For lunch today, I ate leftover frozen galbi-jjim from the holidays. It was tasty.

My friend Judy got me a rice cooker for Christmas this year. It's one of those fancy electronic ones and its cute size is perfect for a single mofo like myself. I just broke it in for the first time today, and it already feels better than the small aluminum ramen pot I was previously using to make rice over the stovetop. I very much enjoyed my meal before of rice and banchan with some SPAM and eggs I fried up, and am still full and happy from it. Lately, I've been craving simple Korean food to eat at home, so I'm thinking this new kitchen gadget will really come in handy for the winter.

I had a good Christmas this year. Last week, I woke up early on Tuesday to go to the CityMD near me so I could get a COVID-19 test. I wasn't feeling sick or anything, but it was a precautionary measure for the holidays. The line there was already super long even an hour before it opened, and it took me a little less than two hours to get to the front of it. Once there, they took down my name and phone number and told me they would text me in about six hours so I could come back and actually get tested. It was good that I got there early in the morning when I did, because I know a lot of people were turned away from a lack of availability. And luckily, it only took about three hours for them to contact me. Once I returned to the CityMD, I was in-and-out in about five minutes. It was super easy and fast, and I received my negative results via email within an hour.

Even though my parents live about 30 minutes away from me in New Jersey, I hadn't seen them in six months because of the pandemic. My family ended up not meeting up for Thanksgiving because we didn't realize that the lines for COVID-19 tests around then would be so insane. So we all decided to plan better for Christmas and try and gather now instead.

Spending time with my parents was great. Even though we talk on the phone regularly, it was nice to catch up in person. I had fun crashing on their couch while eating and drinking and doing nothing but spending time with one another. I think it really recharged me. I feel like I've been stuck in my room forever, just working and feeling isolated from so many things. To hug my parents and feel their embrace and hands in mine, I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas gift. Together with my sisters and brother-in-law, we ate so much food and laughed and chilled. 

I hope you all had a merry and safe holiday as well.

Today is my dad's 68th birthday. Happy birthday, Appa!

There come times in life where it's undeniable that a critical turning point has arrived.

And deep in my heart, I know that I am currently at one of these pivotal moments right now.

It all started a few weeks ago, and since then, it's been one unforeseen significant thing happening after another. At first, it just seemed like a row of bad luck with a shitty thing here, an unlucky thing there. But then I stepped back from it all to give it a closer thought. Why? Why was all this happening now at once? And then it began to make sense. The realization didn't come straight away, but it took the 4th bad incident within weeks for it to truly hit me. And what it's all come to mean is that something is happening in the form of change. And that I am changing. It's not my world around me or the elements of my life that are changing, but it's me. I am. And wow, I see it now. I truly see it. I'm not the same person as I was from just a month ago, and that's not just hyperbole. This awareness has only made me feel lighter and happier. I feel free in a way, and ready for what's next. In fact, I'm god damn excited about life. I don't care if what happens is good or bad, but I am fucking excited about it all. At this point of my life of 35, I'm so humbled to know better. To take what I've been given and seek meaning and purpose from it. A lifetime of watching Oprah and being open to receive those lessons others have so clearly explained from their own personal hindsight has all been for this moment right now. All of my previous down periods in life filled with struggle, confusion, and anger has been for this moment right now. Because thanks to all that, I understand that everything happening is here to help me and make me stronger. To help clean the slate of an older version of me, and turn the page to that next fresh chapter. Because there's no other way to accept it. There simply isn't. Not embracing it this way would be to fight it, and to fight life means to lose in life. I'm not going to fight it. I'm going to love it even harder and squeeze it until it turns blue. Yes, there will be tears, because there already have been within the past few weeks. But that's okay. I've earned those tears. They're mine and I'll show them to the world or whoever else I please. Because I'll proudly taste the salt from those tears to remind me that there is no flavor in life without that salt. It's a necessity to being. And I can use it now to fight any other aspects of my life and its struggles. It will sting and even hurt me, but I'll be okay. When I went over to my parents' place for Thanksgiving last month, it had been the first time in years that it was just my immediate family and me celebrating. We usually do a bigger thing with all my relatives, but this year, it was just my parents, sisters, and brother-in-law. I've always appreciated more intimate settings, and I can't express how much fun we all had together. Starting at 3pm until the late night, the only thing on our agenda was to eat, laugh, drink, and talk, with all of us eventually zonking out and crashing at my parents' place. I woke up the next morning so happy, because I realized I already have everything I need. I have my family, and am so grateful we all have our health. And then there's my chosen family of a close-knit group of friends who truly get me and support me. And no revolving factors of my life can change this foundation of mine. This feels like one of the hardest times I've been through in recent times, but I totally get it now. And it's from all of these unexpected setbacks that's forced me to see the other crucial changes I must make in my life. Habits. People. Vices. Ultimately, carrying out these will be even more difficult than the surprise ones from the last few weeks. Because these necessary changes that are now so obvious are in my control. It's up to me to make them. They won't be done for me. But I'm okay with that. Even with puberty, I've always been a late bloomer in life. But oh man, this lesson has finally hit me and I'm here. And I've never been happier and felt more solid as a person. I'm awake. I'm recharged. I'm prepared.

