I am a self-hating cook. I moved to New York five months ago in hopes that I would be doing something fantastic like collecting unemployment and writing. But, lo and behold, I am now a master family meal planner at an East Village restaurant. I make less money than I ever have doing more than I used to. I live with my girlfriend and my best friends are in Seattle and South Africa. The one in Seattle wants me to open a delicatessen for him and the other is pissed that I can eat knishes whenever I want.
While in a frenzy of crying caused by lack of direction and confidence I declared to my girlfriend that the only thing I'm good at is lunch. So, here I am.