I've been spoiled in the last few weeks at work. With the holidays in full swing, travel, and special menus, I've managed to skip out on Thursday pizza prep, Friday pasta making madness, and the Saturday morning breakfast until 1:30. This week, however, presented itself with business as usual.
I was quite shocked when my better half called, in the midst of rolling pasta sheets for lasagna, on Friday afternoon. I think he picked up early in our relationship that I really am not much for phone conversation, and we generally keep such communication fairly succinct, and most anything, short of an emergency, we deal with off the clock. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that something terrible had happened, but was left stumbling my way through, "What?!", "No!", and lots of, "Oh, my god!" to learn about this. I know that I received a lot of attention locally and among family and friends, but I never imagined that anyone in the rest of the world had any idea what I was up to, or was interested for that matter.
I think I fell in love with New York City long before I even knew of its existence. I'll spare you most of the over the top, romantic notions I have of living in a city where I can eat anything I can imagine, or find any ingredient at practically any hour. I will tell you though that the first time I tasted a real New York pizza (John's - on Bleeker St in the Village), and an evening I spent stuffing my face full of pastries and cafe au lait in front of the Balthazar Bakery changed my life forever. The smoked sturgeon at Zabar's leaves me teary eyed, and it really is true what they say about the water.
Up until yesterday afternoon, I set the bar of accomplishment at getting a little play in the Big Apple. Whether it be a chance to live and work there, recognition of some sort, or being a name that was familiar to its chefs and restaurant professionals. Although this was not an interview or front page story, millions of people around the world will read my name tomorrow morning. I'm just a girl from a small, Maine town, striving to be better than ordinary in Lincoln, Nebraska. If this is what it means to me to "make it", then now what?
At least there are still Valentine's Day cookies to be ordered. Feel free to contact me for details firstname.lastname@example.org