Go to bed, girl. Chamomille tea, or whatever.

Your system is going to be ringing like a bell for 72 hours.

Damn - now THAT's a night to remember. I fell asleep while watching a surf movie. Hardly compares.

Whoa. It never rains but it & assorted other sayings, but oh man, you were in food & beverage hell. My sympathies.

I reckon that Fris riffed off the whole thing, being the woman she is; who wants to sleep when flames are licking at your door.

On a personal note, im so going to Fris's restaurant; Fris, that food looks to die for :)

Fug!

Sleep, you!

Fire next door? And you didn't get out the satay sticks? What kind of cook are you?

(I keed because I'm a jerk)

Fris, your house is still standing, right?

Sounds like one hell of a night.

Yeah, I should have clarified (and only the good Lord only knows what I was trying to say when I typed that last sentence), but Chez Fris is in fine shape. The neighbor's house is still standing as well, but with significant damage. And while it was a hell of a night for me, it was nothing compared to their's.

Still, I'm counting the days until vacation in January.

mgl, seriously. The WH chef was bad enough, in terms of added pressure on a powder keg of a Friday night, but the power that Michael Bauer wields in this town is damned near unspeakable. The mixed blessing is that he likes us. He's always liked us and gives us rave reviews such as "this place should be as hard to get into as the French Laundry." But guess what: We're not the French Laundry. Our quality is comparable, but our service style could not be more diametrically opposed and it fosters a great deal of misunderstanding with new guests.

But as it goes, the owners pulled out the stops and fluttered about the room, visibly fawning over tables (though, truly, the extras hands were greatly appreciated) and there was much wringing-of-the-hands and fretful pacing and throwing-of-innocent-objects and cursing-under-the-breath and yelling-in-different-languages and pleading-with-God (or the kitchen, which at certain points are entirely indistinguishable one from the other) and cajoling and more moodswings than an entire highschool freshman class. And damned if both super special guests didn't leave just happy as freaking clams. Oh. The. DRAMA.

Why? Because this is how it's done and people love it.

And, uws, I would love to think that our food is as good as our performance art is, so please do come in and eat, but I beg of you: pleasepleaseplease come on a quiet(er) night.

Girl, I would take a night shift in Waffle House hell before I would wanna be in YOUR shoes.

And that comes from someone who has had to clean puke off the jukebox during the bar rush.