Everybody Hurts!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

We’ve been here so long by now, that we feel like residents.  

I’m exhausted when the alarm finally goes off. I could not sleep. My knee had ached all night, and I was still awake around 5:30. 

I am going to struggle to get through the day.

So.  

Up and at it.  

And down to the corner café for coffee. 

The day was beautiful. The rain is gone. The sky is blue.  

We find seats on the sidewalk, and enjoy the air, and the city scape.  

We order two flat whites and a Danish.  

The service is better today, not because of language so much as skill.

We enjoy the coffee, while we spend some time catching up on texts and messages from home.  

We also, solidify our plan for the day.  

The only issue we are going to have today is that my knee is on fire. It’s throbbing, and aching, and I can’t get comfortable. But as I told someone today, I breathe and push through it.  

I order another flat white and we are finishing it up, when Chef drives us. I’d told him where to meet us.  

A couple of people have reached out about who Chef is. He is the owner of my restaurant, and as is quite common, most of our staff calls him Chef, which is traditional in most restaurants. I’ve always called the chef Chef, barely using their first name. The same is true now.  

Chef arrives and we are off to lunch.  

His son is also with him, and this is his last day in BA. He’s flying home later tonight.  

We drive to a restaurant about 15 minutes away. Chef is interested in it, because it has a butcher shop attached to it. This is something he has discussed doing in our restaurant, with the apartment that is attached to us.  

We go in. It’s 12:30. We are only a handful people in the dining room.  

We get seated. The server arrives and he is super cute. Very nice smile. Genuinely nice.  

I’ll get to the food in a moment.

What this server lived, while we were there, is absolutely every server’s nightmare.  

It was clear that they were short staffed. By 1:30 the restaurant is full. He has tables in the dining room, in the atrium area next to the dining room, and on the sidewalk patio, that is at least 9,000 steps away. At least 12 or so tables.  

I watched him as he moved from table to table. He kept his composure but he was struggling.  

He took our order.

And never came back. I do not fault him. The restaurant should have stopped seating people. You always seat to your abilities. NOT to your capacity.  

Now on to the food.  

The food all looked amazing. Seriously.  

But to date, it’s the worst meal we’ve had.  

That being said, if it had been our first meal in BA, we’d have raved about it. This was an 8 when everything else has been a 10+.

We share everything.  

The sausages were a hit. Especially the pork sausage with jalapeno served with hummus.

Provolito, which is grilled provolone.  

Grilled mushrooms with egg.

Steak tartar.  

Blood sausage. (Have any of you looked it up yet?)

We pace ourselves with the first course, because we all have second courses coming.  

We are sitting there waiting to be cleared when the mains arrive.  

The table is full. The server’s hands are full. Everyone is looking at everyone. Finally, we start to stack plates, and someone appears to start taking the plates.  

Finally, our appetizers are cleared. Our second courses are served.  

We begin.  

First, the steaks are tough. LIKE, very, very, very tough. Both Adam’s, and Chef’s son’s almost impossible to cut. I’m sharing with Adam.  

However, Chef’s pork matambra was the best. It’s a pork flank that we can’t get at home and is fucking delicious. Cooked to perfection.

We poke around at our food. We snack on the sides.  

Finally, the waiter arrives again. We let him know we are through. Our plates are cleared. We order coffee.  

We don’t see him again, till Chef asks another server for our check.  

We pay. We leave. We laugh about the experience.  

As I say, they can’t all be home runs.  

However, the space was quite nice. They were busy, so perhaps it was just an off day. It happens to the best of us.  

We walk to the car and begin a search for ice cream.  

We drive around a bit, find the place we are looking for, but we can’t find parking.  

The afternoon is getting away from us so we agree to call it a day.  

Chef drops us off at the mall. It’s a big mall. Anchored by a grocery store the size of Texas on the first floor.  

We wonder around the store for about 30 minutes. Looking at wine, American booze prices, meat, refrigerators, dishware (chef buys our chimi cups and empanada boards at this store).  

We then head upstairs.  

They are mostly smaller shops, like the kind you’d find in the middle of an American mall. A little bit of everything. Kids clothes. Women’s boutique. Clothes for skinny men. A wine shop. Swarovski crystals. A very tiny Apple store, a couple of salons, a barber for kids, a shop selling high end grills, a furniture store, the usual.  

We cover the three upper floors then head to the food court.  

This is not an American food court.  

As told to us, when the mall was built the food court was leased to one chef who runs all the outlets. It’s a huge space, including an outdoor space.  

You can buy all things Argentinian food there. Pizza, sandwiches, gelato, and an assortment of things I don’t remember. We walk around looking and Adam decides I need a rest. So, we get a table, he orders coffee for the two of us. 

We sit there for about 90 minutes. People watching. Chatting. Catching up on social media.  

The coffee is great. And it’s nice to sit.  

Then. We were off to our Marienda reservation.  

Marienda literally translates to snack. Not to be confused with a Mariendo which is a husband. Of course I suppose you could have a mariendo that is a marienda.  

I’ve been waiting 24 hours to make that joke.  

In Argentina, there are 4 meal periods throughout the day.

A small breakfast.  

Then lunch.

Then around 5:00 the merienda. A light snack with coffee and avocado toast or muffin.

Then around 9:00 everyone eats dinner.  

I ask about little kids and yes, they get coffee with cream for marienda and they stay up late for dinner.  

Adam, in his wisdom, made reservations for a merianda today for us at the Casa Cavia.  

casacavia.com

This experience more than made up for lunch.  

First we had to get there.

It was about a 15 minute walk.  

I pushed through, but it was not fun.  

We arrive and are greeted by a very cute host, who I thought for a second was going to give us NYC host attitude. He gave us a, ONE MOMENT PLEASE, along with a gesture of his hand.

But in 10 seconds, it was quite the opposite and he was very sweet.  

He showed us to our table, which was on a little porch, outside, looking into the atrium area.  

It was beautiful.  

We are greeted and order water.

Always for me, aqua con gas.  

Always for Adam, still.  

The server comes back and is very sweet. Answering our questions and guiding us through the menu. She speaks English great.  

We order drinks. A bourbon drink for me. My first bourbon in 4 days. Adam orders a bottle of bubbles that I will help him with.  

The drinks arrive and we order.  

Marienda is supposed to be a snack, the marienda for two.  

We ordered what we thought was going to be a snack.

Then all the food arrived.  

There was avocado toast.  

Another type of toast with cheese.  

There were scones with jam, a creamy butter and dulce de leche.

There was a pear tart which was delicious.

There was a flourless chocolate cookie, delicious.  

Two cups of coffee.  

We were set.  

We dug in.

The area was full of people, so it was nice to watch the interactions. The American couple who went to four different tables, before they decided to sit where they were supposed to sit in the first place. The elderly lady, who broke her glass on the table. The manager who flitted from table to table, smoking with each table, and then moving on. The foreign man who was with his pregnant wife but checked out the voluptuous blond as he was walking behind his wife. There was the equally stunning man and woman who sat near us, and then 30 minutes later an equally stunning older pair of ladies walk in and it’s clear this girl’s mother and grandmother were joining with the 3-year-old. The older ladies were beautiful.

