I suppose working on one’s day off is hardly lazy, but when one’s reference point is an industry where it’s normal for a chef/restaurateur to put in 60-70 hours a week, sitting in the private dining room with the doors closed in shorts and a t-shirt feels like I’m getting away with something. So, sure, I’m updating the website with this week’s wine tasting,
having our weekly catering meeting (hey, we didn’t have catering meetings for over twenty months, so in spite of the stress, it feels pretty good,) and running through a few menu ideas, wine tasting ideas, and other plans with the crew, and running through the food we’re bringing to Youth on Their Own this Saturday,
but I’m doing it without a Feast hat and chef coat on, so it feels fairly relaxed.
After yesterday, I’ll take it- the phone rang off the proverbial hook with last-minute Thanksgiving orders, and we’re nearly at capacity now, if only because we literally have five orders being picked up every fifteen minutes next Wednesday from the minute we open until, actually, about forty-five minutes after we stop seating in the dining room. Just thinking about it makes me sigh an uneasy sigh.
If I can get lost in the moment, though, it feels pretty good to be typing along in relative isolation, listening to Dean Martin, and to Lionel Hampton, and to be at liberty to wander off within the hour.
For those of you who work Monday through Friday, I wholeheartedly recommend a middle-of-the-week day off. There’s nothing like taking your day off while you watch the rest of the world buzz by purposefully, knowing that you’ve shelved purpose for an afternoon.
Can’t beat it with a stick. See you tomorrow.