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Lunar Luvnotes Apr 2016
To any hulk of an exec chef,  or any sous with little **** syndrome, if you think for a minute you're keeping your fingers after waving them in my face, your mistaken. Go ***** to someone else you say, point taken. I will dessimate you when you forsake me, just as my father did and many boyfriends. I pity your unborn baby, who will inherit your anger and yell like you, and if she's a girl, she will learn to put up with rage like yours. Your very pregnant wife has to shuck oysters just to keep her level eye on you. How smart. You flirt with everything. But even she can't save you from yourself, when you're hopped up on only God knows. Disrespecting the women from your wife's country, your child's lineage. I don't care how many drops run in your own blood, thats not a charge card to say racist **** on top of being an *******. I will always pray that you find your way, make your wife feel safe, para siempre, instead of coming onto women everytime she's not watching. Get right with God, walk straight. I cannot work in a hostile kitchen, I don't do this **** for these tips. When I don't even break a hundred a night, I'm calling it quits, and even when I did, I do not need to be extending my anxiety into a physical reality of shaking hands or jumbled words caught up in my throat. You see, when you raise your voice to me, my brain doesn't think, this man is my boss who can't hit me, my body is too busy bracing, for what muscle memory recalls, following similar stimulis before. If you talk to me like I am an idiot like my father did, if you raise your voice to me like he and all following abusers did, I just might cut you slow with my words, for I am indelibly OVER. THIS. ****. I quit Umberto after three years for his, so now I have a low tolerance. Insisting I can't do MY job, when it's not MY bad, if you're gonna take away my ability to defend myself, in a place I came to empower me, you better hope I feel merciful when you tell me to ***** to someone else when I say I don't appreciate the way you are speaking to us. I don't feel merciful, cuz I can't do this **** anymore. Getting in my face, saying I need to do my ******* job right if I want to take issue, cussing out a woman when I have done or said nothing wrong. I have always owned mistakes, if I said I did perfect this shift, you better back up off of it and stop talking to me like I'm some lying ******* idiot. Consider this my notice.
"Runner!" A tribute to food runners, cuz thats how chefs call us like dogs. The trick is finding where the best tips is, so that if they call you with a bell instead you have a pavlov situation but instead of pooling drool we're stacking bread.. at my second job I'm an expo so I get to do the yelling telling the kitchen what's happening, so if I don't yell loud enough I get yelled at. That's actually a good outlet for me I'm not gonna lie. If I was coked out I might also be too zealous.  Not really. My other job I'd never quit has nice chefs and I eat  and take home organic Italian for free. God is so good to me.

I'm not really turning this in or showing it to the sous it just felt good to write. The sous that inspired my luvnote to all coked out sous worked for  Umberto too, who is not to be put in a similar category cuz at least he's sober during the day and exercises his conscience most time after explosion of cursing in Italian. I don't do fine dining pressure for **** tips. I don't do sports bar classless for pooled house rations. And high pressure contention should never even ******* be mentioned in a ******* pan Asian sports bar. Period.

Yes I do realize PTSD doesn't mix well with kitchens and it'd appear I'm in the wrong industry, but there's money here, and hospitality comes naturally, yelling men only became challenging after my ex attached that to things so much worse than my dad. And id already known what it is to have that kind of money. I wasn't gonna give up on myself just cuz getting through a shift got harder. I just have to quit jobs everytime someone berates me, i can't take this anymore. Looking forward to doing hair mostly for my money instead tho.
Àŧùl Jan 2016
She needs no comparison,
My mom is simply the best!

Her food preparations,
Ah! The best chef ever.

My satisfied smiling face,
Is her biggest prize, she says.
My HP Poem #959
©Atul Kaushal
Adellebee Aug 2014
This world I see before me
Full of flowers and blossom trees
Sometimes these nights get so dry
Watching the stars go by

Twisted bones and a twist of luck
Never wanted this all that much
Reach for the stars and youll land on the moon
Its time for my dreams to start coming true  

Another day spent getting up before dawn
Attempting to be perfect, two hours later its wrong
Breaking bones burning skin
And one year later, I am still not fitting in

I want to work for my silver lining
So tired of cooking, all it was, was timing
Step outside the comfort zone,
I wont take the easy road

Pick up the pen, put down the spoon
Writing before dawn, still going around noon
This is what I want to do,
Its time for my dreams to start coming true
kjforce Apr 2015
-----------------------------------------------------------------­---------------

