I have no idea what it means, milk-heavy, but I’m pollen-eyed for sure today, and whatever milk-heavy is, I feel like I am. I’ll tell you this: the song it’s from is splitting its seams with poetry, and I’ll post a link to Laura Gibson singing it, and accompanying it, and a guy in the background playing a washtub bass in the prettiest way anyone’s ever played one. She mentions a milk-heavy heart, which I think I may have today from the radiant and palpable fear, stress and exhaustion that everyone at Feast is weeping from their pores, and if you’re allergic, as many of us are, to Palo Verde trees, Tucson is a billowing sheet of punchy yellow up in the trees and a patchy carpet of dulled ochre beneath them. Oh, the pollen-eyes.
Anyhow, through those teary eyes, I thought I’d type out a little hello with a link to the wines tasting I mentioned on Tuesday and had planned on getting out yesterday, but the day was peppered with people who did and also didn’t show up for their first day of work at Feast, my least favorite part of the New Normal. There’s about a twenty percent likelihood that someone who we call will show up for their interview, and of those, there’s a twenty percent likelihood they’ll show up for work upon being hired. I’m not sure if the math is right, my being milk-heavy and pollen-eyed today, but I’m sure the engineers and mathematicians among you will correct me if I’m wrong in assessing a 4% end likelihood that we’ll get a new coworker out of the deal.
So here’s the objective of today’s note: there’s a wine tasting, as per usual, this Saturday, a curious assortment of carbonically fermented wines that have summertime scrawled across them in capital letters,
and there’s a little list of specials for Mother’s Day,
after which we’ll retreat to lick our wounds and see what we’ll be capable of this summer, depending on whether we can interview a hundred people and extract four to work with us here in the kitchen.
I can’t say I’m as confident as I am pollen-eyed, but I’ve still got that tiny safety net from the other day firmly in mind, and I intend to land squarely in the middle of it. So for now, I’ll hope you come to the tasting, and that we have enough staff not to ruin anyone’s Mother’s Day, and then I’ll likely listen to this beautiful song and imagine playing the washtub bass, thick-gloved and pensive. See you soon, my friends.