But, I was willing to let all that nonsense slip away the moment Max Crumm playing the nerdy puppeteer Christian cracked his first awkward self-aware hipster joke.  Jesse Eisenberg better watch out, because Crumm is playing an irascible send up of the face of the Facebook generation that’s both hilarious and heartwarming. Truthfully, I was worried at the top of the show when Christian mentions being a puppet master for kids who works out his issues using a cast of inappropriate puppet stand-ins like Noam Chomsky.  Worried because we better see these puppets, and even more worried that a nearly a third of the way through we still hadn’t seen them.  With that build up, I was sure to be disappointed when they finally popped up.  Whew, no.  When we got puppets (designed by David Valentine), they weren’t just any puppets.   We got a whole series of ‘80s pop-stars including a dueling Robert Smith (The Cure) and Iggy Pop, and later the one-armed Rick Allen of Def Leppard.

The plot’s none too complicated. Hipster puppet boy wants beautiful ukelele playing girl.  Hipster puppet boy’s wannabe rockstar boyhood friend wants to nail her too (lovely).  Hipster puppet boy’s best girl friend harbors a love for that rockstar best friend but is trapped in a hopeless relationship with a stoner boyfriend.  And unfortunately, none of those characters achieve the same level of depth and watchability as Crumm’s Christian.  Except for Lisa Birnbaum’s turn as Airelle, an influential club booking agent.  When she shows up nearly half way into the show, her introduction feels like a shoe-horned plot device to give us a maybe too clever song Fuck-It List, but Birnbaum overcomes it with comic timing, physicality and singing that charmed the snark right out of me.

It’s not hard to see why David Eric Davis has garnered some acclaim for the show’s music and lyrics since it was staged at the New York Musical Theater Festival in 2009.  Something I Like About You makes Christian’s love for Juliana seem sweet and charming, and the song could be taught in lyrics classes as a great list song that advances character and plot.  Awkward Silence cleverly fills the void of the lack of interesting character details for the rockstar Jake and the unknown love Ivy.  While Take Me As I Am delivers the toe-tapping uplifting number we needed for Christian.

Ultimately, the book doesn’t give us much of a reason to care for any of the cardboard characters presented.  Leaving me wishing for more puppets, and just one more bit of Crumm.

For more info and tickets: F#%king Up Everything

Calling themselves a “vacation matchmaker,” Jauntaroo is best for travelers who need some help figuring out where they want to go.  Travelers rank the top 5 things they are looking for in a getaway (e.g. beaches, nightlife, culture, etc) and the site gives a series of vacation suggestions.  Sometimes even the pros need a bit of help, so I tested it out since Chef and I have been hankering for a warm weather getaway recently.  First suggestion was Bora Bora, which seemed rather exotic and long haul, until I realized I could filter for Caribbean or U.S. locales.  That lead me to Key West – a definite possibility.  Booking trips is done through Jauntaroo’s partner Expedia – and all trips booked trigger a $1 donation to “Travel With a Cause,” its philanthropic arm donating to education & health projects.

Sounds like the kind of place(s) you could work for a year?  Then check out this video to find out more.  Better get to packing.

Standing amidst debris from the fallen towers—a PowerPoint presentation, an old expense report, corners of photos once tacked to a cubicle—I knew that I had crossed a threshold in life.  Not so much a loss of innocence.  Lord, when had I ever been innocent?  But a recognition of vulnerability.  I had moved to New York and scored a seat at the glamorous table of magazine publishing, gathering the accoutrements of a high-flying and hard-partying lifestyle.  And now all that seemed irrelevant.  For perhaps the first time, I knew that I was inextricably linked to another soul—the one standing next to me.

It was about four days after the morning of 9/11 when the seeds of doubt first entered my head.  I was sitting with Juan Pablo on the couch in our Alphabet City apartment and saying, “Maybe I don’t want to live in New York forever.”  It was a big moment for a boy from Texas—I’d never imagined myself living anywhere else but Manhattan.  But suddenly, I felt exposed, and beaten down.  Living below 14^th Street was like living in a war zone: police barricades checking identification, a steady rumble of heavy equipment, that constant burning smell.  But every night, I could put all that aside because where I lived wasn’t nearly as important as whom I was living it with. Just being with Juan Pablo and sharing our life together was the important thing.  I could be honest with Juan Pablo.  And I honestly felt that I could cope with anything with him.  Ten years later, I’m still here, still battling it out, still tamping down hard, uncomfortable memories that resurface this time every September.

My memories of the day are not the heartbreaking ones of loss of life.  But of a passage into adulthood.  We like to think we choose our life-changing moments.  But as I get older, I believe those moments are thrust upon us.  It’s how we react that defines us.

