The Interns seem to think I have some odd disease or eating disorder which requires people to drop food off to me at all hours of the day or night, no matter where I am. Scurvy maybe. Or rickets (there's a whole story about why the BFF stocked the top shelf of my new fridge with limes, but they don't know that story yet.)
leftover spatchcocked surf 'n turf from his GreekFest the night before. This photo is obviously stolen from his blog.
The crew is new, so they didn't realize (at first) that I'm in the middle of a two-month move, with two kitchens in varying states of chaos. (Need a spoon? They're in the other kitchen.) And that my friends have taken over my care and feeding. This week's fridge is stuffed with gruyere cheesecake, asian slaw, quiches, spatchcocked chicken, greek salad, magic stoner bars, and (no kidding) stuffed squid. (What did you think they were going to bring over? A bucket of KFC? What are they? Animals?)
When we finished a long, hard week, the crew and I went out for celebratory O'Rounds. While we were there, a friend of mine pulled up to the door and ran in a batch of cupcakes. The kids looked up, a little surprised. "Do your friends always bring you food?" I was explaining about the Move, and the dysfunctional kitchens, and the incredibly generous "takes a Village" spirit of my friends, when they interrupted, "yeah, yeah. We know all that. But now they're bringing you food, in a pub." Well. Yeah. I acknowledged, not quite getting their point. "...Where they already serve food," they clarified. A fair point, I conceded. But they certainly do not serve coconut cream cupcakes.
I do try to share the love though. Like today, I bought the crew a case of Ale 8s in the glass bottles they love. Between the caffeine, and the black plastic I put over the windows so I could turn the lights off and on to mimic sunrise/sunset the way they do in the poultry houses, I think this week might be even more productive.