People are always asking me where I get my inspiration from. How do we just conjure ideas out of our assholes? Out of nowhere, like a sneaky fart in the supermarket or something.
It's not like that. They brew and mess with our heads and we fix and fiddle with dishes until we're happy. Menu change accounts for 79% of our drinking problems and insomnia, closely followed by any idiot waitress, vegans and the fact that the price of secondary cuts of meat skyrocketed after Matt Moran showcased lamb's neck on Masterchef. That fucking cunt.
If anybody wants a good example, go on Youtube and look up Evolution Of An Idea - Grant Achatz.
My favourite chef and undoubtedly more brilliant than the love child of Biggie and Einstein ever would have been.
But today at my restaurant, we celebrate the new fish dish making the menu and I must say, it was not my idea.
It's a simple home dish my boyfriend makes me, that we simply tweaked and fixed until it was fit to prep ahead and charge $26 bucks for it (little do the fuck knuckle customers -clears throat- sorry, guests know, it averages at $2.80 a plate for me).
So thank you Handsome Boy, your persistance at finding a cheap meal for our poorhouse selves to eat on a Monday night in front of The Graham Norton Show that isn't beans on toast or the always dreaded curried sausages, has given me enough peace of mind to sleep tonight.
Now to crap out a chocolate dessert by Tuesday and I might be able to finally say good riddance to this damn nervous twitch I've acquired whenever the boss mentions the topic of "Autumn Flavours".
Anyone... Anyone... Bueller... Anyone.
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