Just a 2 ½ hour drive from New York City, The Roxbury is nestled in the Catskills Mountains—always associated in my mind with “Nobody puts Baby in a Corner” Dirty Dancing.  But forget any preconceived notions of quaint little inn; The Roxbury will rock your world with a big city, big thinking attitude with rooms and suites that take their inspiration from pop-culture.  There’s Tony’s Dance Floor aglow in glittery splendor with a twirling disco ball reminiscent of Saturday Night Fever.   Maryann’s Coconut Cream Pie abode that is like walking into a wet dream on Gilligan’s Island.  Something more understated?  Book Maria’s Curtains, an homage to some favorite things “straight” out of Sound of Music.

Thankfully, owner Greg Henderson makes sure the rooms don’t veer into kitsch, instead they just remain pure, unadulterated, campy fun.  Plus, they’re filled with luxury amenities.  Suites in the new wing that opened in December 2010 have 85-gallon two-person soaking tubs, dual shower heads, Egyptian cotton towels, enormous flat screen TVs connected to the Internet with free streaming Netflix movies, iPod docking stations, and more.

So if you’re looking to leave the stress of the city behind, and want to possibly add some fantasy pep to your life, The Roxbury is the spot is for.  Your biggest decision will be if you want to sex it up like Gunsmoke’s Miss Kitty or have always dreamed of letting the genie out of the bottle.

One more thing: while you’re in the area, make sure to book a table at local hotspot Peekamoose specializing in farm-to-table cuisine, with a side of serious cocktails.

Note: JP lived it up in 18^th century European glamour as a guest of The Roxbury for one night in the Amadeus’ Bride suite.

Viewer programming note:  No amount of training, culinary or otherwise, could have prepared Chef Juan Pablo Chavez for the kitchens of New York City’s wealthiest families.  A Mexico City native with a graduate degree from the London School of Economics, Juan Pablo left a high-paying Wall Street job at the age of 34 to follow his dream of becoming a chef.  He went to culinary school and survived stints at two of New York’s most celebrated and notoriously tough restaurants—Thomas Keller’s Per Se and Eric Ripert’s Le Bernardin—before launching a business as a personal chef.  He dreamt of a balanced life that would allow him to share his passion for food with some of the most appreciative (and well paying) members of society.  What he got was a rude awakening.  Service Entrance is a new series developed in collaboration with Jon Paul that tells the story of Juan Pablo’s struggles and successes in the world of the personal chef—and his hilarious interactions with a cross-section of New York’s most privileged and quirky characters—along with some of his most popular, easy and delicious recipes.  Because you don’t have to be wealthy, to eat healthy.

The Mrs. was crazy.  There could be no doubt about that. The upstairs maids from Honduras, the downstairs maids from Guatemala, the Puerto Rican house boy, the two Dominican drivers, the Cuban security guards, and the three Colombian nannies all referred to our mistress as The Mrs.—as if she were a flamboyant character straight out of a Telemundo telenovela.  Between her collagen-inflated lips, her Botox-smoothed forehead, her surgically enhanced boobs, and her temper tantrums, The Mrs. had all the talents of a trashy TV temptress.  House gossip reported that the late 30-something Mrs. even had the back-story to match.  Apparently she grew up poor in Spanish Harlem, became a “model,” and snagged an impossibly rich husband.  A hedge fund mogul, the husband paid cash for the largest private residence in New York City—$45 million—a sum he acquired even before his famous bet against the unfolding mortgage meltdown.  Now The Mrs. was an aspiring socialite throwing obscene amounts of money at various causes in an effort to buy her way into the upper echelons of New York’s society scene.  From the gossip columns, it sounded like things weren’t going so well for The Mrs.  And as a result, she began taking out her insecurities on the most recent addition to the Pan American staff, me:  A 38 year-old Mexican born Wall Street economist turned chef with training from New York’s four-star restaurants Per Se and Le Bernardin.  My infraction?  Serving her a dish she actually liked.

“What is this?” The Mrs. sneered.

She tried turning up her artificial nose as I placed a bowl in front of her, but the Botox kept the muscles from responding.

“It’s the fresh grapefruit salad with mint and basil you said you liked.”

I’d seen tirades against housekeepers who were “in-capable” of properly folding underwear, and torrents of hate directed towards drivers who were seconds late to pick up The Mrs. from boozy lunches at Barney’s, so I steeled myself for the impending outrage.

“I liked it two weeks ago!  And now you’re serving this to me a-gain?  Again? It’s all you ever make!  I pay you to cook new things for me!”

“No problem.  I’ll whip up something else,” I said calmly.

It was useless to point out at that I hadn’t made this dish even one time since she first enjoyed it a fortnight ago.  Or that she herself had approved the day’s menu in advance.  I was discovering that logic and The Mrs. didn’t mesh.

“You would never serve this to that actress!  I demand to be treated like a celebrity!” she screamed as she fled the kitchen table.

And there we had it.  The real reason I had been hired.  The Mrs. didn’t care about my sophisticated background—a degree from the London School of Economics, the ability to speak six languages, experience on Wall Street, and a life spent traveling the globe tasting the finest foods and best wines before graduating from culinary school at 34.  Or, my ability to indulge her self-imposed food restrictions like a “semi-gluten free diet”—which I always feel is akin to being “a little bit pregnant.”  No, The Mrs. was all about appearances and she wanted to brag around town about having the same chef as my most famous client, Fashionista Superstar.

