For Dave
Posted: Tue Aug 31, 2004 10:01 am
Our hero is a yuppie named Kenneth Charles Castlereigh. He wasn't real
fond of his given names, so he asked everybody to call him by his
initials. Now KC was a successful lawyer who liked to indulge in an
occasional bout of conspicuous consumption. One form of this was to
invite all his friends and neighbors to a big party, with a jazz combo,
lots of canapes and other snacks, and of course a fancy main course to top
everything off. He also fancied himself something of a Bar-be-cue chef,
which is how our story comes about.
KC had been watching various shows on The Cooking Channel, and one of the
chefs had remarked that while big shrimp are easier to cook and eat, the
small shrimp are tastier, and the smaller the better. So he decided to
get the smallest shrimp possible. The ultimate, the shrimpiest shrimp in
the ocean.
The morning of the party arrived, and KC had all the arrangements made.
His shrimp arrived at noon; he had used his status as a good customer to
arrange for a Sunday delivery (and tipped well for it). He set the shrimp
to marinate in the sauce he had created. In addition to the usual oil and
vinegar (extra virgin and balsamico of course), it included his own special
herbs and spices, and also pureed strawberries. 3 PM and the guests
started arriving. At 5 PM, the party was in full swing, the caterers were
replacing the snacks as quicly as they were eaten, and the bar was busy.
The 8-piece jazz combo he'd hired for the party was playing hot dixieland
jazz. The coals were hot, and KC put the shrimp on the barbie.
The phone rang a few minutes later. One of his friends answered it, and
came outside to tell KC that it was a client with a problem. Now KC knew
this particular client. She always had "problems" at inconvenient times,
was slow paying her bills, and was a general pain in the ass. He knew that
if he started talking to her, she would take up at least half an hour of
his time. And that the shrimp would inevitably get burned. There was no
way for him to get a replacement shipment at this time of a Sunday
afternoon.
The friend relayed KC's message that he wasn't available, but the client
was insistent that she really needed to talk to KC _right now_. The friend
brought the phone out and tried to get the musicians to stop playing so he
could at least relay the client's requests to KC and maybe get her some
advice. But they weren't about to take orders from anybody but the man who
hired them.
Are you ready?
Are you sure?
OK, you asked for it.
That was when the friend realized that KC would ne'er leave the grill
with the strawberry krill, and the band played on.
:kittygray :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :catclock:
fond of his given names, so he asked everybody to call him by his
initials. Now KC was a successful lawyer who liked to indulge in an
occasional bout of conspicuous consumption. One form of this was to
invite all his friends and neighbors to a big party, with a jazz combo,
lots of canapes and other snacks, and of course a fancy main course to top
everything off. He also fancied himself something of a Bar-be-cue chef,
which is how our story comes about.
KC had been watching various shows on The Cooking Channel, and one of the
chefs had remarked that while big shrimp are easier to cook and eat, the
small shrimp are tastier, and the smaller the better. So he decided to
get the smallest shrimp possible. The ultimate, the shrimpiest shrimp in
the ocean.
The morning of the party arrived, and KC had all the arrangements made.
His shrimp arrived at noon; he had used his status as a good customer to
arrange for a Sunday delivery (and tipped well for it). He set the shrimp
to marinate in the sauce he had created. In addition to the usual oil and
vinegar (extra virgin and balsamico of course), it included his own special
herbs and spices, and also pureed strawberries. 3 PM and the guests
started arriving. At 5 PM, the party was in full swing, the caterers were
replacing the snacks as quicly as they were eaten, and the bar was busy.
The 8-piece jazz combo he'd hired for the party was playing hot dixieland
jazz. The coals were hot, and KC put the shrimp on the barbie.
The phone rang a few minutes later. One of his friends answered it, and
came outside to tell KC that it was a client with a problem. Now KC knew
this particular client. She always had "problems" at inconvenient times,
was slow paying her bills, and was a general pain in the ass. He knew that
if he started talking to her, she would take up at least half an hour of
his time. And that the shrimp would inevitably get burned. There was no
way for him to get a replacement shipment at this time of a Sunday
afternoon.
The friend relayed KC's message that he wasn't available, but the client
was insistent that she really needed to talk to KC _right now_. The friend
brought the phone out and tried to get the musicians to stop playing so he
could at least relay the client's requests to KC and maybe get her some
advice. But they weren't about to take orders from anybody but the man who
hired them.
Are you ready?
Are you sure?
OK, you asked for it.
That was when the friend realized that KC would ne'er leave the grill
with the strawberry krill, and the band played on.
:kittygray :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :shakemitk :catclock: