Ladies and Gentlemen, this is it. I mean get ready cause I have started a blog! I know, right? Hold on to what little dignity you may left cause this is probably going to get ugly. I have been toying with the idea of starting a blog inclusive of recipes as well as the daily trials and tribulations of running a professional kitchen. Although the excessive amount of exposed testicles and aggressive buttocks grabbing often times makes it feel less than professional, but that is another entry all together. I wish I could say the reason I became resolute about starting this blog is because of some idealistic new years resolution. Oh, how I truly do wish that was the case. The real reason is so odd I couldn't bear the thought of not making an audience of the internet.
It all started about a week and a half ago. Being in Miami much of my accesable labor pool is populated by Haitian imigrants. Which, typically, works out to my advantage as they tend to be very peaceful, pleasant, and extremely hard working indiviuals. My butcher (who we will hence forth refer to as Jay) of two and a half years was by no means an exception to this rule. Jay was never late. He never got sick or upset. He never ran overtime or his mouth. He was, in essence, the holy grail of employees. Just after Art Basel, which is business equivalent of a blitzkreig, Jay went on vacation. This is where things start to get strange. Every one could tell something was not right, however no one could quite place what was wrong. It was as if he was residing now in some fog of dissolusion and melancholy. Agression replaced tranquility, and dissent rose abruptly where tireless aleigence once stood. Jay was... different.
A few week days passed with little effect, as our business had abruptly declined due to abnormally cold weather. When it drops below 82 degrees in miami the permanent residents rarely leave their homes for fear of death by exposure. Then one morning the veritable snow ball began to roll. Jay was approached by our lovely new pastry chef with a friendly conversation about when he moved to Miami from Haiti. Jay swiftly turned around and barked "I don't want to... talk to you! I am not here to make fun with any body! Just... just... leave me lone! Leave me to work!" An uncommon silence befell the kitchen. Only the crackle of burning oak and constant hum of hood fans proved brave enough to push through the unbearable stillness. After things settled down a bit Jay and I went outside to talk about what happened. He apologized intetly citing the fact that he was uneasy because just momonets earlier he heard a whisper in his ear that had unhinged him. "I'm going to kill you." the voice whispered. I asked who said it assuring him that the culprit would face immediate termination for making such a threat. "I did not see who it was. I turned and they gone." Jay replied, defeated. I tried to reassure him of his safety, seemingly to no avail. That night I received a phone call. Jay appolagized to me for what happened earlier in the day. He thanked me the opportunity for work and told me that he would not be in the following day because something bad was going to happen. I pried at him for a half an hour trying to get to the bottom of his curious situation. Just as I was about to resign my quest for the truth it reared its head in a blaze of strange so glorious that I was left with out posiibility of retort. "I am cursed" he said "some one wants me dead and they have used the voodoo to kill me... I'm sorry chef."