My first clue about the hazards of working for The Mrs. should have been clear when I met Amy at a friend’s party.  I asked her what she did for a living and she smiled shyly and said I wouldn’t understand.  But I prodded, and she caved.

“I’m a Household Crisis Manager,” she said.

“Que?  Household Crisis Manager?  What does that mean?”

“Basically, I work for people who have too much money and can’t figure things out for themselves.  Like, I help them get their summer clothes from their New York brownstones to their houses in the Hamptons.  Tough things like that,” she laughed.

“Well, I’m a personal chef.  We have a lot in common.  I work for people with lots of money and no time or interest in cooking for themselves.”

“Do you work for one family?”

“No, for me it’s more fun to have different clients.  Each one has their own issues, and I like the challenge of having to deal with different styles.  Right now I work for a few families, a banker, a celebrity.  I’m trying to build up my business.”

In confidence, I told her Fashionista Superstar’s real name and Amy’s jaw dropped.

“In that case, I have a big diva of a client who is in desperate need of a chef.  We can’t find anyone to take the job full-time.  It’s become a bit of a crisis.  But I bet she’d consider you part-time because of the celebrity connection. Think you’d be interested?”

“I don’t know.  Not sure I want to work someplace that has a Household Crisis Manager.  No offense.”

“None taken.  But it does pay a lot of money.”

She told me how much, and my jaw dropped.  I said I’d think about it.

In the fall of 2008, I was trying to expand my personal chef business in the midst of what we would later refer to as the biggest financial meltdown of our generation.  My partner Jon Paul and I had a relatively new mortgage to pay, and he was hoping to take a big trip to Australia at the end of the year to celebrate his 40^th birthday.  After leaving my high-paying finance job for a low-paying dream job, I carried some baggage about my job title and salary.  Back in Mexico City, my opinionated parents are both medical professionals—my father is a cardiologist and my mother is the dean of a nursing school.  They were shocked when I told them I was walking away from what they considered a prestigious career, into what they considered a low class job.

“Juanito, what about all those years studying?  To do what?  Cooking?  Like so many other Mexicans in the kitchens there,” my mother said.

As much as my partner Jon Paul encouraged and supported me, I felt so guilty about relying on him to pay the bills.  He was trying to make a go of it as a writer and entrepreneur, and I wanted to relieve him of the burden of bringing home the big bucks—or at least hold up my half.  So far, life as a personal chef came with a much easier schedule than the grueling tour of duty I had survived in New York’s high-end restaurants.  And the pay was better, just not as steady.  I had a few regular clients I could count on, but like any freelancer, there were times when the gigs dried up.  Maybe the Household Crisis Manager’s diva client could help bridge my financial gap.

On the next Service Entrance: Chef Juan Pablo gets acquainted with the rest of the household staff, and ends up feeling like The Mayor of Munchkinland.

EASY-TO-REPEAT GRAPEFRUIT MINT CITRUS SALAD

Despite her complaints, The Mrs. always loved the bright flavors of this dish.  The recipe below is a simplified version of the one I prepare for my clients.  To learn how to give the salad a little more finesse using a classic cutting technique called “supreme,” watch my video demonstration at the end of this post.

Ingredients
2 large ruby red grapefruits, white pith and skin removed, segments cut into thirds
2 large white grapefruits, rinsed, white pith and skin removed, segments cut into thirds
5 navel oranges, rinsed and peeled, segments cut into halves
A few leaves of either mint, basil or cilantro, rinsed and thinly sliced for garnish (optional)
The juice of 1 red grapefruit and 2 navel oranges (strained of seeds)

Toss citrus fruit lightly in a bowl, cover and let chill for at least one hour.  Add freshly cut mint, cilantro or basil if desired just before serving.  Makes about 6 servings.

Building on the Salad:  Add a cup of pomegranate seeds.  You can also use this salad as a base for an outstanding yet simple winter ceviche.  Add small (or lightly chopped) cooked shrimp, finely diced jalapeno and red onion and season with salt and pepper.  Cubed avocado is also great on this dish.

CLICK HERE for tips on using Facebook to grow your business

CLICK HERE for tips on using Twitter to grow your business

CLICK HERE for tips on using Twitter to grow your business

CLICK HERE for tips on using Blogs to grow your business

CLICK HERE for tips on using Blogs to grow your business

CLICK HERE for tips on using Facebook to grow your business

Osama Bin Laden’s Death

U.S. Debt Crisis & Economy

Arab Spring

Charlie Sheen’s Meltdown

Hurricane Irene

Occupy Wall Street

The Royal Wedding

Eurozone Crisis

The Rapture

Steve Jobs passing

Anthony Weiner’s Weiner

Interminable Republican Primaries

New York’s Marriage Equality