BEHIND THE GREEN DOOR

I had no idea what I was getting into. What had started as a forced summer job turned a battle of wills to a career pimping flavor and textural experiences for the orgasmic pleasure of others. Cool was never an attribute I possessed as a kid. Oh no buddy not here. Karen, my oldest sister, bestowed upon me a love for Gaelic music and dance, dressing like a total preppy my moms. Hey I really thought I'm cool, whats wrong with you, who cares about your stupid Zepplin T- shirt. We're going to the Barber of Seville at U-Mass, Mozart rocks. Fitting in was problematic. Other kids always seemed different no matter what side of the fence they hailed. Yearning for that spiritual home, a quest was born. For only when my minds eyes were ripped open did I realize the two pillars of civilized society, SEX and FOOD.

Jean Jacques, Hassan, Timmy, Paul, Mark,and the rest at Picots Place,thanks for the indoctrination. We had it covered, a Frenchmen or two, a few Iranians[ this is when we liked Iran], the son of a state police captain, and a bunch of local kids who learned the difference between food and cuisine. Who would serve us a pitcher with our pie, where to go smoke and our favorite --- the quickest way over the boarder to Connecticut. Alcohol, food, women, the tastes, smells,textures, and the hair splitting sharpness of knives,and skin bubbling heat sounded like fun to me. My other friends had fake ID's, we had a bar. They had strict parents, Ha, we had Chef Jean Jacques, and he was French! Into this mix of social misfits I walk. Fearlessly believing my parents friendship with the owner would protect me from these cigarette smoking,pot smoking, alcohol before noon, sociopaths. WRONG. I became an undercover corrupted individual. I liked the parties, I liked the inebriated women, I liked the hush of respect that befalls the barroom when our crew entered, no matter how we smelled.Only when in the midst of the kitchen did I feel safe. No need to remember what concerto this is, taste this its fucking awesome. While for some the catalyst may have been some blotter, Dylan or Thompson it was nothing that mundane for moi.

Food is a turn on. Always has been. From the first Neanderthal bringing an antelope to the communal fire, soon to realize this gets him hairy, semi hippie women or maybe their French. Not at first by any means, but slowly as my skills evolved it dawned on me like the sun over marblehead. I just didn't see how med or law could be this much fun and still get paid. It was, or so I thought, shameless gluttony, both physically and spiritually. I mean come on now guys, most of you have no idea what goes on in restaurants. Never mind Gordon and his horror shows, reality is so much better. A hungry waitress almost always has something to offer in exchange. Inept cooks after exhaustive ball busting, were offered jobs at my friends restaurant as their standards are in line with yours, as Jean Jacques would say. How nice. The moans,slurps,sloshing reverberating from the dining room could easily be mistaken for that of the local XXX theatre. Reward enough for chefs knowing that satisfaction may be had in ways not involving genitalia.Lets get real, how often when that dish comes, do you say to yourself "oh man, I'm gonna enjoy this"or " Oh baby come to papa" as you slip the first bite between your moistened lips. The taste only eclipsed by the wiping of those drops of juice dribbling from the corner of your mouth. Are you ok? the voice of concern as you notice her eyes rolling back as she utters a guttural OHHHH! God I've never heard that sound, gee that was fun can I make her do it again? Eating is primal, where else can you elicit reactions such as that? That's right Sex, only eating when done right is probably not as messy. Then again leaving the table mouth aglow, lips slippery and sticky you know it was done right.