You know that scene in I Know What You Did Last Summer, when Jennifer Love Hewitt's character is fed up and screams out to the sky, "What are you waiting for!?" for the second time as she does that cute little spin? Yeah, that's how I'm feeling right now. But in a more optimistic, cheery way.

The past few weeks or so.

My dad came by my apartment just before to drop off some Korean food that he and my mom had prepared for me. My parents and both of my sisters live in Bergen County, New Jersey, so I am the last of my immediate family remaining in New York.

The photo below doesn't include some steaks and fresh vegetables I had already put away, and I am beyond grateful for the home cooked food (plus ramen and bubble gum).

I love you 엄마 and 아빠!

It had been a few weeks since I heard from my mom, so I decided to give her a call today around lunch time to say hi.

As soon as she picked up, the first thing she said was, "I can't believe you called me just now, because I was in the middle of writing you a text!"

And that was without a doubt, the highlight of my day.

I am home after drinking on a Tuesday night, microwaving my Father's Day leftovers from Sunday.

My mom and dad dropped off an entire extra tray of homemade galbi jjjim this weekend, which tastes so good after nuking it in the microwave just now.

It's basically everything, and the amount of joy it brings me right now is just beyond words.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there.

I love my mom so much.

Happy eating! I hope everyone is having a great Thanksgiving weekend so far.

I'm currently home alone right now in Harlem. There's still a bit of daylight coming through the windows so I have all my lights off. It feels really quiet too with almost nothing but silence from the streets. Everything feels nice and still, almost most like there's this cold tint of blue to it.

Moving to Central Harlem a few months ago and living with my friend Jess has really been great so far. We've been friends since junior high school in Queens and grew up not far from each other in Flushing. She would always come over to my house back then and we'd order greasy food and watch bad tv for hours. Even almost two decades later, I guess some things never change.

I've been cooking a lot more since I moved to my new place. My apartment in general is on the smaller side, but thankfully the kitchen is renovated with new appliances. It even has a window, which makes such a big difference when actually using the space. The last time I lived in New York with a kitchen window was in 2010, so things like natural sunlight and fresh air for ventilation charm me into staying in the room. It's like cooking and being in a kitchen feels pleasant again. 

My cupboards right now are really stocked with lots of different types of sauces. With my schedule being a bit open nowadays, I've taken to shopping for sauces as a new hobby. It feels like the most inexpensive way to get me out of the house sometimes, where I can feel productive while on a budget. I especially like finding things that are on sale, and it gives me a reason to peruse the aisles of far away (but uncharted) grocery stores. In a way, I think of each new sauce discovery as an investment. And it challenges me to create something with it later on. But as of late, pasta has been what I've been eating the most. The Eataly in Flatiron had a big promotion on pasta last month with some brands on sale for only $1, so I stocked up big time. I've gone through a good amount of my supply already, but I still have a shelf bursting with capellini, tortiglioni and chiocciole. 

Besides pasta, I've been cooking a lot of things that are easy to make. Things like roasted vegetables or other simple dishes are usually my go-to. And while it's been great eating like this so far, I woke up today with a real big craving for Korean food. And not anything that'd be served in a restaurant, but the simpler type I would've eaten on the fly at home when younger.

All I wanted was a big bowl of steaming rice to mix with a whole bunch of other Korean ingredients. I guess you can call it a version of bibimbap, but with whatever you want instead. There's nothing saying you need this or that. I was really in the mood for some fried eggs over easy mixed with gochujang, sesame oil, soy sauce, perilla, butter, and kimchi. 

