Status: a little groggy. Breath that feels as if the trojan war happened in my mouth. Toenail polish, "At Least We Have Paris" is horribly chipped.  In need of a pedicure.

Listening to: A Band of Gypsies.  Jimi Hendrix seems like the perfect man to wake up to and start the day. 

Blog Post #: Numero dos.

My ankles are abnormally large this morning.  I think it was the roasted chicken with salsa roja and ratatouille we had at 1am.  Maybe the crostini and rogue au fin.  Hell, I don't know, but from the night we had at work last night, I think we deserved a little gluttonous behavior.

I live with my boyfriend, who is coincidentally my best friend.  I guess going into the relationship we had no idea that it would be as tumultuous and as emotionally riveting as we expected (dating on and off for more than three years takes a toll).  We think it's because we're dating each other's best friend. And we decided to live together. Trying it out.  It's cool, I dig it. 

Danny and I had been talking about doing a late night after work.  As a sous chef at one of the three newest Nantucket restaurants, Danny doesn't really get time to think, let alone stay up really late.  But yesterday he sent me on a mission for a good bottle of red wine (Carmenere from Chile) because he didn't care what time we were getting out of work...he was doing late night whether we were up to it or not.

I got off my shift at Corazón del Mar, (after I got sat at, oh, let me say, 10 fucking 30 pm) changed, and craved a shift drink at the bar--usually it has been a glass of chilled, effervescent, crisp Portuguese Vinho Verde from Aveleda Fonte.  Danny was sitting there, looking drained, exhausted, defeated, and drinking a Negra Modelo.  He had a huge brown paper bag as company.  I knew it was on.

I downed the Vinho, bid my farewells, and hastily walked to the municipal parking lot.  As is routine, we share shift stories on the way back to Tom Nevers, either laughing it off, or consoling one another in efforts to raise our spirits a little.  We also blast Lady GaGa's "Just Dance."  We are in the industry and it sucks most of the time.  In the middle of sharing our shift stories, we called up some of our island chums.

"Yo pimp, how's about a late night at our house for some snacks?" says Danny, hopeful.
"What? At 12:30 at night? For real, dude?" was the general response.

But we did get takers.  Our friend and Danny's right hand fish station guy, WillTheThrill took us up on the offer.  He brought his girl Emily, some white and red sangria, and the first season of The Office. They had a bad night, too.

The four of us decided that a good late night is the perfect night cap to a terrible day in the service industry.  Danny and WillTheThrill have been swallowing shitty management for quite some time now, and Emily preps at one of Nantucket's high-volume kitchens.  Danny was forced to clean maggot-infested trash barrels during service, and WillTheThrill's hours had been stingily slashed in order to avoid paying him the overtime hours that he actually worked.   Shady business.  But what's fascinating to me is that these guys put their heart and soul into cooking.  And they continue to do it despite the shadiness.

So, what do these boys do when they've had enough? They get even!  Where do you think the decadently aged cheese came from?  And the chicken?  And the ratatouille?  And the fruit?  And the sangria?  (Wink.)

The justification of some late-night gorging for me comes with the package of being a server.  You get ignored, treated as if inferior, you take blows from the kitchen and your guests, and you get blamed for everything that goes wrong.  But don't pity me.  I certainly don't.  I just do it because I love food and wine.  It's a love-hate relationship.

Last night was perfect.  Awesome friends, great booze, Steve Carrell, and free food made the shitty shifts melt away with each sip of Carmenere sangria.

"Samira," Danny said in conclusion, "promise me that this summer we won't regret treating ourselves from time to time..."

"Ok," I said back, smiling.

"Because, we definitely deserve it."