Hangin' in a chow line.

Charles Barsotti-Fusilli, you crazy bastard... (American recent)

So I got this pretty choice gig in a kitchen just off Walnut Street last week.  And after about half a dozen shifts--more than half of which were Walnut Street-area Black Friday-related slams, I'm pleased to say I've found a happy home.  Going down to the uniform supply store Monday to buy some checks and some white button down scrub shirts to toss in and look the part.  No embroidered pronouncements on the pockets just yet, but like I said, I'm happy.  

The grub is familiar Italian [-American], with lots of substantial starches abetted by equally hardy cream bases sauces.  First impressions were not so grabbing, but once I relaxed into the dish style I got it; still not exactly my thing, but they do a glorious tortiglioni with porcinis and sausage.  And what does deserve an honorable mention is the escarole, cut into wallet-sized swatches, and stewed down in a clear pristine broth with cannellini beans and some passata.  Stabilizing fare, for sure.  

I'm having a blast with these young guys as well, many of whom carry on to all hours in a way that sets my mind flying in a wistful direction to houses named after colors of yore, and often causes the proverbial beans to burn on the grill.  These folks are fast, and almost monastically quiet during dinner service.  Makes me appreciate the off-color things they say at the end of the day all the more.  

Must say, too, though my olfactory glands are warped from birth--apart from a few outrages of masculine gas emissions and the infrequent brushes with ammonia I can honestly say my nose has never smelled anything--the present environment has introduced notable increase of sensitivity.  At 2 PM these last two days, when the aroma of osso buco and a gilded tangerine accent emerge in the steamed air of the kitchen it is more than a mere striking sensation.  It is, not to fall on hyperbole so readily, but it is new life.  

Next week I intend to try some roses.  And maybe I'll walk Ella past the bakery on our morning walks.  I'ma look like Orson Welles in Touch of Evil before too long...

Anyway, good times for the senses...