So I should probably update you on what's been happening! Firstly, there HAS been running. That is something at least. I really am not improving as much as I should be, but my potential shin splints are not what we are here to talk about today.
Then there was dinner with my blogging school friend… Let's call her Blog Mate — she will love that I reckon. Or not. This should have just been a fun dinner, but unfortunately, it led to some weird stuff… OK, just realised I have made it sound like we lezzed out, so I will just get to the point. RIGHT. So, we had an English teacher at school who we probably all had a bit of a crush on because he was young and we were in a school for girls. He taught us in Year 10, but then left teaching altogether. Blog Mate said to him: 'I hope you know you're walking out on your career"… which is pretty funny, right? Yeah — until we found out he now owns several EXTREMELY popular restaurants in London…
For some reason, this has bugged the fuck out of me. I knew something was up when I saw him in the the British Airways magazine on a flight to Scotland, but I thought it was just a flash in the pan. I am not normally a jealous person, but this has made me go slightly mental with envy. I don't know why — I don't even want to be a fucking chef! I guess I am very jealous of his drive — he used to teach all week, and then work his butt off in restaurants on the weekend. I can't even bring myself to do one of my creative pursuits for just one hour after work. Blog mate and I calculated he was about 30 when he started doing the restaurant thing, so it means I really need to start doing my thing… oh… One year ago.
(OK, so it looks like this post is blatantly going to be about my obsession with my teacher. Sorry.)
Blog Mate and I figured that as we were meeting up, we should try out one of our teacher’s restaurants. I deliberately found some bad reviews of the Venetian one we went to so that I too could whinge about the chewy chicken and crap meatballs. Alas, it didn't quite work out that way... The place was buzzing, no, it was HEAVING. We sat down and took in the delicious menu, the gorgeous decor, the tasty smell of the food... CUNT CUNT CUNT. We ordered one dish off each section and a bit of wine, and then I asked the waiter if by any chance our teacher was there. The waiter smiled and said he wasn't, and we explained that he used to be our teacher, probably just to knock him down a peg or two. (Seeing as I was doing all the talking here, it was almost certainly for that reason.) I wonder if he believed us, since our teacher pretty much looks the same as he did 15 years ago, in the many, MANY Internet searches/extensive stalking I have conducted.
When the food came, it was all just brilliant. (I hate him. I hate him.) We had bread, an array of tasty starters, meatballs, pizza — everything was utterly delicious. Which just made me more mad and more hateful. It was a lovely evening, until some really quite inappropriate R&B came on the sound system very loudly... that was the one weird thing. So we both admitted he had done very well for himself, paid our bill and headed home. And I am so bitchy that I am not even going to give his amazing restaurant a shout-out. He doesn't fucking need it.
(Wow, this happened over a month ago and I am still filled with so much resentment. Great.)
But it did not stop there. I got a totally obsessed. The whole thing had riled me up for some reason, although I think it's fairly obvious it's to do with my own failings. Alongside the hate was the fact that we had eaten this totally dreamy cod paste thing there that I went crazy for, so I spent the next day violently trying to find a recipe for it. My search brought up the fact he had a recipe book out for this restaurant… I spent a lot of time looking at it. And I mean A LOT. Am I thinking about buying this book? Really? Am I actually going to put more money in his po... CLICK. Oh right, it appears I am. I have now made several things from the book, cursing my way through it at all times, for they were all delightful and it is a lovely cookbook. Well written, nice recipes, good paper, beautiful photos of Venice... I read all of it in bed across two nights. (I hate him. I hate him.) But now, every time someone reads about him in the paper, or sees him mentioned in an article, they tell me. Every time. He is everywhere. FUCKING everywhere. HAUNTING MY UNMOTIVATED SOUL.
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| FINE! FINE! I will cook your stupid delicious food, you git… |
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