When Abraham was 11 or 12, his town in South Sudan came under attack. He escaped but was separated from his family. He walked through treacherous desert and saw many other ‘lost boys’ die, before he was forced to become a child soldier. His terrible ordeal ended when he fled to Kenya.
Now, he’s one of our colleagues, doing the tremendously important and dangerous work of freeing and counselling child soldiers.
Read his incredible story in The Independent: http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/the-lost-boys-of-sudans-civil-war-8434258.html
Thank you Abraham! You are an inspiration to us and the boys and girls you guide.
Man, Chef Eric sure can cook a mean bowl of slop. The mac and cheese with hot dogs and beans wasn’t the prettiest, but after a long day on my feet I can’t think of a better end to the night. That’s not true. I can think of plenty better ways to cap off an evening. this one was pretty good though. Thanks for the meal chef!
It’s the late show on a Saturday night in Columbus, Ohio. I’m halfway through my set and I mention Barack Obama. Some scattered boos. Which is normal. Somebody always hates the president, no matter who that president might be. In this case, the president is Obama and I am a fan, so I always ask…
In the past I’ve told many friends that they would know if I fucked up badly if I ever ended up working in a restaurant again. I guess I fucked up badly.
Yesterday was my first day at a Chinatown restaurant. It was a bittersweet reunion with an industry I have mixed feelings towards. On the one hand, I’ve worked much of my life to get away from this field. On the other, I love all things food and drink, and I often romantically dream of one day owning a small bistro which would allow me to flex my culinary muscle on a daily basis.
The restaurant is as good a fit as any for me to work. It’s small-ish, has an ever-changing creative menu, and it appears I will be making bank. Everyone that works there seems great. Regardless, I feel a bit defeated.
I don’t think I’ve fucked up, but I’ve made some poor choices. In the past six months, I officially turned down two jobs, and was lackadaisical in the application/interview process for many more. I moved to DC for a job that was not 100% certain, and I can only blame myself for that mistake.
Light trumps darkness though. I have more than a handful of job prospects right now, all of which I am more interested in than the two I declined. I’m happy with my life in DC. I’m having a great time exploring the city, and I’ve met some wonderful people.
The restaurant gig is a temporary fix. I’m lucky to have such an easily accessible skill to wield: many of my friends who are having trouble finding permanent employment are temping at $12/hour or less. In the short term, this job will allow me to see a side of the city that the khaki nation could never show me, and for that I am grateful.
To all my friends out there, please come in and pay me a visit. The food is great, the atmosphere conducive to any situation, and I promise service with a wink and smile. Tip well!
Although I’ve only been here about a month, I feel I can authoritatively say that rain can be a mixed blessing during a DC summer. Sure, it canceled our plans of a trip to the pool (and littered the streets with giant tree branches!), but it also snapped the heatwave; at least for a day or two. A day that normally would have been spent inside, hermit-like, to avoid the oppressive heat outside instead warranted a trip to the park.
Apparently Meridian Park has drum circles on Sundays. Having never penetrated park walls I was unaware of this. Until Sunday, my only exposure to the park has been walking by it late at night, when I was told to avoid the nefarious elements held within.
Meridian Park is broken into two very different sections. The top part is a long, narrow, flat expanse of grass full of soccer and frisbee players. The lower section is a slope of cascading stairs and waterfalls, reminiscent of Barcelona’s Park Guell, minus all the tile. JA and I posted near the waterfall and dined on a light Israeli couscous salad mixed with a laundry list of farmers’ market ingredients.
The cool evening, the distant drums, and the softly gurgling water, combined with a simple meal and fabulous company made for the perfect denouement of the weekend.
My second-cousin once-removed (if that’s even a legitimate thing) Susan knows her way around a kitchen, and a grill. I got to play sous-chef last Wednesday, grilling pork chops and pineapple wedges, which we ate with an asparagus vichyssoise, sautéed green beans, corn on the cob, and a peach-blueberry cobbler.
The food was delicious (who knew that Costco meat was so tender and juicy?), and the wine and beer flowed freely all night.
Caprese salad is one of the easiest and most delicious appetizers you can make. It ain’t bad looking either. This one ought to be named the Farmer’s Market Caprese, as all the ingredients, save the cheese and dressing, are fresh and local. This dish was mighty tasty, but I don’t think it did the job I needed it to do last night.