Our reservation was at 5:30. We sat down a little after 5:00. The last reservation was at 6:00. At 6:45, a busser came by to ask us if we needed any more food, we replied no and the check was promptly dropped 5 minutes later. A very courteous way to keep people moving.

We paid promptly, and were on our way. 

Thus began the worse part of the day for me.  

It was a 26 minute walk from the restaurant to our apartment, along a beautiful park, the zoo and lots of things to look at.  

We started and I knew immediately, it was not going to be fun. However, I was determined to not complain or ruin the day. We took it slow. Stopped several times. I was getting nauseous by the time we got into the elevator to head to our apartment.  

I collapsed on the couch.

Adam brought me water con gas, and Advil. I spent the next three hours with my foot propped on the back of the couch. Around 11:00 I got up to finally start writing. My knee felt better.  

Only sleep and rest would determine what the next day would bring.

Me, Chef, his son about to go in for lunch.

When you order a lemonade you get the whole pitcher.

Neon showing the cuts of the cow.

The sausages were our favorite.

Proveleto and mushrooms with egg.

Steak tartar with frites.

Tartar, proveleto, and mushrooms.

The food has arrived, but someone, not me, attacked the blood sausage before the camera ate.

The entrees have arrived.

The pork was delicious.

A sweet potato.

Burata and tomato salad.

The sausage was served with hummus.

More app photos.

The Vino Vas good.

The food court. Every counter is a different food or drink.

Coffee and booze bar.

The view at the entry to Casa Cavia.

A view from the porch where we were sitting.

The walls reminded me of the Gallery at my restaurant.

An oasis in the middle of the big city.

My first bourbon drink in 4 days.

The snacks have arrives.

Bubbles!

We’ve just paid the check.

The coffee really is amazing here.

It’s pear. It’s delicious. That’s all you need to know.

A view of one of the dining rooms in the house.

Singing in the Rain!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s late on New Year’s Eve.

5:00 a.m. to be exact.

I hit publish on a blog post.

I copy and paste into a Facebook post.

I shower and climb into bed.

It’s 5:30.

The sun is still not up. We love that Argentina stays on Daylight Saving Time all yea. It was still light here at 8:30 tonigh.

I plug in my phone. I turn off the light.

I prop my knee on my pillow…

…and the next thing I know it’s 2:00 p.m.

I am groggy. My boyfriend is still next to me. This is strange, because he never sleeps that late. I can hear him breathing.

I can also hear the rain on the window next to us. It sounds like it’s pouring, but the blackout shades are pulled and I’m not getting up to check.

I roll over, get comfortable…

…the next thing I know it’s 4:00 p.m.

Adam is still next to me. It is still raining. Hard.

He is awake, looking at his phone. I grunt good morning and start to wake up.

Around 4:30 we move downstairs. It is pouring. Weather.com says it will stop around 6:30.

We decide to wait it out.

We watch as the rain lands on the deck, while we look at our phones.

I spend much of that time, trying to find a place for dinner. It’s New Year’s Day and everything appears closed. I start at the first entry on Trip Advisor in the Palermo area of BA and look for anything open.

Not open today. On a 3-week vacation, which sounds familiar. Closed. Has no website, just a link to Facebook, and that has no information. The same, only Instagram. Broken link. Website has expired. Ugh.

Adam has better luck. He’s looking for reservations for tomorrow night. He finds a place for a Marienda. (Tune in tomorrow). We book it, although he has to sign up for What’s App to do so.

6:30 comes and goes and it is still raining. Weather.com says it will stop at 8:30 now.

Fuck.

We remind ourselves that we were once New Yorkers.

Ain’t no rain gonna stop us.

We shower and head out. It’s about 7:00 now.

We wander down the street, walking under the canopy of trees that line a lot of the streets here. What would you know, the coffee shop on the corner is open. And a little busy.

We find a table inside, one of the few open and get settled. It feels nice to be up and about.

The server comes by, he looks 15. He is clearly overwhelmed. We order waters and coffees.

He comes back with those things, and we try to order a croissant. It was much harder than it should have been. We end up getting avocado toast.

This exchange prompted us to finally download Google Translate. Finally.

The food arrives and we sit there, and chat, and trade stories, and discuss the trip, and just relax. It was nice and relaxing.

Adam orders another coffee. Me another water.

20 minutes passes, it has stopped raining, but Adam orders yet another coffee and I get yet another water.

Around 9:00 we pay the check and head out.

We are in search of food.

We know there is an Irish pub about 10 blocks away, but fish and chips is not our first choice.

We walk 3 blocks and find a pizza place open. It looks okay, but we hold out hope.

3 more blocks, and another pizza place is open. I can’t explain why, but this one looks more promising.

They don’t have a website but here is their Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/picsa_ba/?hl=en

We go in. There are no open tables inside. We are given a choice between seats at the counter or a seat on the sidewalk, as it has stopped raining. We take the counter.

We are offered menus. Spanish or English. We choose English.

We look over the menu. It all looks delicious. We are also sitting at the counter, facing the open kitchen and we can see the pizzas being prepared. They look amazing.

We decide on our order.

Two cocktails to start. Followed by a bottle of wine. Then empanadas, a salad and followed by a large pizza.

The cocktails were great. Light and refreshing.

The empanadas were fried, and delicious. Chicken. And Cheese and Onion.

The pizza was perfect. It was covered in a huge amount of cheese, red onions, olives and other things I don’t remember.

(I ate my olives).

We eat a little more than half the pizza. And get the rest wrapped up.

We order dessert. Another version of an ice cream cake.

And you can’t end a meal here without a coffee.

Café con leche. I had two.

We finish up and pay.

We head home.

It’s humid out now. Warm. The air is thick.

There are not a lot of people on the street.

It is also dark. Adam and I take the chance and hold hands. We’ve been nervous here about holding hands in public. In the states, even in Texas, we hold hands everywhere we go. On the street. At dinner. In the mall. We find ourselves reaching for each other, then thinking twice about it.

Not to get too sappy next…

I realize a little too late that I should have pee’d before I left the restaurant. Thank god for dark tree lined streets.

Whew.

That was close.

We walk home.

It is nice in the apartment when we get there. The a/c has been running all day.

It was truly a wonderful day.

Even if it didn’t start until 4:00.

Avo Toast. It was much harder to order than it should have been.

They chill the wine in a clear plastic purse.

Me enjoying the fuck out of this pizza.

Watching cute boys make pizza.

The wood fired pizza oven that no one put wood in for over two hours.

Yay for our first cocktails since arriving in Buenos Aires.

Ensalada and empanadas.

Look below at deliciousness.

Light bodied red vino.

More ice cream cake.

Cafe con leche. X2.

Home for the Holiday!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!

It’s New Year’s Eve in a foreign country. We have no idea what to expect. Will there be fireworks, crazy crowds, or will it be low key? 

To start, Chef had invited us to his brother’s house for the New Year’s celebration. Adam was a little hesitant, because he didn’t want to intrude on someone’s event. He wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t be a bother.  

I checked in with Chef and he of course said absolutely NOT. It would be awesome for us to join them.  

So, we started our day.  

