A lifetime ago in #angelbrynner #AOLAB #globalbohoprescription land, I had a sweet side gig.
I was on an AIR in New Orleans, got asked to pinch-hit take over a grill for a boozed up, jazz fested out friend & knocked mofos down so hard that they gave me 3 days a week to cater my own breakfast for the revelers blowing through town.
It was called Cafe Dolce Vita on my days. Because doing it created all coin required for a sweet life, writerhead researching all over the region while truly being of service by sobering up wild ones after they’d partied to the brink of nola dissolution.
I learned on the fly as the newest of three rookies in the lineup alongside dudes who’d been cooks in the French quarter for 30+years but I didn’t try to do them.
I just did me.
AngelBrynner
Me just happened to be an ex NYC clubkid loaded with many memories of inter-night pile ups at diners, cohorts & I sobering ourselves up asap so we could make it through work and/or uni the next day.
All the meals & supps we used to be able to stand & dial down or up our eyes were in my arsenal.
& everyday was different, but with a creative throughline.
It Was fun.
Tha kids were in good hands.
I’m almost 49.
(…that feels so cool to say lol.)
Now it’s time to officially treat me as well as I have always so absently treated everyone else in this life…
To add some structural whathaveyous to honoring my Thomas Keller kitchen artboy-shifus with a palette of ingredients as I automate it in order to writerhead the fuck out this season.
Catering to me as a conscious, personal given.
49 is me openly catering to myself with the evolution of the love I’ve lived a fun life pouring into others. & it-a fun life- always starts with figuring out the food.
AngelBrynner
I showed a friend of mines who loves how much I enjoy myself -especially in #cookbooking mode- what the m.o. was & he mutter-grinned
“it’s like some kinda…crazy bistro menu-“
If I was sailing btwn art deco-soaked, lost gen Paris & revolutionary arthead Mexico in the roaring twenties & thirties, hopping up on tables barefoot, above the heads of maddening crowds of comrades carousing all afternoon about the importance of cultural autonomy for artistic movements ?
But make it keto-adjacent?
…fuck yeah.
That’d be mah spot.
So this first 49th birthday month, it is.
A.