I was sitting here blasting away at some old-school OG Kush and I started thinking about weddings.
I have been to very few weddings in my lifetime.
In order, I have been to my own wedding, my Goddaughter’s nuptials, and my cousin’s.
Growing up as a way-too-confirmed bachelor, I was invited to many ceremonies of which I attended none. It sounded so lame to me. Besides, in the circles I traveled in, once you got married you kinda went off the radar.
Oh, I was invited to several, but I was an Executive Chef in Las Vegas, and on the rare occasions I was able to take for myself, well let’s just say I spent addressing my personal hedonistic pursuits.
Going to buy a gift?
Rent clothes and shoes?
The free food and drinks thing was not a bad thing, but this was Las Vegas.
If you can’t find free food and drinks here, you are a total dumbass.
I know it is hard to fathom, but back then I was known to overdo it on every occasion.
I drank too much.
I did everything too much.
Now when I say I have been to very few weddings in my lifetime, I mean as a guest.
I was looking at my past receipts and banquet orders from the various restaurants and resorts I worked at. I was part of a total of twenty-one weddings. They ranged in size from seventeen to seven hundred.
Now putting on weddings is the best.
The ultimate one-upsmanship game.
Any chef worth his salt will remember his weddings as they represent the best opportunities to build a rep. The smaller weddings pack more per-head count profit, and usually the “wow” factor is amplified in these more intimate settings.
I also used the occasion to create something new, usually a dessert.
I do remember one tender family moment from my niece’s wedding.
All of the non-family guests had left and I had brought some cocaine with me.
Things started to get out of hand as one might imagine when you have us all in the same room, but I do remember waking up (a polite term for regaining consciousness) the next day and my hand was throbbing like hell.
Evidently, my brother and I got to performing some sort of Blood-Brother ceremony and we cut the hell out of each other’s hands (with a rusty corkscrew to boot). Then someone pointed out the fact that all of this was unnecessary because we were in fact real brothers.
Karen and my ceremony was a small affair in the Santa Barbara foothills in a moss-covered amphitheater.
My brother catered it.
“Party of fifteen, please.”
Hug your partner tightly tonight because one day you won’t be able to. I would not wish the pain of loss on anyone.