Tuesday, April 1, 2008
This was the mother of all mumbles. I was telling my comatose that I was running late for work. And by late I mean I would be 55 minutes early instead of an hour early. For those of you who hate being late, you know what agony this is. It was a mistake to even utter words to my R.E.M. deep sleep chefhusband.
"I'm running late" I mutter from the bathroom while furiously brushing.
"Wylie [Dufresne] called for you. He's mad you're late. Then Daniel [Boulud] called and you didn't even hurry up for him"
Should I be more worried that Erik is completely insane when he's asleep or that he's dreaming of other chefs? Definitely the latter.
photo courtesy NY Magazine