Last night the circus had dinner at my house.
I cooked dinner for 25-30 while rock band blared out the hits from tinny TV speakers in room that sound just bounced around in. Ohh, and did mention it was hot?
It was Hell's kitchen and the psychological warfare that the US inflicted on Manuel Noriega all in one.
What does one make for 25-30 of your closest friends? I chose tacos. 5 Lbs of Hamburger, 2 large London Broils, 2 large packages of tator tots and creamed corn. The tator tots turned out to be a poor choice since they required the hot oven.
I say 25-30 because I don't know how many were actually there. At one point, I sat down at one of the many tables and there were two people there I didn't know.
As dinner was being served, the Michael Jackson came on and the Tequila came out. The night morphed into a strange Michael Jackson dance fest with a distinct Mexican flavor. Miguel de largo vivo.
Actually it was day filled with food prep.
Earlier in the day the entire house headed off to the beach. I lingered behind with Brenda, who was staying out of the sun. I figured I'd have a lunch, pack and head down.
All was going to plan until I was ready to head out the door and my cell rang.
"Can you make us sandwiches"
Sure I'll just make a bunch of different things and you all sort it out. No. They wanted specific sandwiches.
I hung up.
I called back with the pencil in hand, like I worked at a deli or something. After I took the orders, the former waitress in Brenda snapped to life and started cranking out the sandwiches. I barely kept up.
Then they had the cajones to call back and request fresh sliced tomato on each.
Unfortunately the sandwiches were bagged and ready to go with the provided runners so they had to suffer actually putting the tomatoes on the sandwiches themselves. Poor things.
I mention all this in hopes that you will vote me "Chooch of the year" in final balloting in December.
Today it's wave runner rentals and beach.