To eat good food is to be close to God.

It's better when you wait for a thing that you really want. Maybe suffer a little bit in the waiting. Think of it: had Odysseus come right back home from Troy do you really think The Odyssey would have been particularly interesting?

Not that working all week in the bowels of the capitalist machinery is anything like fighting lotus eaters or harpies or having to slaughter a mob of men making moves on your missus. Working all week in the bowels of the capitalist machinery is, however, sufficiently painful enough to make the idea of a fine dining experience with your soon-to-be-wife a sweet and shinning beacon that urges you forward. We'd been wanting to go to AOC for a month but life has a funny way of preventing you from getting things done sometimes. Reservations were made earlier in the week and childcare was sorted and then a job came up and it all went to hell.

Never fear though, as sometimes you win and my easy, cash at the end of the day, we're only shooting daylight job actually ended at 9pm while the dinner reservation wasn't until 9:30pm. Typical Hollywood bullshit.

Waiting anxiously for a meal of this caliber all week is exciting. There are dishes on the AOC menu that once you've eaten them you'll think about them constantly. You'll sit down for a meal and it will occur to you that the asparagus you're eating are no where near as good as the ones at AOC. The fingerling potatoes in creme fraiche? Divine. Pork cheeks with black beans in some sort of ambrosia had me close to tears. Red wine butter on a steak? Get the hell away from me with that kind of crazy. Translucent slices of perfectly made chorizo and lomo with a chunk of Spanish sheep's cheese eaten with a bit of bread made me order another helping of said charcuterie but the Girl said no, save room for desert. We did. It was amazing.

To put it all in perspective: I was working for two days at almost half rate as a favor to a director and was handsomely rewarded for my generosity with a two day beat down. Not enough guys and too many cameras with three location moves a day. To say it was amateur hour would be like saying the people in New Orleans were a bit excited about the Saints win. Prior to this job I spent a day in the desert selling Hershey's chocolate slabs. It rained. It stopped raining and we burned. The sun went down and we froze. Then we drove two and a half hours back to town. Joy. And pain. Sunshine. And rain. Cut!

Peace out, bitches!