A quiet day at work: other than the 30 minute rush at the salad station , which included an embarrassing moment when a little boy asked what the difference was between creamy Italian and creamy Greek. Whatever it was that I said to him seemed to satisfy his curiosity. So what is the difference you ask? Let me get back to you on that.
I got to work around noon, put on my chef's coat, apron, FM ball cap and hung two kitchen towels off either side of my waist. I blanched some bokchoy and grilled some portobellos for the dinner menu. I was about to grill off some chicken when our sous chef, Russ, told me we were in dire need of some strawberries. It's Strawberry Festival at the restaurant this weekend. Strawberry drinks, desserts, and homemade jam. So for the next 2 hours, I halved several hundred strawberries. Not only were my hands bloodied from the syrup, but my apron, coat, and both forearms were streaked with red. It looked as if I worked at a butcher's shop or was in a horrible cat fight.
Alas, the day was over. I came home and soaked the day away as I sipped a glass of viognier. The battle wounds are all gone, but my hands still smell like strawberries.