Kissing Michael

The new chef at the bistro is the golden boy. Like his biblical namesake, this angle walks around illuminated by his halo. He has perfected his cooking skills in the likes of France, Italy, and Monaco. He is all that with a side of saffron infused truffles on the side. Michael can do no wrong.

He has managed to organize our chaotic mess of a kitchen in a very short time. But now no one can find anything in his new self serving work area. Our potions served are smaller, more exoticaly beautiful for double the price. We are proud to have both candles and flowers on our linen covered tables. We are no longer a bistro but a fine dining establishment.

Not only is Michael a great food artist, he is a dish in himself. The woman who work there, from the retires, to the adolescence, all flock into the kitchen for a chance to flirt with this man. It is an embarrassment to watch. "Michael, just so you are aware", the thirty something female owner, standing closer to him than the skin on a peach, "that a table just got up and walked out after being seated. It could be the service, (they were the only table in there at the dinner rush hour- had their own private server, and a couple to spare) could be they were looking for some other type of food, or could be the prices", she gushed. I did not tell her that they left to join the small town populated by the other people who walked out due to the prices.

I have the opportunity, I think to learn a lot from this man. I have taught him a ghetto thing or two myself. But it was with disgust he taught me to make Tallegette Taliphuno. As I watched him tossing the cheese into the pusco sauce to achieve the "telephone lines" effect, I was flabbergaste-nomicly repulsed see him taste it straight from the serving spoon, repeatedly, after dropping the same spoon on the floor. He mistook my gaping mouth from his action as a hint that I also wanted to taste his food. "Taste?" he asked offering me the dirty spoon. "No!", I answered taking a step back. "If I want your spit I will just kiss you." As appealing as both he and his food is, I will be doing neither, sampling any crunchy unknowns or swapping spit with Michael. Fine dining my harry monkay ass.