Dear Feastlings,
I woke this morning to feathers in the front yard. It didn’t surprise me- there’s a pair of owls living in a neighbor’s eucalyptus, and there’s a hawk that’s fond of (small) birdwatching from the mesquite in our yard. But the feathers looked like those formerly of a dove, and apart from whatever hawk/dove metaphors came to mind- these are, after all, hawkish times- it felt a little bit like the restaurant business to me.
It’s all peaceful chirps and coos, and pecking at seeds one minute, and in a flash you’re hit with something that blindsides you and leaves only a dusting of feathers behind.
Obviously, I’m apt to see nearly everything as a metaphor for the restaurant business, but during the holiday season, with staff calling in and purveyors coming up short and upwards of a dozen changes to existing catering orders each week, I feel there may only be feathers left before long.
Yes, we’re still getting it done, albeit barely:
There’s still a wine tasting this Saturday,
the Christmas menu is still up and you have ten days left to plan and place your order,
and despite being yet again thwarted in getting the New Year’s Eve menu written today, I reckon I can manage that by next week. Let’s hope. Either that or a raptor of appropriate size can dive bomb me before I’ve invested too much time and energy, and I’ll wish you all well from the Great Beyond.
It seems unlikely, though, at least based on my past experience with giant raptors, however limited, so I look forward to feeding a lot of you, and sending you off with wine for yourselves and others, and catering what shindigs we can cater, and I’ll keep what feathers I have intact.
Your holiday dove,
Doug