First off, we slept late. We were both exhausted and I stayed up later than I should have finishing my post from the day before.  

It was around 1:00 when I woke up. We got up around 2:00.  

We had no plan and no direction.  

We knew we needed to get cash. Chef had given us 2,000 pesos the first day to get us through till we could change some currency ans that seemed like a lot. Adam looked like he’d just been handed 10,000 dollars in 10’s.  

It was actually about 60 bucks.  

We’d been told that we could send money to ourselves, through Western Union and pick it up in pesos, with the blue dollar exchange rate. Before we left for the day, we sent ourselves 500 bucks.  

Then we were off in search of a Western Union and lunch.

It turns out to be a search in futility.  

It’s New Year’s Eve afternoon, and NOTHING is open. Most places are closing early, if they opened at all. And there isn’t an open WU anywhere. Well, there was one, but they didn’t have enough money to give us the exchange. It’s approaching 3:00 and we have very little money, and no lunch options.

My boyfriend is starting to get hangry. He also doesn’t like not having a plan. He is a planner. Who needs to eat. He is getting KRANKY!!!

We keep walking, hoping that we’ll cross a street and find a not too expensive restaurant. 

We could have used a card, but the only places we’d found were two restaurants we are going to later in the week.  

To make matters worse, there isn’t even a place open to get a coffee.  

All of the shops are closed.  

We did find a liquor store and bought a bottle of bubbles to take with us later that evening.

We are looking at the map, still hoping, when I suggest we just go to McDonald’s. Well, actually Adam had suggested it an hour earlier, but I’d dragged my feet about it. It was two blocks away, we wanted to see how it compared and we knew they’d be open.  

So.

We end up at McDonald’s and order Big Macs, French Fries, he got a Coke Light and I got a water.  

And guess what?

It tastes exactly like Maine McDonald’s.  

We eat. 

Adam starts to feel better.  

Now we are ready to enjoy the afternoon.

We leave in search of a mural a friend has asked me to look up, but with no hurry and no real agenda.  

We turn right and walk about 2 blocks and pass a grocery store.

Adam’s favorite place in the world is a grocery store. He finally stopped asking me to go with him, because he likes to spend hours there. Up and down each row, although he knows exactly where everything he wants is.  

I asked him if he wanted to go in, and so we did. It was small. About the size of our neighborhood IGA. But it was fun to see all the different products and packaging.  

It was also way less expensive than in the states.  

We wander around for about 15 minutes, and we are off again.

We go two more blocks down and then start to the right.  

We snap photos of the fun things we see.

And then we find the mural that we are looking for. 

A friend of mine, from long, long ago, reached out to say that if I was in the Palermo area of BA and happened up on mural of his friend— could I please snap a photo. I looked up the mural and turns out it is about 10 blocks from our apartment.  

So, we found it, and we snapped a photo.  

It’s a painting of a musician named Hernan Cattaneo. I had never heard of him but seems he’s an amazing DJ and is well known in Argentina. My friend is a personal friend of his and was excited that we found the mural.  

And then we continued home.  

It was warm and the apartment has a pool and someone named Jeff bought a bathing suit for the trip and so when we got back we decided to go down to the pool.  

Of course, it’s approaching 5:30, the sun is behind a building, and the wind is blowing. The heated pool had a hard time keeping up. But it felt great to be in the water and we mostly just floated in the lap pool by ourselves.

Until.

Two very cute boys get in. And start floating about. It’s clear they are also of the gay persuasion. Eventually, they head toward us and the tall ginger says, HOLA!

We laugh, because it’s in an English accent. It’s clear to them we are not speaking Spanish either.

We strike up a conversation. They are from London. They are on a month-long holiday in South America. They bought a 2-pound filet today for 8 English pounds. We chat about why we are here; about Maine and all the stuff you discuss with people you don’t know.  

Then Adam announces he is cold and we head to the other end to get out.  

Fun fact: My gregarious, outgoing boyfriend, who lives his professional life on the floor of a restaurant is shy. Very, very, shy. I find it cute. And sweet.  

We lay on our lounge chair for about 20 minutes and then head up.  

We get home, and Adam immediately goes upstairs to nap. I sit down to finish my post from the night before. Which I don’t get accomplished.  

We aren’t being picked up till 9:00 and I end up napping on the sofa.  

At 8:00 I get up, and wake Adam. We both shower, and dress. And at 8:55 we are standing on the sidewalk waiting.

Chef arrives at 9:01 with his brother Pepe in tow. I give Pepe a big hug, introduce him to Adam and we are off.

As we drive, Chef shares that he met an old friend for coffee today. They were so desperate for a place to meet that first they ended up at McDonald’s for coffee and then a gas station, because McDonald’s closed. He assured me the coffee was good in both locations.  

We arrive at Pepe’s house and the façade is beautiful. It’s old single family town house that has been turned into condos. I meant to snap a photo when I left and forgot. It was old, historic and truly wonderful.  

We go in. We are introduced to the family. Chef’s mother instructs us to sit down in Spanish. We have just gotten there and so aren’t sure if we should sit down just yet, but 30 seconds later his nephew appears and has been instructed to have us be seated.  

And so we sit. 

And the evening begins.

Before I go on.  

I was honored to have been invited. Pepe and his wife, Mirta, work with us in Maine. They are lovely, lovely people. And to have been invited into their home for this celebration meant a lot to me. The idea of spending NYE with Chef’s family seemed so much more special than a night out in a bar, or a restaurant. We get to experience the way he celebrated the holiday growing up.  

So here we go. It’s 9:30. 2.5 hours till midnight.  

First, we are offered drinks. We go with Aperol Spritzes.  

Then the food starts to arrive.  

Chef has explained how this all works.  

Everyone brings something, just like a potluck at home. However, the difference is that it is prepared completely before you arrive and then served cold. That way no one is stuck in the kitchen not taking part in the festivities.  

We start with charcuterie that Chef has brought. This is served with bread and olives. And the apps are finished up with beef tongue.  

At this time, I should say, that before I came, I committed to eating everything offered to me, whether I wanted to or not. For example, this is my second meal with olives, and I don’t like olives, but they are a part of the meal so I take a few.  

There were things on the table from last night that I would never have tried 10 years ago. And to quote Adam, I just stopped thinking about what they were and focused on how delicious they were.  

I’d tried veal tongue last summer at work. Only a bite and it was good. But tonight, I’m served a whole tongue, so I go for it. And it was one of my favorite things of the night.  

Everyone is at the table, and we toast the New Year and Family and the night, and we all dig in. 

What follows is amazing. Adam, myself and Chef’s son are the only native English speakers. Chef speaks well, but he is hard to follow when you first meet him. And his nephew is an advanced beginner. Adam and I sit and listen as the family talks in Spanish. I pick up every 12th word. Every so often, Chef stops and catches us up on the conversation. Then someone will ask us a question, he interprets and then we answer. He shares our answer, and this goes on for a few. Then it’s back to Spanish. This back and forth goes on till the end of the evening.

And I shared with Adam today, that I never felt uncomfortable, or like an outsider, or bored. It was intense and fun and exciting. I loved every minute of it.  

Soon, the apps were finished.  