I hadn't been grocery shopping for Korean stuff since I moved to my place in Harlem, and since I had the time to spare, I decided to go to the H Mart in Woodside today for a few basics. The prices would be cheaper there compared to the one on 32nd Street, and it's usually less busier. That location of H Mart is small but runs 24 hours. When I lived in Woodside, I loved dropping by on the way home from the subway to pick up beers and already-made food. It's interestingly also the first H Mart from 1982 that would eventually turn into the global grocery chain it is now.

All this trying to cook more at home had me thinking about the food from when I was a kid. It's like, where did that strong hankering for Korean food come from this morning? And why did it taste so amazing when I finally did eat it? And that's when I realized that my diet as an adult right now is the total opposite from when I was growing up. As a kid, my parents' home cooking of traditional Korean food ranged in all types of proteins and fresh vegetables. Practically everything was bought from the grocery store and cooked at home. But all of the non-Korean food we ate was usually processed. If we didn't buy it from Costco, it was most likely fast food we were eating. And if it wasn't from the drive-thru, we were most likely at a restaurant or ordering some takeout. I mean, sure, we cooked spaghetti at the house every now and then, but that doesn't count. The point is, because it's not as if my family were eating hamburgers and french fries over at someone's else place, the American food we ate in my childhood was never home cooked. And somehow, that script has totally flipped in my life today. I only usually eat Korean food in restaurants now, and find the majority of my home cooked meals to be conventional American dishes.

When I got back to Harlem with my bounty from H Mart earlier today, the first thing I did was wash the rice in the tin of my roommate's rice cooker. It had been so long since I washed rice with my hands like that, feeling the grains as they swam between my fingers. It all felt so cathartic and soothing in a way. After it was cooked and ready, I mixed it with my other ingredients before wolfing down the entire bowl of food. Everything tasted so satisfying with the kimchi and gochujang, and totally hit the spot. It's funny because the large bowl of rice mixed with stuff hit me in such a different way than a large bowl of pasta mixed with stuff ever would, and I had missed the feeling so much.

I arrived in Seoul four days ago, and everything has been going great so far. I've already been able to see some family and friends, in addition to eating some good food here and there as well. It feels nice to be back. There's this level of comfort from being here that sort of puts me at ease.

My flight landed at Incheon Airport in the middle of the night, so I had to take a taxi to get into town. My driver was pleasant and we ended up chatting throughout the entire trip. He eventually asked if I was married, and I had to think for a split second about how I wanted to answer the question. I decided it was best to not divulge too much information and get into it, so I responded with a simple no. Then he proceeded to ask why, saying men my age should be married. Next he asked if I like Korean women or American women. I told him it didn't matter and that I was open to anyone. That was followed up with other questions that were just a natural progression of our conversation. What kind of girls had I dated before? What kind of girl do my parents want me to marry? Etc.

Afterwards, I was telling one of my friends about my conversation with the driver and explained that I wasn't looking forward to having this same discussion with elders or strangers over-and-over about marriage during my two months here. Then she offered a solution in how I should respond. She suggested I just say that I was divorced, and she guaranteed the topic of conversation would end right there. I thought it was pretty smart and funny for her to say that. I mean, in general, it's not like I am looking to straight-up lie to people and tell them I'm straight, but it's a different culture here. And I'm not looking to get into anything with people, especially if their questions are just a mindless way to be social and make conversation.

My schedule here has been different everyday, and it will most likely stay that way until I leave. It's amazing how once you leave a routine that you were used to daily for years, it's like your brain already forgot about it all and has moved on. It makes me all the more grateful to have the opportunity to be here.

"But I was, honestly, stunned when you yelled at us from down the block, 'Go back to China!'

I hesitated for a second and then sprinted to confront you. That must have startled you. You pulled out your iPhone in front of the Equinox and threatened to call the cops. It was comical, in retrospect. You might have been charged instead, especially after I walked away and you screamed, 'Go back to your fucking country.'

'I was born in this country!' I yelled back.

It felt silly. But how else to prove I belonged?'"

From the October 9, 2016, New York Times story: An Open Letter to the Woman Who Told My Family to Go Back to China. By Michael Luo.

Of course this sort of shit happened here in New York. As diverse as this city this, these types of ignorant people definitely exist. And growing up here, I've had my fair share of these encounters.

