A Word About an Evening

Do you ever feel extremely content and satisfied? Things happen that are just perfect, and you feel like telling the world about what could happen to them, at any moment, unplanned, events that unfold to result in the perfect shape of the perfect day and the perfect meal and the perfect company.
I don't know if there's anything better than sitting down on a cloudy, humid evening in a nice, air conditioned room. There might be, but a winning lottery ticket and getting superpowers probably number among them, not nearly as achievable.
People look their whole lives for something that makes them satasfied, excited and passionate, something that leaves you wishing for a repeat of unique and transient moments. I spent the eveining in that nice airconditioned room I was talking about earlier, and the sequence of events leading up to it were about what made it one of the best nights of the season, on the smallest scale imaginable to a person of my age.
I got off work, and I glide along the road, feeling pretty awesome after a relatively busy night of making salads and bread and staring unblinkingly at the line cooks so I can osmosis some practical skill through my now-dry eyeballs. Before I even left the plaza of restaraunts and novelty shops that house my two works and a couple of my favorite restaraunts, the bakery at the end of the plaza has an open door, and a phosphorescent, doctor's office/cubicle glow washes the street, and I do a 180, almost killing myself so I can stay to talk to the pastry chef who runs the place, Micheal Ostrander.
A word about Micheal Ostrander. He's one of the most generous, people-loving, idealistic and enthusiastic person I have ever met. He loves alot of things, but the thing he loves that says the most about him is that after probably 40+ years of working in the culinary field, he still loves food the most and he still loves the people you meet dealing with it. I've become very, very attached to him, as a friend and as family. He lets me hang out, glaze things, make pies, cheesecake, scoop cookies, whatever he or his assistant needs me to do, or that I want to do. It's fun, and it's nice, and I learn lots.
Anyways, I come in, and he's working late with Casey, the dishwasher who is also one of the nicer adults that I've met in the last year, and they're making pies and glazing things that need to be finished off. It's 9 o clock at night, just showing you how busy it is at this time of year; Bakeries pulling themselves forward, cracking their knuckles, and getting things out to orders and stores for the holiday season, when diets, inhibitions, and price tags are all forgotten in favor of the holiday spirit. They're talking amiably, and as soon as I walk in, I'm welcome, which is the best feeling you can have. I get a slice of cheesecake, because Chef is always generous with friends and people in general, and copy recipes that I missed when I was in, talking to him first about life in general, and then chatting about everything else with Casey after he had to take off.
And traffic slid by out the window, and the streetlights were humming. People were partying a yard over behind the stores, singing loudly, playing rap music, and eating some kind of food with some kind of friends of their own, no doubt. It kind of makes your heart and mind feel globalized when everything's quiet, and you're peaceful, and you have a nice plate of food and a good book or friend to keep you company. You're in touch with everybody who does or has felt that way, and you feel exclusive, and happy, and ready to face the next day or the last day with whatever kind of attitude you feel fit to deem it with. And this all happens when the rest of the world is sleeping, everybody except for those select few who stay up, cleaning stations, steaming glasses, scrubbing floors, and getting ready for the next day of making a place for friends to come together.