I can lose the svelte athletic racing body I now sport. Uh yeah! But I am tempted to sneak back there. She told me if I ever felt the need to partake, to tell me wife I was meeting a fella about a horse (well, kinda) and we'd meet up, she'd bring the food, I'd bring the appetite.
Okay, stop me soon before I overdose on thick, rich Southern cooking.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
9 comments:
LOL Cappy. Strep must be going around I have it and was thoroughly entertained by your off ship adventure. Send that galley master of a cookie to me! LMAO I need some coddling and good grub.
LOL. It's a wonder you could move after all that! Who cares about gluten free hey? ;)
Some how I don't think she'd appreciate your calling her good food "grub" nor referring to her fabulous self as "galley master of a cookie." You did read the part about the gun? LOLOLOLOL
I certainly don't. I cheated on me Muse, the fudgemaker of me dreams, so I think I be in hot water, nix that, boiling cauldron of vengeance. Yee-ah.
LMAO
HELL YEAH! YOU CHEATER!! Now I REALLY hope you gain 5 pounds.LOL
hmmmm shingles.
Shingles? Tell me you don't have that. There be a shot for that you know. Gees.
OK now that your food has settled, it's time for you to write another story for me.LOL
Ohhh the food hasn't really settled, no it hasn't. And I don't think it will for a while -- woe be me.
Hmm it's probably that dish that looked less than appetizing but tasted delicious. I make dishes like that lol. Just goes to show you can never judge a book by it's cover.
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