This even just recently happened to my sister and brother-in-law, who live right across the George Washington Bridge in Bergen County, New Jersey. They have a neighbor who harasses people of color in their area. She often screams "Go back to your country!" not only to my brother-in-law, but to neighborhood children who are minorities as well. It's absolutely deplorable.

With different races, ethnicities, religions, and Americans gaining more legal and societal rights in our current times, there will inevitably be those racists who think their own happiness is being negatively affected by it. But another person's growth does not equate to something being stolen from you and your life. There's nothing American about blaming others for your unhappiness.

There's something about getting older, where it's so easy to forget who you were and how you felt at 18.

Everything that's happened since then has shaped and formed these conditions where the things experienced from that time in our lives seems long gone.

But then once again, either when surrounded by extended relatives you love or gabbing late night with a familiar voice from high school, it completely transports you back. And serves as a reminder to always remember where you came from and what will always stay true.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there.

I love my mom so much. Thank you 엄마, 사랑해!

When I was in elementary school, my parents moved my family up to Alaska for a brief stint. Even though I was born in Queens and most of my relatives live here in New York, my father's family has deep roots in America's 49th state. It was where they first immigrated to in the U.S. from Korea, and I still have relatives there to this day.

My family ended up in up Nome. It was 1995 and I was in the middle of sixth grade then, and I remember being thrilled about relocating to a place that was so isolated, the only way to get there was by plane. My parents, two older sisters, and myself started a new life as owners of the only Chinese restaurant in town named Twin Dragon. And not only was it the sole spot for any type of Asian food there, but we were also one of only three Asian families living in Nome at that time as well.

After we arrived, my parents completely redid the space, breathing new life and lightness into the restaurant. The dining room's interior was totally renovated by my mom after a trip to California to purchase new mirrors, wallpaper, decorations, and furniture. My dad worked on the exterior by repainting the outside of the restaurant red and adorning the windows with new decals. The most dramatic change of the restaurant's facade were large gold letters above the front door spelling out Twin Dragon, which my mom had brought back from her trip as well. We were overjoyed at the before and after transformation, and felt extreme pride in our small family business. The moment I knew that other townsfolk had also noticed was not long after while I was at school. That's when I overheard my science teacher, who I recall was named Mr. Brannen, talking to another teacher about how great the restaurant's new look was. Words couldn't express how happy I was for the rest that school day (more HERE).

Running the restaurant was tough though, and required long hours---but it was great because my family did it all together as a team. My mom and sisters would wait tables, and my dad would cook all the food and run things in the kitchen with a few employees. I myself was the designated dishwasher, busboy, and overall gofer. If my dad ran out of produce, I would hop on my bike and pedal for my life to Hanson's Trading Company for a store run. If the phone was ringing off the hook, I would take down orders and then go back to washing the pile of dishes that were always waiting for me. In due time, my parents and family settled into our new lives and business. Thanks to my dad's great cooking and my mom's sweet demeanor, we became friendly with regulars and even started delivering our food, which I don't think was at all common for Nome at that time. I remember my dad driving around with a foldout map, trying to make sense of all the streets and addresses of the town. With Nome having such a long history connected to the Alaska Gold Rush and also being the last stop of the Iditarod, our customers were always a mix of both locals and tourists.

As a young kid, it didn't take long for me to adapt to my new surroundings. Alaska's beauty first captivated me while living in Anchorage, because all of my family and relatives were really into the outdoors. We would go camping, fishing and skiing all the time, often for long periods with my dad's huge Chevy Suburban or my uncle's RV packed to the brim with gear and Korean food. But when I arrived at Nome, its own natural grandeur and charm enraptured me in a whole new way. With tundra all around and the Bering Sea in our backyard, or looking up to discover the Northern Lights on a winter night, I relished in Nome's magnificence. Biking around by myself past midnight with the most beautiful hues of sunlight lighting my way in the summertime, or hopping on the backseat of my friends' snowmobiles to get around in the extreme winters always had life feeling like an adventure. Our restaurant was located on the town's main thoroughfare named Front Street, which was parallel and right next to the Bering Sea. During downtimes at the restaurant, I loved crossing over Front Street to the seawall of rocks so I could just sit and stare at the water. This was also around the time Disney's Pocohontas came out, so my young imagination loved jumping from rock to rock or peering between them for dried starfish or beach glass.

