Of the titling of my previous post "Crow Rib Roast" - wasn't that a Freudian slip! There's nothing left for me to do here now that I've been realigned so I am enjoying the pleasures of corporate life by munching on a crown rib roast prepared by the fellow who used to be my corporate chef. I am enjoying it by myself in the walnut boardroom where my portrait used to hang above the fireplace. Bill has replaced it with an oil painting of an oil tanker for some unknown reason.
4 comments:
Could you give me the number of that chef? I just got off the line with Ruth Madoff, and she's sick of buying frozen dinners at Food Emporium or slumming at Papaya King.
The number of that chef is in my Little Black Book...I mean...er...the coporate directory. It is confidential.
Ruth is great about keeping secrets. Come on, cough it up.
Wasn't it Ruth who had Prada put her purchases in a plain brown bag?
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