|Big Funny Fish in a small, albeit National, Pond
||[Oct. 12th, 2006|07:01 pm]
I hadn't realized how much I was jonesing for a dose of center of attention. Just got back from the annual American Personal Chef Association Summit in San Diego and had a lovely three and a half days of being stroked and applauded and surrounded by admirers. (For my talents, skills and showmanship, NOT for my tits...not that I mind the latter, but really the former just feels more...valuable.)|
After all, back home here, I'm surrounded by...as my computer-geek friend Nancy described my friends this weekend..."Well, they sure are a bunch of extroverts."
Here I'm just one of the funny crowd. Put me in a room of a coupla hundred chefs and I'm Rodney Dangerfield, Wanda Sykes and Jon Stewart in one body. (Wow, that is such a NOT pretty picture. Let's amend that to body-full of one-liners...) I had people snorting very expensive wine out of their noses. (I know, everyone's got to be proud of something. I'm proud of being able to make a chef eject a $100 bottle of wine through their nasal passages. sigh) It felt good to have people tell me they'd "never met anyone so unrelentingly f-ing funny" or that their ribs hurt from laughing so hard at dinner the night before.
I also got a lot of love just 'cause I was walking around with a red speaker badge, presented two sessions, former chef of the year, have mentored half the freaking room. And yeah, no one was quite fawning over me the way they did over some of our presenters -- but I feel pretty okay about being second banana to the executive chef of several serious restaurants or the Western V.P. of the American Culinary Foundation. Hell, it took effort on my part not to fawn over them, too. Luckily, I have a quarry pit of arrogance and cool that allows me to say "I'm honored to serve on this panel with you, chef" and have it actually sound like I'm just being respectful. Although deep down inside I'm thinking, holy f-ing crap, I can't believe I'm sitting between Harry Brockwell and Deb Scott and please all the powers that be, don't let me sound like a giant boob when it comes to my turn to comment.
I guess I didn't -- or they are so damned polite and civilized that they treated me like a colleague. But still, when the day was over, more people were fighting to get into a cab with me to go downtown drinking...and I don't think I ever had to buy a drink.
Well, okay, enough basking. I am, after all, a Yankee, and we frown on self-indulgence. Time to go back to galley wenching at MD and the person who accomplishes things without most people knowing it at VA.