bobby (m)

Bobby is the chef at the skating club.  He is short, round and bald.  His soups are to die for and, knowing how much cream, butter and salt is in there, you probably will die from eating them.  If you ask Bobby for a sample of a new soup item, he will give you a bowl of it. His quesadillas are enormous and are served with generous dollops of guacamole and sour cream.  Even I-- pre-WW-- couldn't finish them.

The coaches...human equivalents of greyhounds... plead with Bobby to put healthy items on the menu ostensibly for the skaters who are in training, but also for them since this is where they go for breakfast, lunch and sometimes, dinner.  In response, Bobby has added "fat-free" yogurt parfaits.  Probably 10 oz of yogurt, 2  heaping tbs of honey, a whole banana or cup of strawberries and 1/2 cup of his homemade granola.  You need two hands to carry the bowl to the table.

I saw the financial statement for the club recently.  The kitchen's revenues are down versus the previous year.  Some board members chalked it up to the bad economy.  But most of us know it's because Bobby--who is supposed to keep tabs on what people purchase on credit--is "not much for the numbers".  Also, he has his "favorites" whom he doesn't always charge.  I think he doesn't even attempt to write down our purchases even though we insist he does. "Ya, ya, I write 'em down", he says, waving his hand dismissively.

I am one of Bobby's favorites ("You give me ride to Registry of Motor Vehicles  I don't forget that.")  Bobby used to ply me with free samples, and I was happy to oblige.  Until September.  Until WW.

All I get from Bobby these days is a cup of tea, usually Earl Grey.  I've explained WW to Bobby and how I must stick with it.  He sighs and nods.  He's lost one of his best customers, but we are still friends.

Today, I walked into the club to pick up Harrison.  Bobby sees me and all but jumps over the counter.  "M! M! M!", he calls. 

I know he's just come back from North Carolina, visiting his two beautiful daughters and his "wife" (we still don't know if he is/was married to her).  I assume he wants to tell me about his Christmas with them.

Yes, Bobby?

"M...my wife...she do Weight Watchers...she lose 70 pounds...they give her ring"

A ring?  There's a ring?  I've got the necklace pendant and the key chain.  I didn't know about the ring.

How does she look, Bobby?

"She look good.  Real good.  I think maybe I do Weight Watchers, too."

A lightbulb goes off in my head.  Bobby, if I give you some recipes, will you cook Weight Watchers' dinners for the club?  Here, in your kitchen?

"Ya, no problem.  Coaches will be happy.  We all get skinny this year."

This could be a great start to the new year.