Wow, do I wish I had more time before heading back into the insanity that is work these days. And no, I don't mean the Insanity with a capital "I" that I have started subjecting myself to on a daily basis. Now that P90X is just a fond (yeah, right) distant memory, a crazy, jacked, (dare-I-say "hot") former track and field star named Shawn T (well, actually he goes by Sean but I like the way Shaawwwwwn sounds so much better.) has been kicking my ass into cardio shape.
He promises 1 year of results in just 60 days of exercise. The way my attention span falters, I figured it was a sure thing. You are not sure if you watching a Saturday Night Live skit when he says things like "You see this leg?" with his slightly-flamboyant mannerisms and less than masculine voice. "You are gonna pick this leg up. Oh, yeah, look at me pickin' this leg up, ya'll!" But hey, he's cute, sweaty and if I can get abs even close to the hot chicks that run suicides and mountain climbers behind him in the basketball court, then I am more than thrilled to have signed up.
No, the insanity of which I am speaking is the predicted sure demise of a once-great bar and restaurant. Well, maybe that's an overstatement - an exaggeration of sorts. But things, they are a changin'.
Last night, for instance, after walking into work after only being gone for 5 short days (love those 2-day work weeks! Especially on Sundays when the work "week" is over...), I learn that the award-winning, much-beloved chef is no longer running Brady's. Hmm, odd - wasn't I just dancing with him at the Club next door not 5 nights ago, blowing off after-work steam, and NOT TALKING about how it was his last night? Hmmph. I guess he didn't want to ruin the celebratory mood or our late-night buzzes, happy to finally enjoy them after a crazy night of relentless service. We were enjoying being the ones to say "Blah blah blah, in a tall glass, with crushed - not cubed - ice, 4 olives, cryogenically cold, and really strong". (Oh, right - that was snobby, bum-hip, elbow-patched navy blue blazer... not US).
Anyway, Chef Jacques was gone. But the lines were still forming, people still clamoring to get seats at the bar before the people ahead of them who lingered just a second too long at the hostess stand did. (Oh, and these seat-stealers always come prepared to defend their brazenness to those whose seats they "stole". "It's a free country" they say. I always hate that reasoning. And it's always met with "Well, we were ahead of you." Another equally compelling defense. And then it always moves along to "As long as you buy us a drink, we'll LET you have our seats." I try to mediate, wanting everyone to sit, to enjoy, to tip... So I interject when I should, stay quiet when I can, and use my bartender ESP to solve everything, like "Hey, these people are leaving soon; you can have their seats - they're a better angle to the TV and basketball scores anyway," I manage with a side-nod and a wide-eye connection to the offended party. Usually works.)
But, back to the missing chef. It doesn't really affect my night, because bar-sitters come first for the atmosphere (okay, "Bartender"), second for the drinks, and a distant third for the chef's reputation. As long as one and two on their priority list are covered, I am sure they will overlook the fact that the sous-chef has quietly assumed the top duties. And yes, the kitchen is open, so it is really their fault for not noticing themselves that the celebrity is no longer back there concocting their orders with his notorious flair.
No matter, really, because their backs are to the kitchen; their attention being paid to the Celtics, the bartender, and sometimes even their date. So crisis averted. LAST NIGHT.
But will tonight be different, I wonder. Will the word spread as it does in the close-knit fine-dining environment, enough by tonight that people will actually ask, interested in the imagined (or not) drama that surrounded this surprising exit??
Or will tonight simply be a retrodden version of LAST night? Where people worry more about the obnoxious drunk in the corner, who called the classy bartender "the girl with the pipes" who he would want on his side if there were ever a fight in the bar (wishful thinking on his part on both counts); or that Chris, the Bar Back is so dejected over the sudden break-up of his still-in-college sweetheart that he wanted to punch the guy because he referred to him as the "kid" he would "forget about", not wanting him on his side in the fight.
Or maybe the mysterious "banana" will reappear again tonight (which can only mean that Jason the owner is trying to increase his late-night stamina later before he goes to visit his rumored ex-mistress, whom he recently hired back to the restaurant.) The Banana was back last night, a silent and sudden fixture on his office desk, that hadn't been there for over 6 months -- the same amount of time as Leslie's hiatus from Brady's. And, as a coincidence, wife Sarah was absent. Had she taken off with Jacques to make a fresh start in this gossip-riddled, tawdry food industry?
Time will tell. Tonight the bartender will be just as interested in the interworkings of the staff and management as she will be in the blind dates, drunken shenanigans and embarrassing moments usually reserved for just the patrons. Can't wait to go in: T minus 2 hours!
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