Three weeks and no entry. What got me quiet these days were those three above.
Knife duels with old, err, experienced veteran male chefs - we were fighting over a signature toque, for godssake! French knives vs. Chinese cleaver. Experience vs. drive. Ego vs. enthusiasm. Display of flamboyant skills vs. sense of fun. I swear, I felt like one of those gladiators in the arena that the lions really find tender and tasty, yes, like a rare steak smothered with garlic gravy. Ergo, they could finish me off anytime.
And if knife duels were not enough, we were under firing squad- to test the doneness of our pasta... or rather, to test the doneness of our stewed brains. Oral culinary mathematics. Food costing. Cost of goods sold. Profit.
I finished with a torn chef's white, bloody apron, and left the gods feasting heartily on the dish I created during the duel. What a fate.
Meanwhile, I stepped out in the afternoon heat and devoured ice cream. The ice cream sealed all traces of barbarism from the knife duel and firing squad. Who invented the ice cream? Because suddenly I was levitating, over the streets and rooftops of the urban jungle, eating ice cream.
That night, I had a flu that lasted for six days.