So I have this job.

But I'm not so much digging that term because job, to me, implies a series of tasks or actions that are not necessarily what one actually takes pleasure in. A "job" equals obligation, and bouts of crankiness, and agitation possibly smattered with random incidents of flying objects and number pushing.

But none of this describes what I do.

Because I love what I do. and I'm good at it.

You're probably expecting some glamorous, eccentric occupational description bit what I am, in simplest terms is a hostess.

And no not the cupcake.

I'm not just a diner. True I love restaurants, menus, wine lists, little amuse bouche treasures etc. but it hasn't stopped there. I don't just want to be entertained and awed by food by being a spectator in an audience of sorts. I want to be right in there, getting my hands dirty, greasy, sticky, damp what have you.

I'm turned on and tantalized by the temperature difference my skin feels when I pass through the front of the house into the jungle like atmosphere of the kitchen. The smell of spices and sauces infused into my hair and pores like some exotic perfume. I love the way my pulse quickens just enough that a slight dampness forms on my brow, the feel of the muscles in my calves constricting from pacing back and forth through the restaurant, the feel of smooth leather bound wine lists tucked under my arm. The way I have to find an excuse to go into the kitchen so I can catch a glimpse of our chefs at work. They hypnotize me, pivoting between counter tops stopping to taste bubbling liquids, adjusting the burner take a pinch of something from a container above the stove and flick whatever spice chosen into the mixture only to turn to the opposite counter to tend to a crowded cutting board.

Its a drug: the smoke and steam from the burners and ovens leave the ends of my hair slightly warm to the touch and I'm addicted to the feel of the heat coming in slight wafts, grazing the apples of my cheeks: the scent of roasted butternut squash and soft shell crabs simmering in the pan

For me, as a writer and avid connseuier of pleasure, sensuality and all things culinary, there is nothing like observing the curve of a spoon or the pronged tips of a fork being lifted to parted lips, nothing like the slight pause as one lets the flavors spread over the tongue, nothing like

the face contort and morph into a reaction of pleasure, perplexity or pain. Smiles of satisfaction unfurling, each face like a snowflake, not one is the same as taste buds react to the food they have taken on. Food writing is nurturing. It is sustenance for the mind. Those who love to eat and want to know everything about cuisine learn the extensive vocabulary.

Food is the dialogue and the language is how it is prepared, presented and consumed. It was an old Chinese proverb that said, “Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.” And those whom I work with do just so.

Oh and this is pretty sweet. We were just recognized in Wine Spectator. Kind of a big deal. I'm aloud to brag because I'm ridiculously proud of everyone I work with. :) Check it.