And the food was sent to the other end of the table, to make room for the next course. I wish I knew the name of these things, but it was all in Spanish. I also don’t have pictures of everything, because for some reason, Adam’s camera didn’t save his photos.  

The next course was equally good.  

It was a course of beef roulettes with egg and herbs and other things, rolled and then grilled. There was a chicken dish prepared the same way. Then there was a veal dish that had a sauce made with mayonnaise and canned tuna. Don’t judge it was delicious.  

There were sides of potato salad with carrots and peas, green salad, 

With this course wine is offered and toasts are made again.  

And then we are on to the third course.  

This is tri-tip stuffed with chimichurri and other ingredients and then grilled on an open fire for three hours. This was prepared by Chef’s father.

The wine is passed around again.  

And then Gancia is pulled out. It’s the Argentine version of Aperol. They make spritzes with it, using soda water and lemon. In two seconds, Chef, Adam and I all have spritzes to drink with our wine. It is amazing and refreshing and it’s been unseasonably warm here the past two days so it was a great way to cool off.  

All this time I’m looking at my watch. It’s approaching 11:30 now.  

The table is cleared. Adam and I are NOT allowed to help.  

It’s 11:40 and sweets start to appear. Sweets, more sweets and more sweets. Chef says that it’s called Mesa Dolce. The Sweet Table. It’s traditionally, served at 11:45 on New Year’s Eve so that you are enjoying them at the stroke of midnight.

We have an ice cream cake that was stupid it was so good. Homemade cookies and sweets. Bought cookies and sweets. They even pulled out a basket with candy bars in case that wasn’t enough.  

At 11:58:30, champagne glasses appeared, bottles were popped and glasses were filled.  

And then we counted down in Spanish. Well I tried, but I’d never done it before so wasn’t very good at it.  

Diez.

Nueve

Ocho.

Siete.

Seis.

Cinco.

Cuatro.

Tres.

Dos.

Uno.

Feliz Ano Neuvo.  

There were toasts and cheers.

Then everyone went around the room, hugging and kissing everyone.

It was very sweet.

When Chef got to me, he grabbed my face with both hands, kissed my cheek and told me how glad he was that I was a part of his team, and how grateful he was I was in Argentina with him.

It was a very sweet moment.  

I got kisses from everyone who was there. Including Adam, although he was the only one to kiss me on the lips.  

After the toast, more sweets appeared.

Then gifts for everyone. Adam and I got a nice bottle of wine.

Then coffee was served, with a new batch of cookies for dipping in the coffee.

And then we all sat around and talked some more.

We talked about tobacco in Kentucky vs. Argentina.

We talked about gigging for frogs vs the way they do it in Argentina.

We talked about Amarillo and Memphis, Texas and how Adam was valedictorian of his class. (He’ll hate that I’ve shared this). Adam showed photos of the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo.  

We talked about Adam’s small town he grew up in, vs Sadieville where I grew up, vs. his son’s small town in New Jersey near NYC.  

We talked about bourbon, and the bourbon trail.

We discussed Route 66 at length. 

Someone would ask a question. Chef would interpret. We would answer. Chef would interpret.  

Finally, it neared 1:30 and it was time for everyone to head home.  

Chef dropped his father off at the bus station and then came back for us.  

Chef, his mom, son, Adam and I, all headed home.  

We kept passing night club after night club with kids lined up at the door that were just opening for the night.

We got home around 2:00.

We were exhausted.

But as I said last night.

It truly was a special New Year’s Eve. I’ve travelled abroad many times, but there’s something special about being invited into someone local’s home and experiencing the holiday as everyone else in the area does.  

Happy New Year Friends, from Buenos Aires.

PS. I had told Chef that we wouldn’t be able to get money until Monday so he spotted us 130,000 pesos. In 1000 peso bills. It looked like drug money. It translates to 500 dollars.  

PS. The meal from the night before for 4 appetizers, 2 bottles of wines, 2 large format entrees, all the desserts, all the sides, and 8 bottles of water came to a whopping $125 American bucks. The cost of things here is insane.

While I like adding the photos/comments in the post where they go, that adds about an hour of editing. From now on they are added at the end.

A view of someone’s backyard along the street.

Someone crotched a tree a blanket.

Beautiful home in the Palermo area of BA.

Restaurant POS’s in BA use a mouse not a touch screen. It’s true in every restaurant we’ve been in.

A Big Mac is a Big Mac is a Big Mac.

A small grocery store in BA.

The mural of Hernan Cattaneo

The three amigos celebrating the New Year.

Drug Mule money. This is what 130,000 pesos look like.

Beef Tongue. Don’t judge it’s delicious.

Beef and Chicken roulettes.

The BA version of German potato salad with peas and carrots

Veal with a Tuna/mayo sauce.

Ice cream cake….Argentina style.

Charcuterie for everyone.

Adam carving the ice cream…

Food Glorious Food!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

We’ve just arrived at the arrived at the airport.  

Chef appeared.  His son is with him.  There were hugs all around, and then we headed toward the exit, parking, and the trip into the city.  

My knee is killing me.  I should have taken a photo, it was huge and aching, but I pushed through it.  As with my NYC trip, complaining isn’t going to help.  

Just do it and hope for the best.  

We walk slowly to the car, get settled and there is much discussion about what should happen first. 

What I wanted more than anything in the world was water.  I was sooooo parched.  

Adam, however, was not feeling well.  Unbeknownst to me, until he woke up about an hour before the plane landed, was that he’d been sick at his stomach all night.  

When we exited the airplane, he looked clammy, and pale, and you could see it in his face that he wasn’t feeling great.   

He put on a good face. 

As we drove into the city, there were jokes, and questions, as we learned about the Buenos Aires.

Ultimately, we decided to go to our Air BnB in Palermo.  Chef had just chatted with the owner, and he was expecting us in about an hour.  Chef suggested, we show up and see what happened.  

About 40 minutes later, we arrive.  

As soon as we get out, the owner is there.  

He is so nice.  And warm.  And gives us big bro type hand shakes. 

He’s also like 6’4,’ muscular, speaks with a Scandinavian accent, and is very, very sexy.  

But I digress.

He registers us with the building, gets us keys and up we go.

We are staying on the top floors, 29 and 30, of a luxury high rise building.  

He gives us the tour.  Shows us how the appliances, air conditioner etc work.  

Jokingly, he asks if we want a tour of the gym, since it seems like we might enjoy spending time there. 

Very funny.

And then he is gone.  

Chef leaves.  

We are alone.  

Tired.  

Adam is still not well.  

We agree that first things first we need water.  

Adam goes to get water, and then we both shower.  I have enough oil on my forehead to fry French fries.  

I lay on the couch downstairs, with my foot elevated, he naps upstairs.  

Two hours later, we are alive and hungry. 

Like ancient hunters we go out, in search of food.

We considered this as an option, simply because of its name.

We wander around, not knowing anything about where we are, but eventually find a diner.  Well, I don’t know their word for it, but it was a diner. 

We sit.  We order.  

A cheeseburger to share, with French fries.  I order a water and a beer.  Adam orders an Americana.  

The beer arrives and it’s a 1L bottle.  For one person.  

This is going to be a great trip.  

