Many of you wrote in reply to my Saturday email as late as Monday, because, oddly, that’s when you got the email. And not that it matters today, as it was already after five by the time I had a moment to start writing this. I’ve told people for years that if you love to cook, don’t open a restaurant, as you’ll never be able to cook again. My job was already more administrative than it had ever been by 2010, but now? The only time I get to cook is my day off. So after hours on the phone with various wine reps, brand managers, linen companies, Pima County bureaucrats, Tucson bureaucrats, produce and seafood people and nearly all of the organizations we’re working with on what were side projects and are now front-and-center projects, I’m pedaling as fast as I can and still crossing the finish line long after the finish line’s been taken down and everyone’s gone home.
The good news is that I’m so far behind on Tuesday that I’m now really just really far ahead on Wednesday. So what, you ask, has kept me busy all day? To be sure, a bunch of things you have no interest in, like our ice machine and the sake I’m trying to get in for next week, but also our donation runs- one back to the Sister Jose Women’s Center that’s being sponsored by the National Bank of Arizona, and one to Youth on Their Own that’s being sponsored by many of you:
Then there’s this Saturday’s wine tasting- white wines that are built for your Thanksgiving dinner:
as a prelude to Thanksgiving:
We’re also making lots of pheasant in mushroom ragout and a cake version of Mozartkugeln to go with this Learning Curve lecture with Jose Luis Gomez of Tucson Symphony Orchesta:
and getting ingredients ordered for you to snack on while you attend next week’s 60th anniversary party for the University of Arizona Poetry Center:
Then there’s just keeping our regular menu operational
and getting ready for next week’s Learning Curve event:
Other than that, there’s very little going on, but I’ll let you know when the other possible thing we’re doing is going to happen. If I don’t need a defibrillator.
Doug and the other mad scramblers at Feast