Last night the Christinas organized a bowling outing. Turns out, at Lucky Strike Lanes in Hollywood, you get to play for free on Monday nights if you work in the restaurant industry. The super chill staff reviewed our credentials and hooked us up with a welcome round of pineapple juice and vodka shots.
We were joined by Pastry Girl, Lou, and a surprise appearance by the chef in the TV competition I mentioned in this post (the one whose sandwich was a take on bread and butter). It was kinda cool to think that the people bowling on either side of us also just spent five long days in kitchens scattered across L.A.
I made Chef promise it would be an early night. “Don’t worry,” he said, “All I want to do right now is spend some time in my man cave.” I knew exactly what he meant, though my cave is pink and white.
Before we left, though, I asked one of the Christinas for advice on what to write about next. “Keep writing about us!” she said, then added, “You’re going to Mexico soon, right? Why don’t you trace an ingredient to its source?” Brilliant, I thought. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.