We talked about everything and nothing as he buzzed the machine to the beat of the song before stinging my body with the needle, until, finally, a sprawling orange root vegetable cascading down my right side, from my armpit to the top of my hip, took shape. I had an idea, I picked the font, and the tattoo artist, Lance, did the rest. Its like taking a mechanical pencil with unbreakable lead, then scratching it across my ribs. With clenched teeth, while grabbing the end of the table in some crazy pleasurepain juxtaposition, I had to submit as the needles made my favorite saying a permanent part of me. Youre at the mercy of the chef, the service and the atmosphere. Real eaters submit when they sit down for a meal at a restaurant. ![]() Its the total realization that maybe we dont have as much control over ourselves and others as we think. You can sous-vide something to a precise hundredth of a degree, and its perfect - but screw it, theres no accounting for taste. ![]() ![]() When I was a sous chef, this was the phrase (plus a few extra four-letter words) I would mutter as I put a perfect medium-rare steak, grilled to the customers requested temp, in the salamander for an up-temp. The other reason I had the saying permanently etched on my person It relates to food.
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