Some Questions, Few Answers

Maureen says:
By Christmas Eve, the adrenaline rush had passed through me, leaving in its wake what I’ll call an adrenaline hangover (headache; hot, burning eyes; an inability to focus on anything that wasn’t sleep for more than five minutes). We arrived at my sister’s late in the afternoon and while I helped plate some of the dishes she’d prepared, it was really Tom who stepped in, sleeves rolled, and ensured everything was not only ready in time, but was presented perfectly.

(I’ve got to tell you: the only thing better than a partner who cooks is partner who cooks and takes entertaining seriously. The only thing better than that would be if mine also found deep, personal fulfillment in laundry and scrubbing tile grout, but I strive to be grateful, not greedy. He did, after all, not only build, but also upholster, the window cornices when we did over the dining room in November.)

Guests began to arrive just after the stroke of 7p by which point I was content to sit back and enjoy watching Tom do another one of the things he does best: mingle. We hadn’t seen anyone, really, since we’d bought the restaurant and Tom was meeting a lot of new people and naturally the conversations centered on Z. What kind of restaurant will it be? What kind of food will you serve? When are you opening?

All good questions and all questions that Tom and I need to be able to answer without hesitation. Really good food—which it will be—is not an acceptable answer.

Another often-asked question is whether I plan to leave my job. Um, that would be a big, loud, resounding NO. For one, I happen to love my job, but it’s also not a wise idea to walk willingly from a steady source of income when you’re opening a business, the viability of which could takes years to prove. A restaurant consultant here in town, whom Tom knows from over the years, told us that's a Year Three Consideration and only then if Z’s generating revenue to support the decision.

In other news, that KitchenAid ice cream attachment that I gave to Tom for Christmas isn’t going to see any play at the house. The KitchenAid, she done got a new home on Elm Street.