Last Saturday was Gayle’s birthday. At the end of this month it’s my mother’s birthday. Next Tuesday is a feast of a saint turned love holiday and on the Tuesday after that Gayle will be going to Spain for an internship at a Basque restaurant that requires you to have a chef’s tweezer on the sleeve of your coat. I got another one. It the type of restaurant that looks like Tony Stark’s house or a gifted/mutant child warrior training centre with a vegetable garden at the back for those meaningful conversations that are a build up to the climactic fight scene(s). All I know is that they make fancy food and if it was me instead of her, I would be happy to wash dishes and wipe down every stainless steel surface three times a day if it meant I could eat every element on the plate in one bite because that’s all I think about while watching Chef’s Table and/or Jiro Dreams of Sushi. …