Haus of Margot Pollo: Vigor report

Combination stovetop popcorn/ hot chocolate.

Get a stout heavy bottomed pot on the fire. Medium heat/ slow and low. Add two or three good glugs of canola oil to coat the bottom. Add two kernels. Cover. Wait and listen. When the kernels give way, the oil is ready. Add a bunch of kernels. The yeild is always three times than anticipated. That I like. Salt. Shake. Wait. Shake. Toss in a few pads of beurre. Shake. Man the lid in case your ratio is off and things get wild. Shake. Enjoy.

Candle lit home for one at the Maxi Lounge. It looks nice in here. Nashville Skyline, Fugees, Cymande, Mij, Baby Dee, Neutral Milk Hotel rotate. Tragically Hip, you are needed in the Sunday lineup.

Today was a paid kitchen day. The line was manned by two funny characters juggling a fat stack of breakfast orders. All I had to do was keep them rolling and happy. Anticipating moves, avoiding disaster, replenishing with grace, whipping things in and out of an oven within tight quarters, things like that.

Essentially this new work is similar to that of EM--a Montreal kitchen of the past--but a little nicer on the culinary spectrum. Nothing too fancy, just nice. White plates. No slop. Relaxed. There is a certain ease that moves around that kitchen like water. I can't really explain it but whatever it is, I am grateful as hell. The motion of today made me miss watching Simon out of the corner of my eye butter toast and call meats with grace to a constant rotation of lunatics working the grill behind him. Ease at work (even in the shit); that is Simon. I miss you.

Grass is always greener...

Feels good to zip around, learning things on the fly. Anticipating longevity at a work place is nearly unreal. I work alongside this hilarious woman named Ramona who asked me out of the blue today if I could see myself building a working studio in the country someday. Up to my elbows in flour I looked at her and felt every inch of myself soften, grateful for the dough underneath my weight. Why yes. She smiled and then recited a little poem she once wrote for a funeral home.

These are my days. Sleep well. Rise early. Listen to records. Go to work. Work hard. Come home. Fall into place beside a guy who starts every fire with a solid log cabin.

Repeat.