in Spain...

They sell tortilla at the convenience store.


I fit right in in such a place.

No more corn at Toro...

...was an April Fool's joke.

Thanks for all who expressed concern for my plight!

No Corn for the Weary

As we all know, it's cause for major, major crisis when we run out of the corn at Toro. You can read about my past painful experiences with this here and here.

In fact, while I was filling in as a manager at Toro, I had to make an emergency corn run to Stop & Shop at 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night, just to avoid such a disaster. I called the Mathematician from South Bay Center to have him help calculate how much corn to buy. My shopping cart was half full of corn and nothing else, causing other shoppers to gawk and even talk about me loudly in Spanish in the check out line.

For Toro waitstaff, running out of corn is pretty much the worst thing ever. 4 out of 5 tables bitch about it, and some guests even get up and walk out, even after waiting half an hour for a table. And while I love and respect our chef and think he has done some amazing things for the restaurant since he came on board in November, I'm not so sure about his latest menu change:

"As of tomorrow, we're only going to be serving the corn seasonally at Toro, in a move to exclusively support local farmers," Jamie told us at pre-meal."

"But...but...but...people freak out if they can't have the corn!" Juan said.

"They can still have the corn," Jamie said, "just seasonally. In late July, August, and September. It's something I feel really strongly about, and Ken and I think it's going to be really great." He was visibly annoyed, so we all just nodded: yes, chef.

I don't know about the other servers, but I am mentally preparing for riots. Big, hunger-induced, angry riots.

Dreams...

I awake with a start when the Mathematician comes back into the bedroom to get dressed after his shower:

"I just had the craziest dream," I tell him.

"I had weird dreams, too. I bet yours weren't as weird as mine."

"Mr.T was in it and I was really pissed at him," I say, rubbing my eyes as I sit up. "We got into a huge fight."

"A fight with Mr. T, huh? I bet I know who won that battle."

"No way, man," I say, "I was winning. I threw a pile of junk mail at his head. What was yours?"

"It was about the moral struggle I felt when I hired a hermaphrodite as an intern at work, and was then forced to fire...uh, them...because they weren't competent. I didn't want them to think it was because of...you know..."

"Hermaphrodite discrimination? Yeah, that's pretty weird. That all you got?" I say.

"No. That happened, then I introduced George [the owner of Giorgiana's] to my dad and they started wrestling. Playfully."

I'm still not sure who won.

hate + love: a waitress's tale

PART I: HATE

"Ma'am? Excuse me. Uh, ma'am?"

Surely the mid- to late-thirtysomethings at Table 52 aren't beckoning ME. I look over my shoulder - perhaps there's an older woman standing behind me with whom they'd like to speak? The guy with salt-n-pepper hair gives a little wave. Oh. They DID mean me.

"Um, yeah?" I say.

"Is it okay if we write on this menu?"

No! I think, It is clearly NOT okay if you write on the menu. Do you see little check marks next to each tapas item? Did I supply you with a pen and pencil? Would you walk into No. 9 Park or even the Butcher Shop and start scribbling all over their menu? What kind of animal are you?

"Sure," I say instead, since he has already started sullying it up with red ink. "Of course. Go right ahead."

I head to the service bar to collect their mojitos.

"Dude, Table 52 called me ma'am," I lament to the barback.

"They didn't mean it, Kitty. They didn't mean it," he consoles me.

"I don't care. I now hate them."

PART II: LOVE

"Here are your mojitos," I say, careful to conceal my contempt as I hand them their drinks. "Did you have any questions? Are you ready to order?"

"Hey," the salt-n-pepper guy says, "You look just like that woman in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Know who I'm talking about?" he says. His companions, two men with accents and a pretty brunette woman, nod and murmur "Yes...she does...mmm-hmmm."

"You mean the blonde chick?" I say. "Scarlett Johannson?"

"Yes! Scarlett Johannson," he says.

"That's a pretty hefty compliment," I say, "She's pretty hot. She's also one of my favorite actresses."

"Yup, you look just like her," he says. Then, to his friends: "You know, she's the most beautiful woman in the world according to this magazine I just read." They nod and murmur "Yes...Scarlett Johannson is the most beautiful woman in the world and our waitress looks exactly like her...mmm-hmmm."

And just like that I love them.