>So do you and Sam have any, um, pastry stories? i don't mind a dirty story or two or even three. only mind if you sign your name email pal, dennis.....
so tell me. is it pasty or pastRy stories dennis?
be specific. don't be shy.
> Is it true that master
>chefs have late-night knife-throwing revels involving chihuahuas, low
>cholesterol solids and posters of Bruce Campbell?
i only have ever witnessed the throwing of chicken cordon blue. oh and knives between the italian head chef, the french line chef and me, the mutt of a sous chef.
sam has made clear that he is superior to my in terms of his training. i conceded the position of pie-whatever to him. i'm content simply to make them and throw them, not necessarily being in charge of the affair.
as long as i can wear one of forty shades of black if i wanna....
>After all, the army of the proletariat marches on its stomach. As well
>as on its CD players. But that's another story...
oh baby you got it. what are we marching on today? i'm very open to suggestions. i'm doing so pop: third eye blind and alt, smog, but that's in honor of my depression over world and other events. so i'm open to other orientations. i save my cold whipped cream for warm strawberries plucked from the fields here in florida so i can feed them to ange who's is my goddess. those are my terms. but otherwise.....
>-- Still Cookin'
baking up a storm
touch yourself and you will know that i exist. ~luce irigaray