Cooking with Steve Whippo

Last night I was working with a fellow cook who's having his 60th birthday party later this month, a co-party with three other guys who are having birthdays around the same time.

"So, you're hitting the big 60 soon, huh?"

"Yeah! Yeah. Yeah I am."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It feels weird, man. It sounds old! Sixty sounds so old! There are times when I still feel like, well not only a 20-year-old, but a 32-year-old, and a middle-aged guy ... you know."

We talk a little more about it. The whole time I'm chopping tomatoes on one side of the room, and he's on the other, prepping piatas de carne and cutting beef on the slicer.

I'd like to interject here that Beatrix just brought me Little Red Riding Hood, recently acquired from the library, so I'm going to read it to her now and get back to you people later.
***
That was fun. Lucy joined in and it was good family story time. I'm a good character actor. The Wolf is fun to voice.

So Steve, my lead cook, he and I are prepping for the next day, and talking, right? He's a great conversationalist. We had 70s radio going on Spotify, and were both singing along to "The Sounds of Silence" and other standards. He's also a great singer, and comes up with ideas for my band all the time.

He wants my band to play his birthday party. He thinks it would be hilarious. I think he wants us to do covers. I think he wants to get up there and sing one or two, too. Hm. Maybe I should do a solo show? Bring my electric and acoustic guitars and bass and play along to some easy drum lines? Hmmm ....

I just texted my drummer friend. Hee hee. Gonna take him out for drinks and see if he wants to do it. A one-off covers show. Maybe get his band to be my backing band...

Alright, Steve and I are cooking last night, and here's the crux of my story right here:

I got a blister on my right index finger from where it rubs against the top of the knife blade from chopping so much. It still hurts. Lots of chopping yesterday—celery, cilantro, and buttloads of tomatoes. I like to do it by hand, too, instead of using the large slicer–I have more control over where the seeds and stem ends go and can keep a cleaner station. Although they do stain my white cutting boards red.

So here's the real crux of the issue, and how this long meandering rambling story belongs on a dad blog written by a daddy blogger:

Oh, look, a butterfly.

Okay, here it is.

Mm, sip of coffee.

So after Steve and I are done talking about ages and how old he is and his friends and our families are, we sing along to a few more songs on the radio.

I say to him, "So Lucy's going into kindergarten this Wednesday. I'm nervous, man. Nothing in my life, in many years has made me this nervous."

I told him about the two stress dreams I had this past few months, where I dreamed that Lucy was going into school tomorrow and I was completely unprepared.

Then Steve said something that is still sticking with me right now. It really stood out. It was the total golden nugget of wisdom from our conversation.

He said, "Well, you know, Glenn," taking on the mock voice of a guidance counselor or a father figure, "this isn't all about you."

It isn't about how I feel. Fuck me. It's about Lucy and how she feels.

"I mean, if you're really worried about it, you could tail her behind the school bus or something."

He's also good at deadpan.