“I’m from hard-boiled eggs” by Julia on M’s couch

Saturday, April 14, 2018
11:28pm
5 minutes
E 9th Street
Ricky Cantor

I’m from soft-boiled eggs on a sunday, little olive oil, salt and pepper
Dad knows his way around the simple pleasures in life
sneaks fresh figs across the border in September
stirs in the good grappa in his espresso instead of sugar
cares about if I know my times tables
I’m from fried eggs and anchovies in the summer time
visit the sanctuary in the back yard and do not move until the mosquitoes eat you
Dad picks cherry tomatoes from the garden and tosses them on our plates
he doesn’t sit with us on the porch while we eat
he is busy inside making the second course so he never has to say a word

“It never rains but it pours;” by Sasha at Lewis St.

Sunday January 14, 2018
11:35pm
5 minutes
Bluegrass
Rhona McAdam

It’s hot as balls back here and Dylan keeps throwing prawn bits at me. Fuck off, I say, but he doesn’t.

When I first started here I was at the cold station, but now I’m at the fryer.

Chef said we’ve got some VIPs coming in tonight, but none of us ever want to know who.

We did three hundred and nine covers last night which might not sound like a lot but if you saw the size of our dining room, you’d get it.

Turns out the VIPs are a hockey player and his family, some old guy who doesn’t play anymore but is on the Sports Network now. I couldn’t give a fuck about hockey but I know more than to open my mouth in this kitchen. Dylan played AAA before having one too many concussions. He stares at the guy all night, grinding his teeth, flipping steaks on the grill.

“Now that I’m free from any such shackles” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday March 6, 2017
10:37pm
5 minutes
davidsilverberg.ca

saved by the ivory
tower but not for long
good god i hope i don’t
have to
saved from the beer
spills and “our house wine
is a dollar an ounce”
from roll-ups and tip-outs
and “can we have more
bread?”
i’ll tell you what
the magic word is
it’s please

the summer i was
twenty one i worked
at a place where
the bartenders were
always high and the
sous chef called me a
stuck up bitch
and i cried in the
basement and ate shrimp
in the stairwell
and everyone seemed to
be fucking each other

then there was the
sous who would request
my presence in the kitchen
only to undo my apron
so that i’d have to bend
over and pick it up

then there was the
sous (is there a theme
here holy hell) who
would stick out his
chest when i’d come
to ask a question like
those are just my breasts
it’s how they are i
am not sticking anything
out or up except my
middle finger at your
ignorance

“I still honoured my vows” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday November 29, 2016
8:38pm
5 minutes
Big Magic
Elizabeth Gilbert


I lick my finger and it tastes of a chicken bouillon cube.
It’s salty.
I love it.
I used to eat pieces of those by themselves when I was younger. Along with anchovies from the jar, and mayonnaise.
I had no vehicle carrying condiments to my mouth.
I wasted no such time.
I always cut out the middle spoon.
I think of big pots simmering on the stove.
I believe I could stay with someone if they knew how to make something out of nothing.
If they knew about sauces and simmering.
I would marry that.
I am very extreme about bouillon cubes.
I am tethered.
Some memories stick like sugar to a strawberry.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday October 7, 2016
12:14am
5 minutes
overheard on Oak St.

I’m not sure why… I guess, it’s always been a dream. I thought I wouldn’t do it until I had some sort of stability, until James or I were doing really well and we wouldn’t be sinking everything we have into it, but… Well, we’re doing just that and I have no regrets. Lots of people say, “You must be crazy to go into business with your husband!” “You must be crazy to open a restaurant!” “You must to CRAZY!” And, well, maybe they are right… I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’ve never been so excited for something in my life.

“Castorland Puzzle” by Sasha at her kitchen tabl


Monday October 6,2014
6:29pm
5 minutes
from the Castorland Puzzle box

Castorland Puzzle was something I never wanted to do, okay. I didn’t even know what I was getting myself into. It seemed easy enough, but I’m not even into that kind of thing. Crystal said that it would be “easy” and that I didn’t need to be nervous or anything. What the fuck, Crystal? I mean, you know that I drive myself crazy with mistakes? So, we did it. That isn’t me admitting anything. That’s me warming up. Got any hot dogs? I could really go for some grainy mustard… Look. You’re an attractive woman. You know how it goes. You know how disappointing these things can be. Am I even making any sense? Long story short, the Puzzle was the biggest failure of my career. Crystal? She left me for a chef with tattoos of fucking fish. Fish. Can you fucking believe that?

“primarily unoaked” by Julia on her couch


Thursday January 16, 2014
2:05am
5 minutes
the drinks card at FRESH

She was sitting down, the only other person in the restaurant aside from the server. Rumour has it the chefs step out of the building every night after 9:25pm for their secret alley way meeting. Others say they’re just out there “having a smoke”. She was sniffing the cork of her wine bottle. She told the young girl with the side pony tail that she was waiting for someone and didn’t want to look like she cared. The girl sold her the bottle assuming her guest would soon arrive but after almost 62 minutes everyone in the place, and again it was just the two of them, had conceded that this “guest” was surely no longer coming at this point. The bottle was not as depleted as either of them thought it would be by this time, but neither one wanted to address it. The girl behind the counter was taking Instagram photos of stacked plates and sugar packets and nobody seemed to mind that either.