The Best Laid Plans
Darren stood in line with two jugs of Stoli, pajama pants half tucked into his Crocs, parka unzipped, hanging off of his doughy frame. His hair was really thinning these days and he was quite self conscious so he combed it evenly in all directions around his skull, in no discernible pattern giving the illusion of coverage yet upon closer inspection, one could see the patchiness, his scalp shining through in uneven stripes. It had started so well. Three years in culinary school, a placement at The Arc on Fifth and then total, utter, complete flame out. Self immolation, actually. Darren never really could cut it as a line cook, let alone a sous. He was a saucier at first but somehow found himself in over his head, working under a notorious drug addled control freak of a bad boy genius chef du jour, who quickly realized Darren's skillset was grossly lacking. Humiliated, ridiculed, then literally set on fire, in an incident that became known as creme brulee a la Darren, he didn't l...