Back then, the outside world literally seemed so far away. With no Internet, computer, or cellphones, nor even the ability to drive anywhere far, the only connection to the rest of civilization outside of Nome was through cable television and the postal service. All mail had to be picked up and sent to a P.O. Box at the post office on Front Street, which was a short walk away from the restaurant. Since I was always helping out my parents and working, I usually had spending money. I used most of it by purchasing money orders at the post office to buy clothes from the J.Crew catalog, or seahorses and other peculiar items from the advertisements in back of Boy's Life magazine. Religiously watching MTV and my subscriptions to Disney Adventures and Nickelodeon Magazine also helped me stay in tuned with pop culture as well.

My family eventually ended up leaving Nome after I finished the seventh grade and I was back in Flushing for the 8th grade. Thinking back on our time living there brings me a lot of happiness, but seems like another lifetime ago. I haven't been back in twenty years since I left, so a part of it almost feels like a dream that only lives in my memories. And that's how it remained, until I decided to Google "Nome, Alaska" today. 

To my absolute surprise, I not only found out that Twin Dragon is still there and serving food, but that the exterior of the restaurant is absolutely the same as we left it from two decades ago. The signage and window decals that my parents put up are still on the front of the building, while the large gold letters spelling out Twin Dragon and remnants of my dad's red coat of paint also continue to live on. When I stumbled onto a picture online dated from a few years ago showing this, I decided to call the restaurant today to verify that's how it all still looks. And I was told that it does.

Below is a picture of my dad standing in front of Twin Dragon on a snowy day in 1995. And the picture beneath that is the photo I found online, showing how the exterior currently still looks today.

Now, I hope to go visit Nome again sometime in the future. Hopefully, it won't take me another twenty years to do so.

(Photo Source: Nome Muckin' Around)

It's the ticking of the clock on the wall that makes the flashback complete when I close my eyes.

The familiar sound of the second hand moving takes me back to my old living room in Flushing. It was the heartbeat to my family's old house, always in the background on those late nights sneaking to the kitchen or countless hours in front of the tv. And now as I crash in the living room of my parents' place in New Jersey, the same wall clock hovers somewhere above my head. The comforting sound of life ticking forward comes with big aspirations once more. It's like I'm home in high school again, and everything about the future feels so promising.

It's been a night filled with moments that were years in the making. Being under the same roof with some family after what feels like a lifetime ago, it provides a feeling of being whole again.

It's days like today, when I can call my parents to hear their voices in good health along with their well wishes, that make me deeply grateful for all that I have in life.

엄마 아빠, 사랑해!

It’s when I’m sitting at a restaurant during the peak of dinner service when the nostalgia comes back in full force.

Table upon table is filled with happy revelers immersed in good food, booze and conversation. All of the wait staff is busy in their poetic dance of service that seems so perfectly in synch. Orders are taken. Food is delicately placed on tables. And dirty plates are expertly passed off like a baton with no glances and a flick of the wrist. The deafening noise level is a mixture of flatware in good use and jaws chewing with a balance of laughter and stories recounted. There’s music on in the background, but it’s impossible to tell what song or even genre is playing because it exists only as the counterpart of chirping crickets in nature.

It’s at these moments when I miss working in restaurants the most, where I used to be just one person in a chain of employees whose only objective is to make sure you have a kickass night out with some great food.  

I first started working full-time in restaurants after I was laid off from an epicurean magazine. This was at the height of the economic crisis years ago, and was my umpteenth job in an office since graduating from college. Getting laid off was one of the best gifts I could’ve ever been given because it forced me to make a much needed change in my life I was too scared to make on my own. Being in my mid-twenties, I felt burnt out. The minutiae of office life in a fluorescent-lighted world that seemed devoid of reality was also something I wanted a break from, so I excitedly jumped head first into starting work in a completely new environment.

I had worked odd restaurants jobs since I was a kid and felt confident walking in on the first day of my gig. But being a dishwasher when I was twelve years old at my parents’ old restaurant or waiting tables at a café during college could have in no way prepared me for what was to come.

The restaurant I started working at was a well-known spot in the East Village of Manhattan that was recognized for its award-winning food without the uptight service. I was first hired as a runner, which is the person who brings you your food from the kitchen and lets you know what dish it is while you and your friends unknowingly ignore them. Then I worked my way up to host, server, and bartender before eventually becoming a staff captain.

