Job Satisfaction v. Customer Satisfaction
There’s something I always liked about cooking. Dunno what it is, exactly, just that cooking’s always had a je ne sais quoi to it that I’ve dug.
That said, I don’t really cook; you couldn’t call it proper cooking. I just throw meat and seasoning and whatever in a pan and swish it around until it’s cooked through.
But then I slop it on a plate and generally enjoy the hell out of it. So whatever you call it, I suppose it works. I’ve had good second opinions on it, too…granted, it’s entirely possible they were just humoring me and throwing it off the while I slaved over a hot stove to make seconds.
We did seem to have an awful lot of gulls suddenly appear, when we were parked at the port. Got positively Hitchcockian for a day or so.
(Hitchockian? Hitchcock-esque? Like unto a thing of Hitchcock.)
I can’t say I blame them. My menu’s pretty limited, after all. Anything I cook has to involve meat, or eggs, or both; something with protein in it, because I still cook and eat like I’m a fighter.
And, of course, anything I cook has to be on a stovetop, because I hold no truck with any oven bigger than a toaster. Too many post-loss long nights of trying to pull my trainer’s head out of the oven.
Silly bastard never learned to stop betting on my fights.
Well whatever. I’ve learned to take job satisfaction over customer satisfaction. And cooking lousily has something to it that fighting well never did.