IML is coming up and the shirts I made are keeping me up at night. When I create something to sell to the public, not only do I have my artistic pride to sit with, but also the paranoid fantasy of total failure. It’s the creator in me. I have to learn to take myself out of the equation and let everything happen. I must say, I think that would be much easier had I not invested so much scratch in those shirts.

My poor Mom has watched me stress out over this. She knows what to expect and hardly shurgs at my tirades and outbursts at motorists, pedestrians or innocent bystanders. In one case I gave the what-for to a small brunette pushing a shopping cart of groceries through the parking lot to her patient, well adjusted husband and 2.5 kids waiting in the suburban assault vehicle parked behind me. I really do not fight feelings of stress or anything for that matter, I try and let it happen as it comes. Most of the time it comes and then it goes. This time it began to ripple through the afternoon and by 7:30 it was a small Tsunami that had crashed into the shores of Hazzard land and my poor mother had her house right on the shore. Being my mother however, she has some experience living on the shores of Hazzard land and built up some pretty solid foundations. There was no blowing her house down, certainly not with some small little tantrum by little Johnny here. I’m SO glad she is my Mom.

It’s all done, no more, and god willing…..never again. The dreaded brunch shift was completed as of 3:39 this afternoon. I found egg yolk in my hair, but managed to keep all of my fingers separated and independent of one another. It is all behind me now and I would rather leave it there so let’s move on.

After I got home I decided to work on my latest project for In News. When I began to write the same word over and over again and after my handwriting became unitelligible I thought it best to put the notes down for the evening. I had plans with Ma Z tonight. What I expected to be a small, quaint uneventful meeting of two very good friends from years past and Ma Z turned out to be anything but.

Frank and Jeff are husbands of 25 years that I knew in Cleveland back when I had braces. Five years ago I was dancing on a box at Avalon and felt a tug on my pants. It was Frank and Jeff. We have remained tight ever since and I thought it would be fun for them to finally meet my Mom. As Ma and Frank were talking they became closer and closer sharing jokes and enjoying the similarities of their personalities. Frank is Italian and my Mom is self professed “Italian by injection” so they got on quite well.

Frank mentioned that Ma Z looked familiar to him. For the life of me I couldn’t think of how or why, but then it hit me. They had both worked for the same grocery store chain years ago. Once they knew the connection they began the name sharing game with the hand raised “Oh my God’s”. That was only the beginning. Frank and Ma were talking about family values and how I always had to be home at X-mas, blah blah blah. Frank said that he also had a strong sense of family and in true-to-form Italian said, “Well, we are Medonia’s”. My Mom’s eyes lit up. You see Italians have a way of wearing their last names like badges of honor, a verbal family crest if you will. Upon hearing the name Medonia what followed was a “sketch of a family tree” sort of that left me feeling even closer to Frank than before. His Uncle was best friends with my late father and was very close with my family. We called my sister in Cleveland to get some last names so they could delve further into the intersection of our pasts. Those two went on for about a good 30 minutes throwing names back and forth with shrieks of surprise and laughter. I was not all that surprised to tell you the truth. It has been my experience that when you get Italians together it is inevitable that somebody knows somebody. In this case my father and Frank’s uncle. It’s very comforting to know that my friends and family intertwine like this even across generations.

Tonight was my first night back on the clock at Aquitaine, but first I had some errands to do with Ma Z. I forgot the routine I used to have and the sort of day I need to accomplish such tasks. For one, I cannot get up at 11 with a list of 5 things to do and expect to get to the gym, make lunch, shower, shave and get to the city by 3 :30. I had to get a haircut today, go to Target and get some provisions from Whole Foods so I could have something relatively healthy to eat for the night.

You would think that working in such a fine culinary establishment I would be eating quite well. Wrong! All of the chef’s attention and efforts are for the Plat Du Jour and the preparation of the evening to come. So all of this had to be done today and I had to interview a very good friend of mine. She is the resident DJ of T Dance at the Boatslip in P’Town and Boston’s own Buzz nightclub, DJ Mary Alice. I did that on the way from Target cross town to Whole Foods. I then had just enough time to make up some brown rice and run around the house circling round Ma Z in a hurried frenzy rushing around trying to find my shirt and pants that were buried with all of my other belongings stored in Sarah’s basement. I scooped up the rice and the bean, tomato ragout Ma had made the night before into a wrap and I was out the door.

When I arrived at the restaurant it was like walking into an old friend’s house, the sounds and smells were familiar, granted it was grease and truffle oil, but it still felt good. I refuse to say that I was “training”. That term is reserved for those who know not what they do and need time and somebody to show them around. I should be “training” some of these guys. I was getting “acclimated”. It was sort of a homecoming event for a bit. The restaurant is situated so the front door opens up on to the main street through Boston’s South End, a very trendy neighborhood. Everybody walking by peers in to get a glimpse of the hustle and bustle of the waiters polishing thier section and the chefs running around in blurs of white. I cannot tell you how many times I had to put down my polishing rag to say hi to someome I knew from the day that I had not seen in a year or two. It’s good to be back.

The original plan was for me to run food and get familiar with the menu items and look over the new wine list. At about 7 pm, a half hour before the rush, the GM got a look on her face after a phone call from the back. I know her and I know that look. Section 2 had been fired. That means the dude who cooks all the meats was out of the picture. That is no small part. She asked me if I could expo, which means call out all tickets to the chefs and pace appetizers with main courses and garnish all plates going out while firing all incoming tickets. Why not?! When the Sous Chef asked if I had done this before I contemplated saying yes just to ease the mounting tension in his face. When I said no he looked as if he were going to cry. I said that I had been in this biz for 10 years and I am a quick learner. He then instructed me on what to do, after he was done I looked at the GM, and she said sympathetically, “Would you be more comfortable seating tables?” I replied with an enthusiastic and desperate YES!

The rest of the evening went really well. We were busy and I loooooooooved it, this is what I crave, fast paced, organized chaos. Trying to fit this party in, bussing tables, making sure the servers are turning the sections quickly b/c I have booked every single table back to back with only minutes to spare. Not everybody has what it takes for this type of work. I was made for it. The busier I am the more I can do. I will often take on an 8 table section and push myself just to see how much and how far I can go before a complete meltdown. I can go pretty far, let me tell you.

Tomorrow is my obligatory, one time only, brunch shift. I, with every ounce of my being HATE BRUNCH! I told Don that the only way I would come back is if I had no brunch shifts. It’s blood money, the syrup and ketchup, no matter how hard you try gets everywhere, everybody needs something allllllllll the time. You run back and forth to a table for more cream, more coffee, hotter coffee, more juice, more syrup, more ketchup all for 4 greenbacks. I will visit a table during dinner service no more than 4 times and receive 10x that, and the spaces between my fingers are not stuck together. Then why am I doing this? It’s a favor, this is his one get out of jail free card. Saturdays tend to be more locals and I will be needing to taste ALL the new glass pours before the shift. I have to be educated on the product if I am expected to sell it, right?

The best part of tonight was to see that François has written on HazzardAhead.com. However….it’s in French! and I cannot figure out how to use that god damn translator. I thought of calling Boy Wonder to fix it, but I think I will retire tonight happy knowing that he took the time and I will see what he wrote tomorrow.