We eat.  I think it’s delicious.  It’s not an American burger.  It’s a version of a smashburger, between two shells, similar to a tortilla shell, but not quite the same.  Adam is not as thrilled but I think it’s because he isn’t feeling well.

We pay.  

But first we google what to tip in Argentina.  

The going rate is 10%. 

Never in my life have I tipped 10% on purpose.  

I read the article again, but it’s says 10%.  

And not mandatory.  

We get the check.  

It’s 5,000 pesos.  

We give her a 1000 peso tip. 

When we hand it to her, she comes back with the change, we explain it is for her and she is so overjoyed. 

We just appreciated her patience when I tried to order soda water.

Fun fact:  Spanish for soda water is:  Aqua con gas.  I’ll never remember this.  

Before I go on, let me tell you about currency in the country of Buenos Aires.  

The official currency is Argentine pesos.  

And the government has an official exchange rate, just like every country, that they recognize.  

BUT.

And here is the interesting part.  

There is also what’s known as a blue dollar.  And it is a black market exchange rate that is recognized by everyone.  It is not illegal, and it is almost double what the official exchange rate it.

The official government exchange rate today was 176.37 pesos for every dollar.

The Blue Dollar exchange rate is 344 per dollar.  

Almost double.  

If you use your credit card, debit card, or go to an official exchange place you’ll pay double. 

Also, the dollar is really, really, strong right now.  

Lunch, with the tip was less than $20.  

We head back home, stop for more water.  30 minutes later we are asleep again.  

The alarms go off.  We are up and at it, and we meet Chef downstairs at 6:15 to start our evening adventure.  

First, we learned from sexy Air BnB guy that a restaurant we want to go to, offers 40% off if you dine before 8.  We had planned to eat there anyway, so why not spend less.  

As with European countries most people don’t even start to think about dinner here till 8:00.  

The restaurant doesn’t take reservations, and when we get there at 6:30, a line has formed around the block. 

Chef goes up to the door, realizes that they have no more seats for their first seating at 6:30, and instead puts our name on the waiting list.  He is told to come back at 8:10.  

He tells me when he returns that the English speaking tourists were all losing their minds at the door because they’d been standing in line for an hour and we still going to have to wait.  

We go in search of cocktails.  

As we walk, he points out things that are special.  The coffee shops on every corner.  The pharmacies.  The stores that only sell vegetables.  The stores that only sell candy.  The stores that are open 24 hours and sell water and beer.  The restaurants that aren’t even open yet and it’s 6:30.  

We wander and see a bar, that is open.  It looks cute.  

We go up to the door and it won’t open.  We assume it’s a private party.  We try again.

We stand outside, discussing our options.  

Adam, finally gives it one last go, and a man from inside, opens the door.  

Turns out the lock is broken and the door won’t open from the outside without a key.

We go in, and there are about 30 seats.  Its tiny. And every seat is taken.  

Chef approaches a man behind the counter, and we are offered seats on the street.  We don’t care,, it’s a drink, then on to dinner, so we go outside and get comfortable.  

The restaurant is a wine bar, and is called https://www.pain-et-vin.com/home

The guy who greeted our table, the same man from the counter, comes out and says hi.

He asks if we speak Spanish, we say English.  He jokes that his English is terrible, but we’ll figure it out.  

The he asks about water. Still or Sparkling. We get both.

He goes into the restaurant, and I think to myself, WOW.

He is super skinny, kind of a rocker haircut and one arm isn’t a sleeve tatoo, so much as it’s all colored in.  No design.  No pattern.  It’s just tattoo green.  He has tattoos on his hands.  One on his neck.  His fingers are covered.  

And here’s the thing. 

He looked like he should be the entertainment for the night with his band, not the wine steward.

He helped Adam choose a bottle and it was perfect.  

The server is super nice, funny, has terrible English skills but was great.  

We enjoy the space, the street, the wine and most importantly the company. 

In no time at all it was time to go back to the other restaurant.    

We get there about 20 minutes early, but they are ready for us.  

We are seated. 

What follows was an amazing culinary adventure.  

The restaurant was called La Cabrera.  http://lacabrera.com.ar/menu-la-cabrera/

The restaurant was fun, is well known, and specializes in meat.  

The server was a grumpy old man, who we grew to like a lot.  

The tables very close together.  The service was excellent, but very different than an American restaurant.  

First, the staff did things that would get them fired at my restaurant, but I’d go back tomorrow if I could.  

There is a menu to show you how to order your steak.

We sit and are started with bread and olives.  

Turns out there is a restaurant fee added to the check to cover expendables, like plates, linens etc.  Too add value to the charge, they offer complimentary things to start.  

We ordered wine.  They didn’t serve liquor, so wine it was.  Chef defers to Adam and he selects a beautiful chardonnay.  

While we are waiting on the wine, chef orders.

And he ordered all the things.  

Chinchulin, which are Agentine chitlin’s 

Sweetbreads:  Look it up if you don’t know

Blood Sausage:  Look it up

Beef Kidney

Argentine Sausages

Empanadas. 

The food started coming out and it filled the table.  There were four boards, each covered in meat, with their own sauces in ramekins.   

There is so much food we don’t know where to start.  We toast to the coming week and we are off. 

These are the chitlin’s.

On the right is beef kidney! The left is Chitlin’s.

In the back the ramekins are chimichurri and puréed carrots.

The red in the ramekin is a beet puree, not ketchup. On the right is a salsa criolla, and in the foreground is a ramekin of spices that you use to soak up the meat juices.

Delicious sweet breads!

Argentine sausage on the left, blood sausage on the right.

I’ve haven’t tried a few of these things.  And if you know what most of them are you might not eat them.  Turns out everything was delicious.  Everything.  We keep, cutting pieces of meat and then passing them around the table.  

We are full before the boards are empty.

They also served with traditional side, but they are tiny, tiny, tiny portions.  Enough for everyone to have one fork full.  All equally as good.  

The table is cleared. We order more wine.

Adam selects a red, but the server says he should go with something else.  Chef ultimately decided to go with Adam’s selection of the red.  It too was delicious.  

Then came the entrees. 

EXCEPT.  

We had ordered a tomahawk ribeye but they are out.  So they substituted a 2” new York strip and a long bone short rib, cut length wise, and grilled not smoked.  

We wait a few minutes and the food is delivered.  Two big boards covered with meat.  

These were also served with their own accoutrements.

The NY Strip on the left, the long bone short rib on the right.   

The carving of the meat!!!

All was delicious. 

The boards are cleaned, our plates are clear and what now it’s time for dessert.  

We are discussing whether we even want dessert, when Chef realizes we never got the empanadas.  Which is a big deal, because that’s one of the main reasons he is in Argentina to begin with.  

We all laugh about it.

But alas it’s too late.

We order dessert.  We decide on the surprise dessert.  You order and they bring out the dessert special of the night, without knowing what it is.  But alas they are out of that as well, which is one of my favorites the Eaton Mess.  

Chef, in Spanish, tells our grumpy waiter that we would like him to bring us a little bit of each dessert, and 15 minutes later it appeared.  

The pistachio gelato was the hit of the night.  

We finish up with coffee. 

And.

