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Showing off to My Friends (Broasted Potatoes) – Bill’s Side

March 11, 2013

Look, I am spoiled. I truly am. I have damn-near gourmet meals prepared for me every night when I return home for work. It’s a pretty nice deal. And what do you do when you have a nice shiny toy that none of your friends have? You show it off of course. So sometimes I like to bring my friends by, so they can experience the magic that I get to see on a nightly basis. Last night, my co-worker Leah, who happens to live on the next street from us, became the latest in a long line of my acquaintances to utter the phrase, “Can he come cook for me?” (For the record, the answer is always, “NO,” he’s my chef, get your own).

Anyway, I gave Patrick the proper notice that I was going to have a guest over. I texted him at 5 PM that night. Of course, being the people pleaser that he is, he began freaking out that he needed more time to think of a delectable creation to serve us. But I knew he would make something grand, I believed in him. After a trip to the gym, Leah and I returned home to Patrick slaving away in the kitchen, trying out a new recipe that he hadn’t ever done before (I was nervous because I didn’t want a repeat of the terrible avocado cake ball disaster in front of my friend)! This recipe was a bit more conservative though, buffalo chicken (with homemade buffalo sauce that featured, Frank’s Red Hot ©, paprika, red pepper, and something else probably), and some roasted potatoes using some special type of potato that I can’t remember (and don’t really care to).

The end result? It was delicious as always, the potatoes were a big hit, and even Leah, who admittedly doesn’t like buffalo chicken on most days, gave the entire meal high praise. I just developed another advocate, telling the world the legend of Bill, the poorest man in the world who has his own chef.

After dinner, Leah offered to pick up the dishes and clean them for us. Patrick and I looked at each other and laughed, in a condescending way like we were two aristocrats discussing the poor middle class folk who don’t get to ‘vacation’ somewhere for the summers.

“That’s not how this works,” Patrick offered.

“Yeah,” I jumped in, “Patrick does the dishes too!”

Leah was astounded. What appeared to be a great deal for me before now appeared like I had not just a chef, but a butler as well. As Pat cleared the dishes and began cleaning them off in the kitchen, Leah chided me for my situation (and perceived laziness). While I won’t pretend that I don’t have just a bit of laziness running through my veins, I justified my behavior by showing her the $400 combined grocery bills from the past two weeks.

“You see, Leah, we both get something out of this deal!”



To read Patrick’s side of the story, click here.


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