I was a cook at a greasy-spoon, then a managerial chef, then a caterer, then a butler. Now I'm a scientist. But I miss the kitchen. I miss it like I miss an autumn lover. I miss my perfectly balanced spatula, and my wide-open six-
foot square grill top. I can't forget twenty tickets in the window and half an hour to get them all out. Sweat in my eyes and six stopwatches in my head. Meat on the grill, eggs in the pot, two more tickets so get the runner to make the salad and suddenly everything else is back burner for sixty seconds because it's time to throw the parmesan in the carbonetta. It was a rush, a high, I was flying. Gravity couldn't touch me. Then the rush is over and suddenly I can feel my feet again and the weight settles down onto my bones once more.
I don't miss the customers, though. God I hated them.