Finally, after three hours, we were given the check.  

I’ll let you all guess how much this meal was in American money?  

Go on guess, I’ll tell you tomorrow.

We pay, discuss the tip at great length, end up leaving 25% and head back to our car.  

After dinner, Chef gave us the 60 minute tour of the city.  Past places like the zoo, the botanical gardens, the National Theater, the National Cathedral, Casa Rosado, all of the big shopping areas, and beautiful buildings.  The French Embassy, was especially beautiful.  

Then it is 11:30. We are back in our Air Bnb.  

Adam showers and heads to bed.  

I stay up and write yesterday’s post and start this post, which takes longer than it should because I was so tired.

This was my view as I sat at the dining table writing my post.

I get to bed around 3:30. I lie there awake, with my knee throbbing in the dark, very grateful for this experience.  

Leaving on a jet plane!!!

I’d like to speak to the Manager!!!

The wait has been long.  It’s been fun.  It’s been exciting.  

But the day finally arrived yesterday.

Yesterday, Adam and I finished packing our suitcases, double checked for medicines, chargers, and passports, and at 10:00 we left for the bus station to begin our trip to Buenos Aries. 

To be honest, we’d both had our trepidations about the trip.

Me, because my knee is still fucked.  With a capital F.  I’ve had 2 cortisone shots, 3 Euflexa shots.  Three water drainages.  

And still she persists. 

The two days prior to leaving were some of the worst I’ve had with my knee.  

But, as they say, you suck it up, put on a good face, and just get through it.  

As I told Adam, if all we did was sit by the pool, eat good food, and just relax, then it was a win/win. 

As for him, he was nervous to travel to a city, around the globe, where we don’t speak the language, and won’t how to navigate it.  

I assured him that Americans do it every day, so we’d be fine.  

As I predicted, he’s more excited than ever, now that we are here.  

Back to yesterday:

We left at 10:00 a.m. for the bus station.  There’s a Concord Shuttle Bus that will take you from Portland to the Boston Airport in exactly 2 hours.  

We ran a few quick errands and arrived for the bus at 11:00.  The station was packed, everyone waiting for the 11:30 bus.  

At exactly 11:20, we boarded and by 11:35 we were on our way.  

It’s a very easy trip, with internet and a movie.  I watched Ocean’s 8 without the sound, while Adam looked at his phone.  

Everything about the flight yesterday was easy.  

There was no traffic getting into Boston.  There were no lines at the check-in counter.  Security, was super-fast and I didn’t even have to take my laptop out of my bag.  Within 30 minutes, we were through security, and determined to find food.  And booze.  Before the plane.  

Fun fact:  The food choices at terminal B in Boston are kind of lame.  Coupled with the knee our choices were limited.   

Adam suggested Pot Bell Sandwiches as a first course, letting me know that they had chicken pot pie soup that I might like.  I agreed, so we reversed direction and got in line.

We arrive at the counter to find that they do not INDEED have chicken pot pie soup.  

Fuck.  This is a great start to the trip.  

I order broccoli cheddar instead.  He gets a sandwich.  And off we go to eat.  

As we are finishing eating, one of my best friends in the world, comes through security.  I knew that she was going to be there at the same time, I just hadn’t expected it to be so easy to meet up.  

We finish up, give each other hugs, and then we are off for the 2^nd course of our meal.  

It’s really a choice between Legal Seafoods and Sam Adams.  Neither choice is great, so we go with cheaper.  Sam Adams it is.  

We arrive and we were still getting seated when the server arrived to ask if we were ready to order.  We didn’t have menus at this point. 

We get drinks. We have snacks.  

The clock is ticking.  We say our goodbyes and snap a quick photo

And we are off to Gate 13. 

The boarding starts about 15 minutes later, and with that Group 5 is called and we head on to the plane. 

Adam read, about a month ago, that when you are flying, it’s always nice to do something nice for the flight attendants.  So we bought two bags of candy and we gave them to the crew when we boarded the plane. 

You’d have thought we handed them all 100 dollar bills.  We were given bourbon, to carry with us on our next flight, in fact I’m drinking a Woodford Reserve they gave me right now.  They were also just sweet and so thankful.  

The only negative about the trip, was that we’d downloaded shows to watch on Adam’s Ipad, but we couldn’t get it to play.  So most of that first trip was me trying to sleep.  

Three quick hours later we were in Miami.  Early in fact.  Of course there was no gate to park in, so we had to wait.  And then when the gate became available we had to wait almost 15 more minutes, because 37 people got up to pee and we couldn’t move till they were seated. 

We are off the plane and have exactly 35 minutes to get from terminal D to terminal E.  And they are about as far apart as Miami is to Boston. 

Bum knee remember. 

I put on a good face and we book it.  Up some stairs, rode the tram, down some stairs, down a three mile corridor and after 5 hours and 23 minutes, we arrived.  They were already boarding. 

We get on the plane to discover a very cute Argentinian man sitting in our seats.  Apologies are made, he moves to the seat he has with his family and we sit down.  

The seats are great…we paid extra for them.

But the arm rests don’t go up, as we are seated facing a wall and the tray tables are built into the arms and I’m stuck in the chair like a sausage.  

We ask the flight attendant if we could move as it’s approaching the time we are supposed to leave and the flight is more than half empty.  

She doesn’t seem to like the question, but tells us to wait until the doors are closed.  

Long story short, we get to move to a row with only 2 seats, with additional leg room, and the arm rests go up.  

About that time, champagne arrives, as a thank you for the bag of treats we gave this team.  

As we get settled, people are moving about, and it’s quite an attractive group of travelers.  Men and women are all very pretty.  Not such a bad thing when you are stuck with them for 8 hours.  

We take off.  

And Adam has figured out what was wrong with the I-pad and we start watching Elvis, and what seems like 12 minutes later drinks and dinner are served.  I don’t remember the last time I was served a meal on an airplane.  Not even going to California.  

Of course, I use the term dinner lightly. 

They clear our plates, turn out the lights and I look at my watch.  

We’ve been on the plane 75 minutes.  

OH.  NO.  

Adam and I go back to our movie.  

Actually, we open our carryon and open the bottle of bourbon gummy bears that we were given.  At the botton of the container is 5 or 6 “special” gummies.  We both pop one, then go back to our movie.  

About 40 minutes later, Adam tells me he is falling asleep, and so I take the I-pad, he puts his head on my shoulder and he’s breathing deeply five seconds later.  

I look at my watch, we have 1,259 hours to go before we land.  

I go back to the movie. 

I watch 3 hours of it, check how much is left, and there is still 7 hours to go.  It is long!!!

I realize I am relaxed and tired.  I put the I-pad away, open my pillow, and will myself to sleep.  

Which doesn’t happen.  For the next 6 hours I wake up about every 30 minutes.  Toss and turn, fall asleep again, wake up, and repeat.  

It turns out to be a long, long night.  

Since I was awake, I got to see two girls throw up in the restroom with the door open.  Not a fun sound at 4:00 a.m.

I watched as the restroom was placed out of order, after the last girl.  But no sign was put on the door.  So people arrived.  And they waited and waited and waited, until finally the need to pee drove them up the aisle to the back of the plane.  

