When the Chef Gets Sick

I am not a sickly type.  I am a robust, midwestern woman.  That stems from being tall.  Back in the days when I was a teenager, I was considered very tall.  Of course you know, you cute smarty pants, that people get taller every generation, particularly in the US, where the lifestyle is good.  (Sadly, we are all getting fatter, but that is a topic for another day...And I think this will turn around)  

 As I was saying, I was very tall for my class, so I always had to stand in the back for pictures, be in the back of the lines, nothing fit, you know how it is.  Most of my friends were tiny little petite things, so people would put them in front, carry things for them, tsk tsk over them, and their boyfriends would always pick them up and they would laughingly protest.  They would say, "I'm a size 2 petite."  I would say, "I have to shop in the grown up section at age 10!"  I never had things carried for me, I was asked to lift and carry!  I was tall so by gosh, I could do it all!  What this all boils down to is that I can take care of myself pretty well.  I mowed my mom's grass, washed her windows, did lots of "boy" chores because my siblings were quite a bit older than I and out of the house by the time I hit high school.  So I consider myself pretty tough.  I now live in a house of men, (when they are all home that is), and have to put up with all the boys jokes, dirt and grossness that follows!

Last week, I had a very very big catering job preceded by a graduation dinner.  We were pumped up!  I was anticipating them and had been corresponding with the moms for months.  The days were drawing near and I grocery shopped, ordered the food from my guy and we began to prep.  We held a fun, festive sit down dinner for 26 at the shop, which went better than great.  I had commented that I felt a little dizzy, but soon it all went away as the excitement of the evening came on.  I love my job and am so happy when I do it.  The next day, I got up early, felt tired, but met my staff at the shop to load the car for le grand fete.  Driving there, my neck began to really ache and so did my head.  When we got there, the room felt so hot, although the windows were all open.  Within 15 minutes, I was so sick I could not believe it.  I knew I was in deep trouble.  Both of the people working with me, Chris and Carlton, were supposed to leave.  Chris had grad parties to go to and sadly, Carlton's father in law was dying in a hospital in La Grange and he needed to get there.  But I could not stay if I were vomiting!  I could NOT believe it!  How could this happen on this day?  I was getting so upset which made me feel worse.  Finally I turn to them and said, " I will give you more $$$ if you stay.  I have to leave."  I was sick all the way home and my husband had to help me out of the car! I could only make it to the couch before I collapsed.  I told him to take me to the E.R (he did not) that I was sure I had a huge, horrible brain thing going on.

Luckily, it was only the flu, as he got sick the next day.  Poor thing.  The point of this story is that when the person responsible for the party can't do it, it is not only worrisome for the host but awful for the chef.  I was texting everyone I knew (couldn't talk) to come and help the guys out!  I texted everyone, probably even you, my dear friend!  But no one could come, so my husband went to help out. I was in a state of professional hysteria!  But he went and did his best, although he swears he will never do it again, after discovering how long clean up really takes, even if I croak off.  He got out of his comfort zone and really tried. And that is why I love him.  Happy Father's Day, Billy.