An End To My Cooking Career

I have decided today to cease my 20 plus year cookery career. It is a thankless job, filled with low pay, long hours, idiot bosses, even stupider customers never happy with what they receive. It is a world of fools who think that food is a medicine – an anodyne for all their  ills. The Glutards. The Kale fanatics. The people who think “organic” = good for you, even if it is over processed crap. The Yancey’s Fancy fans who think that’s what “cheese” is. The MSG haters. Those who think a Fish Fry is a proper way to enjoy a fish.  The vitamin supplement freaks. The people who think “may” fix something means “will”. The people who think macaroni salad is gourmet – and easily replaced by a prepared product.

The people who put Ketchup on a hot dog.

And so, I am giving it up to my first true love: Country Music. Appropriate when a Hank Williams biopic appears.

I love the twang. I love the whine. I want my dog run over by a car, my wife to leave me, the transmission to drop out of my pickup. I want to wear a big hat, as if I’d ever been closer to a real ranch than T-Meadow farms.

I want to bitch about everything.

So, look for my first single release: You Can Pry My Foie Gras Out Of My Cold Dead Hands, You Petaphile. The B-Side is: Bone Broth Cured My Herpes.

"I was born a duck minders daughter . . . "