I realize at 7 hours I hadn’t gotten up once since I got on the plane.  I’m trying to figure out why I haven’t had to pee.  And then I realize, they limit your fluids.  I have had 1 glass of water, and 1 glass of champagne, and 1 glass of wine sine 7 hours ago.  I’m parched.  I’m dehydrated.  I’m fucking tired.  

I also learned that assholes, like to raise the window coverings, way before people are awake, flooding the cabin with light and waking everyone.  Fuckers.  

I learned that breakfast is worse than dinner.  

I was reminded that airline coffee is gross.  

But at 7:45 Argentine time, which is 2 hours ahead of the East Coast, we landed.  Ahead of schedule.  

15 minutes later, we were on our way to the immigration checkpoint.

Picked up our bags.  

Went through claims security.  

And were ready to start our vacation in Buenos Aires.  

As Adam was taking the suitcases off the carousel, I was waiting (bum knee), and I realized why I hadn’t slept last night.  

I take medication for depression.  One of the side effects of taking it for so long, is that a withdrawal symptom is that it interrupts my sleep.  

Fun fact:  Never, in the history of taking this medicine, have I ever realized at 2 in the morning that I’m not sleeping because I haven’t taken my meds.  I toss and turn and realize it about 30 minutes after I get up.  

Three minutes later, Chef appears and our day begins.  

PS.  It’s late.  I’m tired.  So I have no proofed this or edited it.  Forgive me for the glaring errors. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve wracked my brain all day to find a Xmas manager post…

This isn’t manager related but it is a totally true story.  

When I was in my late 30’s, my mother wisely asked what I wanted for Christmas.  I was famous for “accidently” leaving things on my bed, that I didn’t need or want.  

So, I thought long and hard about what I needed and wanted and came up with towels.  My towels were years old, and getting threadbare so I asked for nice white towels.  

So fast forward a few weeks and it’s Christmas Day.

And Xmas morning, we open gifts and what would you know, my Mom and Dad gave me white towels. 

Fast forward, a couple of hours and my brother gave me white towels.

Fast forward a few hours and my aunt and uncle gave me white towels.  

I went home with 6 white towels.  

But wait.  There’s more.

The next two Christmases involved more white towels.  

When it was all said and done, I think I have about 12 white towels in my bathroom.

A single person, living alone.

I had so many towels that one week, my laundry, sent me home without towels, I didn’t even ask what happened.  I just pulled out new white towels.  

I’m pretty sure, after that year, my mom started giving me gift cards for Xmas.  

Seriously, though.  

How many white towels does one person need???

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I was very grateful to have the night off.  

The last Xmas Eve I worked, I worked 16 hours.  Open to close.  

Understaffed, and very busy.  I never need to do that again.  

At the beginning of that shift, I started a count down on my watch.  I don’t know if it helped move things along, but I was nice to watch the day fade away.  

I never, ever, ever need to do that again.  

I appreciate working for people who understand that sometimes it’s not about the money.

Last weekend at work, I was at the door, and someone asked when we were closing for the season.  I explained that we don’t close for the season, just a couple of weeks over the holidays.

One of the men standing in the lobby, exclaimed, that’s insane, that’s a lot of lost revenue over the holiday, at the end of the year.  

I’ve had this chat with my boss.  Not in an attempt to stay open, but to understand his philosophy.  

And the truth is, it’s only about 7 days we would be open, if we didn’t close, with the holiday off and our normal Tuesday, Wednesday off.  

It’s truly an open for 2 days.  Close for 2 days.  Open for 2 days.  Close for 2 days. 

It’s easier just to call it a day, and give everyone an extended vacation.  

And he knows that he could do a good amount of revenue during this time, but sometimes doing what’s right, is better than making a few more dollars.  

The truth is, we do very well for ourselves, and he acknowledges this.

So, to everyone who is celebrating anything this week, may you have a warm and lovely week. 

Be well.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I have to say that beyond the salary, the free food, the trip to Argentina, the other benefits, the absolute best thing about my job is that we are closed on Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

The holidays have always been one of the worst days of the year to work in hospitality. 

I have a theory, that people who like each other, eat at home.  

People who don’t like each other, eat at restaurants, and let everyone else know how much they dislike each other.

Yes.  I know there are extenuating circumstances. 

But, hands down the big holidays are the worst.  

Angry people.

Bad tippers.

Slow kitchens.

The restaurant starts to run out of the specials about 30 minutes after they open.  

And to be honest, the staff is all a little cranky too because they’d rather be home with their friends and family, and you can’t really blame them.  

And before anyone says it, YES, I know that there are industries where people have to work.  But somehow, the need for open restaurants isn’t as important as say emergency responders and doctors and nurses.  Those people are saving lives.  

I’ll take this time to give a shout out to all the Central Maine Power folks this weekend, who are waist deep in repairs as 250,000 Mainers are without power.

We need them to work.  

We don’t need Applebee’s to be open.  

And for any of my readers, who are dining out this weekend.  

For the love of all things holy, please be nice.  Please be patient.  And please tip more than 20%.  At least make it worth their while to be there.  

Happy Holidays!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I wrote this post almost 2 years ago. And posted it before I started asking to speak to the manager. Last night, I posted about public speaking and my graduation speech and Mark Maltby asked if I still give out “handouts” when I speak. I have not, since then, but I think it might be something to consider.  

Here is the story of how I went from designing to managing based on the original post from 2021.   

_____________________________-

My new restaurant just finished week three. 

It’s a great success and we are doing quite well. 

I often have conversations with guests, and it comes up that I moved from NYC and that in a previous life I was a theatre lighting designer. 

A pretty good one at that. 

Very often I’m asked how I made the leap from designer to restaurant general manager. 

Well. 

Fun fact. 

In grad school, while obtaining my MFA at UCSD, one of the best theatre schools in the country, I ran a very successful bar out of my office. 

Our offices were shared with three other people. We each got a corner.  

Everyone’s corner was their own domain.  I’ve attached a photo of my corner.  It was decorated like a carnival.  With Xmas lights, and disco balls, and all things colorful. I still have no idea how it started, but I built on it the whole time I was there.  I had fully planned to document it in photos before I left, but I came in one day and discovered that internet service was being updated and a whole portion of the décor had been taken down.  

The first happy hour, was on Friday night, of the first week of classes of my 2^nd year.  My friend Michelle was in town, and she funded the first happy hour.  We went to Costco, and bought all things booze.  Gin, Rum, Vodka, Bourbon.  We bought cases of Corona.  And we bought a fridge.  The weeks prior to that day, I spent scouring thrift stores, becaue I was determined that we’d have glass, glassware, not plastic solo cups.  

On that first Friday, around 3:30, I cleared off my industrial drafting table, made sure my laptop and drawings were all secure, and I’d set up bar.  

To say it was a success right off the bat, is an understatement.  I had told everyone about it, but they didn’t get what they were expecting.  I had a full bar.  And a cash drawer.  And an ice cooler.  

And as they say, if you build it, they will come.  

I hosted happy hour every Friday for two years from 4:00 to close. Which was sometimes 5:00 pm if we were all busy.   But more often it was as late as 1:00 or 2:00 am. A few night, also known as morning, we were still there are 4:00 am. 

