I have a personal chef. He likes to call himself my “boyfriend” but I prefer “low wage worker.” And by low wage, I mean, zero dollars. This personal chef is also my French tutor, which I have mentioned before and you are probably like, “Okay we get it. You aren’t single.” And then, I’m like, “Seriously check it out because I’m always single but I found someone who actually doesn’t think I’m from Planet Zolars!” Well, he does kind of think I’m from outer space, but I think he thinks it makes me “fascinating.”
So, my personal chef made crepes the other night and oh garcon! were they good. When I say “crepes” you say “delicious!”
Now that we’ve fulfilled our hip hop beat boxing stage fantasy, we can continue this conversation. It should also be noted that I thought that term was “beep boxing” and had to google it. It should also be noted that anyone who is interested in doing some freestyle beep boxing with me should let me know. I think that’s a solid career plan. Beep. Beep.
Ah! I’m getting off track. This is the point: if you want to eat a delicious crepe, ask Vincent to make you one. Or possibly go to this place called “Breaking Eggs” in Amherst, NY. Both are French options–one France-French and one French-Canadian. Both are delicious.
The night ended like this: me thinking, “Is it unhealthy to have eaten six crepes full of cheese and nutella (separately)? No, that’s probably totally healthy. Doctors probably recommend that to heart patients. I’ll eat like two or three more.”
Sometimes I find it kind of annoying when people equate eating a lot of food with being “bad” or doing something “wrong” and I am like kind of pushing the limit with myself right now on whether I think I am being annoying, but I’m going to leave that in there because I want to express that I do eat a lot of food but I also try to bike a ton and I eat a lot of yogurt for lunch. As I little kid, I frequented the phrase “My food! My food!” in restaurants. My parents thought I was charming. And they still do!
The next night, I texted old Vincentenille and was like “Dinner?” And he’s like, “Something in the fridge?” and then I was like, “CREPES!” with like twelve exclamation points at the end for added emphasis (eleven would only convey moderate desire).
So, the next night we had crepes too and they were so good. I don’t eat a lot of meat (maybe once every four weeks) but the French chef made bacon and put it in the crepes and it was really good (insert non-interesting food thoughts on meat here where I try to make you believe what I believe but then realize you are a vegan and actually being way better for the planet than me, so than I just say “Man, this snow!” and then we talk about Buffalo weather for a really long time instead).
You will notice that I’ve been putting up a lot of really “flattering” selfies up on this site. I hope you will especially enjoy this one where I kind of look like a puckered school teacher with this huge glass of wine in her hand. Hope you’re enjoying that one. I like to use that photo on my resume so that companies will know I am “reliable” and “definitely not going to steal all the nice flowing ink pens from the supply room.” It works every time. I have like a million job offers.
Anyway, the exchange is that Vincent cooks and I do the dishes . . .within the next three to four days. So far it’s working out great! Definitely no structural problem with this arrangement and definitely no reason for me to be a little more focused about doing the dishes in a timely manner.
Okay. That’s enough for today. Go try making a crepe tonight for the person who floats your boat. They’ll probably really appreciate it. Au revoir, mon cherie.