Climbing up the front-of-house (FOH) ladder was a lot of hard work, but something I really loved. Restaurant-goers might think that FOH employees just show up to our shift and only do the work you watch us do with your own eyes, but it takes so much more than that.

We learn in detail beforehand about every dish on the menu including its history, preparation, and cooking technique; which farm, ocean or source that each ingredient came from, along with how it was grown or raised. Then there’s everything to know about allergies to save you from having it be  your last meal ever. The same studying was also required for the drink menu along with every specialty cocktail and its ingredients, and every bottle of wine offered including its region and grape varietal. On top of all this, there are always the daily specials. Learning a restaurant’s menus can sometimes be no simple feat, with the number of ingredients and techniques on some easily running into the hundreds.

And it’s not just the food knowledge that needs to be studied. Because no two restaurants ever run the same way, there’s also the computer system, floor plan, company history and countless other details like the first step to follow in case a health inspector rolls through.

However, all of that is the easiest part of the job. Working in the FOH of a restaurant is pretty much all service work---and with that comes the customers.

For the most part, the majority of diners who eat out at restaurants are normal and treat the staff with respect like a fellow human being. But then there are those certain people who from the moment they interact with the host or sit down at their table, you know they’re going to require a lot more handholding. From snapping their fingers or manically waving their hand to get your attention, to initiating confrontation or openly patronizing you somehow in front of their tablemates, these guests get off on exhibiting any form of power. It’s one thing if these customers have been provoked with bad service or unprofessional behavior, but I am referring to those who do it regardless.

It took me a bit of time to learn how to handle customers like this, but when I did, the solution was so formulaic that it became second nature. It’s at that moment where I would tell myself that this is my job and livelihood, and I’ll be damned if this person thinks they’re getting away with this.

What I gleaned is that most of these customers just want to get a reaction from you before they want an actual solution. The most important thing is to always provide professional service no matter what, but without being overtly nice. Without fail, be firm with your answers and never show that they’re getting to you in any way because they usually respond to that. Accept the situation and play along in their warped game---it can even be a little fun sometimes.

Working in a restaurant is honest work, and that’s something else I’ve always appreciated. In an office, it can be easy to fey busyness while secretly reading blogs or online shopping on your computer. In a restaurant, you’re either working or you’re not---there’s no bullshitting around it and everyone around you knows it. Downtime in any well-managed restaurant doesn’t exist because the side work that needs to get done never ceases. Once during a slow lunch shift, a fellow server of mine and I caught up on each other’s lives as we wiped down all the walls of the restaurant because we wouldn’t be caught dead doing that casually with our arms crossed.

Whether it’s handling four plates and glassware at once, or lugging bottle upon bottle of booze to be restocked, restaurant work is extremely physical. You’re running around on your feet the entire time, and there are nights when the floor is so busy and you’re getting your ass handed to you that it’s impossible to even go take a piss until 5 hours into your shift. I didn’t mind workdays like those, because it would all go by so fast. At the end of it, my fellow colleagues and I would also feel this sense of pride of getting through it with relatively no major problems, knowing that if we could get through that, we could get through anything.

One of the best things about working in a restaurant is the camaraderie and teamwork it involves, because there’s no position in any restaurant that can be done alone. Everyone needs to rely on and work with someone else. Every position is required to bust their ass and give it their all, and if management has done a good job in assembling a likeminded team, then the outcome results in both the customers having an awesome experience and the staff having a great time providing that. And for those times you majorly fuck up, it’s just a known fact that you will get screamed at until you might want to cry, especially if it has something to do with the food. The chef and the kitchen will have no problem reaming you out until they can’t speak or throw shit around anymore, but in the end you’ll learn the valuable lesson to never fuck up in the same way again. In restaurants, that’s how lessons are taught.

It’s not always just all stress and bullshit though. Most customers are great, and they let you know that not everything has to be so serious all the time. There are also always going to be those particular nights where something special that requires celebration is happening, and shots of booze will be furtively had by employees during the shift. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it always adds an extra layer of fun.

With eating and drinking being such a primal thing, any work that’s related to it will bring out the entire range of emotions people are capable of experiencing. From absolute euphoria and praise, to a drunken rage that the customer will most likely not remember the next day, anyone who’s worked in restaurants has seen everything.

And at that moment where I’m sitting at a restaurant, enjoying my meal during the zenith of controlled chaos in a busy dinner service, it makes me miss it all.

The past few weeks or so.