I sat at the edge of the back porch, simultaneously cursing and defending my need to smoke one last cigarette before I went to bed officially. Service Included's dialogue ran through my head. A cross between down-home cooking style service, and "would you prefer a seasoned glass or fresh?" This is my life.

I had already polished off a half bottle of Cinnabar, Mercury Rising, with the help of my [possibly?]reluctant foodie boyfriend. After the wine was finished, which I felt was a requirement after today's dismal shifts at both my "fine dining" restaurants, we decided to retire to the basement to finish off the last bowl, and for me, a final Bushmill's on the rocks. Whiskey and wine after a long day make the muscles relax better than any massage.

I've come to a tepid understanding that the first (and most recent) wine bar I am leaving has spoiled me. I find myself craving a nice, spicy, earthy/tannic wine at the end of the day, and thanks to my new close proximity--a beautifully spiced, heavenly aromatic dish from the Indian restaurant I just joined (which desperately needs some of my organization). These two things have brought equal amounts of stress and joy to my life. My new opportunities have made me want simpler things. Perhaps not "americanized" simple things, but items of a cultural nature. Breads made from scratch, french press coffee from direct-trade farmers. Creamy butter. Fresh spices, organic ingredients. No meat. What a wonderful predicament I find myself in.