This is my wisdom tooth. I am now 25% less wise. Those are percentage points I can scarcely afford to lose, having come so close to discovering the meaning of life, or at least how to bake a decent loaf of artisinal bread.
Today has been FULL of gems. One of those real winners where basically mother nature takes her big, vegetable-clenching fist and punches you right in the nards, even if you don’t technically have nards because you’re a woman. I guess you it’d be more accurate to say I got punched in the baby-maker, but whatever.
Today was our last day with chef, heralding the end of a reign of terror that ended in me getting a pretty fierce case of Stockholm syndrome. I’m going to miss the guy, I won’t lie. All the yelling and degrading and fear got kind of washed out by the fact that he let me use the Gelato 3000 today, which I then promptly broke (but only after making some delicious grapefruit-mint sorbet in it). Now we get other chef, who is, as always, a delightfully German goofball. I’m pretty excited. And we get to start garde manger, which is going to be awesome because it’s all cheesemaking and sausagery and delectable canapes. Oh, and some other wack shit, like fois gras and pate and terrines and gelatins filled with things that are NOT pineapple or marachino cherries. But those I can avoid.
I hate dentists. Like, HATE them. I cry as soon as I walk into their offices, and I can’t go near the chair without COPIOUS amounts of valium. Not so bad as airplanes, which I hate the most, but pretty bad. So as a result, my wisdom teeth are still in my mouth. I get my teeth cleaned, but avoid any surgeries that I possibly can. I woke up today in the worst oral pain ever. The tooth that’s been teething was causing some kind of desperate ruckus in my mouth, and it hurt like fire. So after school, I went to the dentist to get it looked at. And he said it was bad, and then he SURPRISED me by taking out my wisdom tooth, with NO DAYS TO PREPARE FOR THIS. So my mouth is full of blood and gauze and I can’t speak or eat. And when the novacaine wears off, I’m going to be a saaaaad puppy. Because my mouth looks like a crime scene. Dexter, famed and adorable serial killer, would be afraid of my mouth. It’s going to suck. I’m going to be taking pictures of only narcotics for the whole weekend, since that’s mostly what I’ll be eating.
It’s been 30 minutes, and I’m supposed to take the gauze out now, but I’m afraid I will a) get a dry socket, whatever that is and/or b)drown in my own blood. Yes, 30 minutes since the surgery ended. No exaggeration. I live extremely close to the dentist and I type fast.
I love hot dogs, provided they’re snob hot dogs. Or ballpark hot dogs, which I also love, despite the fact that they’re made mostly of bunghole and snout, sit in a pool of fetid water for hours and hours, and come on a bun made from sugar and paper. But this was a snob hot dog, so it was fantastic: Applewood Farms organic, vegetarian fed, humanely-raised hot dog on fresh pan au lait bun, topped with homemade pickled cucumbers and onions (pickled in a brine of coriander, mustard seed, turmeric, sugar, cayenne and vinegar), and ketchup/smokey onion mustard.
The truffle fries were just deep fried potato wafers tossed with parmaggiano, parsley, and white truffle oil.
Blackberry pavlova=tasty and healthy (ish). Super.