Da Forf

We’ve just been home long enough for me to shower because I was a horrible greaseball from manning the fryer — a large time was had by most. Johnny got drunk and started motherfucker this and motherfucker that which drove the families away in short order, but the grilled crab and the Buzzard Wings that I concerned myself with were hits. There were fewer people than I would have liked to have seen, but it is Da Forf and there’s lots happening around Dinkytown so I guess it was good enough.

Something that was interesting: The other cat who was cooking, a 20-something, was initially in charge of the music and most of what he had was rapΒ β€” fuck this, bitch that, ho’ some mo’, motherfucker everything else. It drove some families away, so I took it upon myself to go inside and plug my phone into the sound system. The first selection up was Mellencamp’s The Best That I Could Do album, which got the assemblage to moving and grooving and no one turned a nose up. Yay me.

A young woman, one I’d call a girl, walked up to me and said, “Dude, you’re a bad ass!”. I asked, “How did that happen?”. She explained, “Your cooking, you’re just so into it, and it’s so fucking good!”. Oh, okay. She was pretty well lit so I took it as nice but more ethanol than anything else. Still, it’s cool being a bad ass cook. πŸ™‚

Oh! Someone gave up a twenty dollar tip that found its way to me. πŸ™‚ I don’t know who, or if he even ate anything I cooked, but it came to me anyway. That was kinda cool.

So now I’m a bad ass cook who has caught a generous tip.


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