  This is the story of two lonely souls....
Who found each other, without cajoles...
Neither had ever had a mate....
Yet Jack and Gill decided to date.....
They felt an instant connection....
As both were Chefs and had a fixation....
One for Chicken the other for Bacon....
And so decided to take their direction....
From what they had learned in life....
Party animals that they were....
And perhaps now you can concure.....
Their feelings for each other....
Was so far from any another....
People just didn’t understand....
Why when they walked, it was always hand in hand....
They never strayed and held tight to their ways....
Believing their world was just another phase....
But eventually the world would accept you see....
That what they had was called * “ smaltzy “....
*Yiddish word for rendered chicken / animal fat or a garish over the top fancy party...
Who are we to judge others ? We should treat all like Sisters and Brothers...
era Feb 2015
I am dreaming of becoming the person I want to be...

I want to become a photographer.
The one that could capture every moment,
so that later will be remembered.

I want to become a painter.
The one that can make an art through hues,
that can make people's life more colourful.

I want to become a chef.
The one that can cook all kinds of dishes,
that can make our lives more flavourful.

I want to become a scientist.
The one that can invent new things,
so that people will recognize me.

I want to become a politician.
The one that could serve the public,
to stop the poverty.

But I can't become all of these..
No matter how high I would dream..
The real me will have to be just *me
(02-25-15)
svdgrl Jan 2015
Chop. Chop. Chop.
The colors of the pepper
scatter on woodgrain.
They sit next to the diced onion
that I cut blind-
Chop
with my face turned to the door.
Those are next to the once big trees of broccoli-
Chop
now small flowers,
and there's a potent pile of garlic-
Chop
ready to be thrown into a shallow pit of heat-
the olive oil is sizzling.
Stop.
Listen to sound of produce.
Go!
Don't let the smoke rise too far-
the noses will come visit
and take your dinner away.
That's okay...
**I wasn't hungry anyway.
Snip
Cut
Bang
Simmer

I want a transit,  a travel against my skin, that keeps going until I command it to stop.
My mouth begged for light, to feel warmth on my face

Heat oven to 450

You laughed and tossed me,  a rag,  away from the mahogany scent of your chest to the cold,  hard floor that I am stuck to.
I miss you
I try to imagine you so that I can delude myself into continuing, but my mind strangely has already forgotten you.
I cannot remember your eyes,  or even your favorite color anymore.
Some wish for that type of amnesia, but I am solemn.
I wanted a piece of you to carry with me always.

Cook for fifteen minutes or until dark

I hear my other side in my head; She is the evil within me.
I am brunbrunette, she is red.
I wear flats--her long legs are attracted to heels.
She smiles and with a curvy, smooth voice,  much like a fiery dame from 1920:
"He has a piece of you though; you gave him your whole heart, and he only took a bite! That's alright, you don't need him or anything like him! You are a woman.... "
I drown her out with recipes,
4 cups of music and 1 cup chardonnay
(okay maybe MORE than one)--
therapy that I have made many appointments for.
Adding bits and pieces of me that I share,  and some I don't
One thing I know,  if a new one comes along,  he is going to have to be patient,
I learned my lesson from burning out on the first batch

Take out--let cool
Don't eat all at once--savor.
Enjoy a slice at a time.
This is a 'moving on' piece that I put a twist on. I imagine that different people of various professions have their own grieving process,  and that's when my mind thought about chefs.  Just experimenting. The title is German, i.e, Chef Slice. Hope you like it!! Thank you all for reading and following!!!
You had me hooked,
When you asked to cook for me.
But you seasoned my food  with poison ivy.

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
The Things I Wish I Could Be

I wish I could be
one of all instruments;

the singer whose voice
transforms his audience into a choir;

the writer who drops his reader's guard
making a beautiful decimation of every self-made fantasy;

the actor ripe with nominations
whose prestigious Oscar breaks him open before the world;

the photographer who captures moments worth infinite words
while instilling that perfect piercing silence;

the painter of elegant simplicity
or ponderous complexity in every brush and stroke;

the icon strangers seek for reason
looking upon for inspiration;

the husband who gives and comforts
appreciating the angel he's been bestowed;

the father wise and guiding
with enough laughs and smiles to last their whole lives;

the chef and the baker serving only the best
scrumptious entrees and desserts;

the encyclopedia of experience
answering questions obscured from the web;

yet beyond all things
I wish to greet death with a smile
knowing my life, however lived
was worth those years.
There are so many things to dream of being...

— The End —