Monday, July 30, 2007

all the little things

Making ice cream for one of my coworkers, because her birthday was today. "Something caramelly and nutty," she requested. She liked ice creams with THINGS in it, too, like Cold Stone. So I'm thinking a vanilla base, with chocolate chunks, soft caramel folds and walnuts. Or pecans. Though I'm sort of tempted to have a coconut base with caramel and nuts. Hmmm.

Today was a nice day at work. A fair amount of production, some cupcake decorating, and some quiet. We actually finished early and sort of lolled around cleaning and answering the phone. I wish all the days could be like that. Of course there's still an undercurrent of secrets, a currency of information, a white noise from one job to another job to out across the hills.

Going out tonight, I think. Helping a friend chase some women and other spectator sports. Mulling over my letter from Bloom. Keeping bigger secrets than usual, because I realized last week what I really want to do with my professional life, and I feel amazing about it.

Back to work on my review of The Hours, and other Fringe submissions for the reading period.


Elsbeth said...

I stumbled on your blog because I am a pastry baker, but I stayed because I am a Vassar grad and aspiring writer (although poetry, not fiction, is my game.) It was like an out of body experience to read about your struggles to balance, feeling like you're not accomplishing enough while you slug around a kitchen all day. I'd love to read some of your fiction sometime. Also, I cannot stop missing Saigon Cafe, where the owner was an old man in shorts who always served us and told us how many pieces of springrolls were for each of us, and how many shrimp were in the dish for each of us, and that his wife had added an extra shrimp so it would come out even.

Busy all the time. said...

Hi Elsbeth-

I'm so glad you enjoyed this place. We should talk Vassar and writing and food stuff some more, definitely. Feel free to shoot me an email at

As for the Saigon Cafe, I fell into the Miss Saigon camp, where the owner's high school aged son always served meals. And I'd see the woman shopping at Adams or the farm market. God, I miss Adams. You cook professionally?