Chef No More

Our's was a long, brilliant, emotional, difficult, rewarding relationship, but we had both moved on. It was time to end it.

Last night was our breakup dinner, so to speak. I cooked it, and then I hung all of my chef coats up in a neat little line-checkered pants beneath them, and walked out the door. There were no tears for either of us. We were just mutually releieved.

Natasha from the Lounge has had a special fondness for me for some time now, and she new how tired I was of the work I was doing. She got me a job with the company that began her long career in wine. She went out on a limb to reccomend me for a career I frankly have no idea how to execute. She hugged me and told me I'd be a brilliant success and sent me on my way.

I'll be a wine rep next week. You know I'll let you know how it goes. I thought I'd be really afraid to make this giant change, but I'm not. I'm so at peace. I'm so ready. It's been a wild ten years in the kitchens of the world, holding down ranges and the deranged all up and down the East coast. It's been a wild, romantic, devastating ride. And now I'm stepping off of that particular roller coaster.

I'm actually excited that I'll be on something more akin to a normal schedule. Gone are the long, hot shifts. Gone are the constant days of declining every invitation to garden parties and birthday parties and social events-because I've been working against the world's clock for all of those years.

As I kiss that old lover goodbye, I welcome the new: Quiet evenings at home with my guy, making dinner together. Canning, making pickles. I welcome the morning for the first time in my life: we will get up together at eight AM, kiss across the sink after we've brushed our teeth, and come home together around five. I look forward to going out to dinner on a weekend night; I look forward to Sundays off.

For a while at least, or maybe forever-I've cooked the last professional meal. I've gotten my last ring of burns and bruises, and my ego has taken its last hit.

Although I've just returned from a fabulous week long vacation on Pawley's Island-which I will tell you about soon, I'm taking another week off to "just do me." I'm content with the mountain of pillows on my down covered bed, with the light shimmering like water on the ceiling, with the shine on my hard wood floors. I'll god own and see Mama soon, back in the Lowcountry. I'm just taking a breather.

Bonjour, bon chance.