My regulars included classmates, and unofficially our professors and staff who always pretended they weren’t there. 

We also had alumni, guest artists, friends, and strangers. 

Girlfriends, boyfriends and spouses would sometimes come.  

The crowd could be two people. Or sometimes 30 or 40 people.  

Occasionally someone would remind me that we weren’t allowed to have alcohol on campus, and I’d pretend to do something, like hang a curtain over the booze or hide it in a cabinet.  

We also did special deliveries.  

Once, during each tech, the drink fairy would show up and all the designer and stage managers would get a Styrofoam cup from the cafeteria with their favorite cocktail.  

It’s because of these deliveries I now drink bourbon. I got sick during tech in the spring of my second year, and my classmates kept my Diet Coke cup spiked with bourbon as I couldn’t talk and felt like shit. It got me through 8 days of tech and the show looked great. 

I managed to keep the bar inventory stocked and the fridge full, by charging two dollars per drink. We had an honor system and house accounts for those of us who ran short at the end of the month. 

People would buy each other cocktails, cover tabs, and not once, did someone not eventually pay up their 30 or 40 dollar tab.

That absolute best part of these Friday evenings, was the discussions, arguments, yelling matches.  

When you put 30 or 40 artists in a room, discussion ensues.  All in good nature.  But many, many times intense.  I remember an argument about whether you could use a toilet seat to represent a PAR CAN on a light plot as long as it was listed in the key.  Lots of discussion about real theater vs commercial theater. 

I truly believe that I learned as much drinking Corona on Friday nights as I did in the classes we took.  We interpreted texts, we discussed themes and characters, we discussed artists in our field, we critiqued each other’s work, and we learned and we lived and we enjoyed spending time with each other, and ultimately made life long friends.  

These friends have gone on to do great work.  They are running theater companies.  They are working on Broadway.  They are designing award winning films.  They are running design shop.  So, so many have gone into teaching, and I know their students are in good hands.  I love seeing my actor friend show up on shows like Community, and Law and Order and feature films.  

Others, like me have left the field and are equally successful.  They’ve gone into medical fields, arts administration, non-profit gigs, event management.  

And oh, oh, so many have taken on their biggest roles of all, they are parents.  I love, logging in to see what all of their kids are up to these days.  Some are still babies.  Others are teenagers.  All looked loved and cared for.  

I was a just as proud of running happy hour, as I was the design work I produced while a student. So proud, that my thesis statement, which at UCSD, is a one page paper was called, What I Learned During Happy Hour.”  In fact, I once didn’t get a teach job, because the academic council, didn’t think I’d taken my education seriously.  

When I graduated, my cocktail hour was as much a part of my legacy as my art.   

I don’t know if this is still true, but at UCSD, when the department holds graduation, each student, is allowed a few minutes (think the Oscars) to give thanks to their people.  We are told to keep it short which I did not.  

In fact, I remember to this day, saying, I’ve spent three years and thousands of dollars in order to stand here today.  You can give me more than 90 seconds to say thank you.  

However, before I started my speech, I had my friend Tom, wheel out a cooler, pop it open and gave each of my fellow graduating classmates a Corona.  

It was my last happy hour.  

I remember tearing up getting to the end of my speech, that had bullet points, NOT the speech written out.  

I wish that there had been I-phones back then because I’d loved to be able to see it now.  

I miss doing design work. I miss that creative outlet.  

But I like my life in Maine more. 

Adam and I talked at length about what our life in Maine would look like.  And the truth of the matter was, I was tired of traveling.  I was tired of living job to job.  And although there is great theater in the Boston Area north, I’d never have been able to buy this house, or live the life we have today.  

However, I’ve said a million times that my studies in California made me the manager I am today.

My patience. My ability to see the big picture. My ability to deal with all types of people. My ability to know just how dim to make the lights at dinner. My ability to not to stab someone in the eye with a fork. My ability to train new staff. My ability to take criticism.  My ability to think outside the box.  My ability to pivot when something needs a new look.  

All of this is an extension of UCSD.

In March, it will have been 10 years since my last design, but my two years of running a bar during grad school, I use every day. 

Thank you, Mark Maltby for not shutting me down! 

Thank you, classmates, who kept the bar open, and spent so many hours with me, doing what we love.  

And thanks to all of you who I still consider the best of friends.  

And that’s how I went from being a lighting designer to a general manager.

PS.  I have taken way too long to get this on paper.  I will edit it again, when I retire in 40 years.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

In 2013, about a week after I was hired for my first GM job, Adam ordered a present for me.  A copy of Setting the Table, by Danny Meyer.  He is a restauranter in NYC, and the book was his philosophy of hospitality.  It was a great read for a new manager.

Looking back, it taught me a lot.  In the 10 years since, I’ve kept a hold of some of his ideas, and realized others were a pipe dream only for someone who was in a position to make ownership decisions, not management decisions.  

I read the book twice.  First as a reader, then a second time to take notes.  I had about 15 pages of notes that I hand wrote, then put into a word document that I still have.  

I used these notes to format the basis of my first meeting, with the new staff of the restaurant I was opening. 

I was standing in front of the main bar, with my notes, and about 30 employees, I’d just met, staring at me.  

I gave one of the most moving speeches that I’d ever given.  

I’ve learned as an adult that not only do I like writing, but I also enjoy public speaking.  I’ve also learned that sometimes the speech is a dud.  And sometimes, it flows like I’ve been doing this for a lifetime.  

Some great speeches I’ve given? 

My graduation speech, when I finished up at UCSD, was from the heart and I felt was very good.  

My toast at my friend Michelle and Lisa’s wedding, was equally moving.

And my hospitality speech on the first day of training was excellent.  

The words flowed, the staff asked questions, and my heart was in it.

About halfway through the chat, I realized one of the owners had joined the meeting.  I continued as if I’d been doing this forever.  He pulled me aside and told me that we should chat about me heading up all the training for the company.  That never happened, but it felt good.  

I have learned not to write the speech, but the write the bullet points instead, and let the speech, be organic and off the cuff.  It’s always gone better for me this way.  

I still have the bullet points from that day.  I have given that talk about 30 or 40 times since.  It’s never worked as well.  It’s always feels forced and rehearsed and not from the heart.  

The reason, I’m sharing all of this it to write a post, that isn’t going to happen now.  As always, the first sentence has led me down a different path.

I am about to be challenged to give this speech, talk, chat, instruction, pep rally, training again in a few months.  And somehow, I need to find a way back to the first presentation.  

The first one.  

From the heart.  

Off the cuff.  

With all of the meaning and understanding there that I need for everyone to get.  

My first approach, will be to re-read the book.   Making new notes, with the understanding that I speak from a very different place today. 

I have 10 years under my belt.  I’m less naive.   Less blinded by the newness of the unknown.  

I’m jaded now you might say.    

That being said, there is much truth in what I shared from the book.  

That will be my start.  I’ve also done some research on similar books from the industry, that I’ll be picking up over the next month or so.  

And I’ll make my bullet points.  I’ll speak off the heart and I’ll hope it gets the job done.  

And I’ll let you know in about 6 months how it all goes.