funny thing happened on the way to camp
Walking to the Palace Ballroom for the Culinary Camp kick-off, a pale-skinned young man, dressed in black, stopped me and politely apologized for interrupting me in the middle of my day. “But did you notice if there are any bars open that way?” He pointed in the direction where I had just walked.
It’s 10:15 on a Sunday morning, I thought. “Sorry, there aren’t any.”
He looked at me, the last color draining from his sunken face. “Because I just need . . . anything. Really anything.”
I wished him luck and kept walking. Funny what you see on the downtown streets. I mean, who needs a drink on a Sunday morning?
A few minutes later, I walked into the Palace Ballroom, where Robyn Wolfe welcomed me with a name tag and aimed me at the breakfast buffet and the open bar. Plate in hand (heaped with feta and pea omelet, roasted potatoes, fresh cherries and berries, greek yogurt, and baklava), I approached the bar.
“I’ll take an Etta’s signature bloody mary, please.”
What? It was 10:30 already.