The first time I met a guy who had rhythm was in Amarillo, Texas. He was grilling steaks. It was at this famous steakhouse where if you eat something like half a cow in under an hour you get your meal for free. People actually do that. They got a wall of photos.
The guy had a cowboy hat on and maybe 50 steaks in front of him sizzling away on a giant grill. He knew exactly when to flip them, when to leave them a alone and when to toss them on a hot porcelain plate. He loved his job and was in the zone, not a bad skill in any field.
By contrast, a guy also grilling next to him didn’t have a clue. He kept fidgeting with his giant spatula, with the towel and looked like his boxers were rubbing him in all the wrong places.
Now every time I need to get myself into a good “work” state and start hearing my rhythm I think about the guy in a large black cowboy hat.
Unfortunately, back then I didn’t get a photo of him. But two weeks ago I was in New Orleans, and saw a similar thing at Drago’s restaurant on the riverfront. Those guys were grilling oysters, hundreds at a time, dousing them with garlic butter and occasionally setting them on fire. The only way not to drown in drool was to keep drinking beer.
They shacked them first:
And then did their magic:
And then let you have your taste of heaven.
On a different front, I just found out that my favorite blogger and inspiration had a baby boy.
Moral of the story: Nothing like rhythm.