We lived in limbo for a few days, concerned about our kitchen. The broken water pipe had been connected to the restaurants heat system, which we really needed to open.  The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and would soon prove to be one of Portland history’s most devastating storms. On Thursday around noon, after a morning of nail biting and pacing, my buddy Nate called me; “Let’s go night riding at Ski Bowl!”  I had no excuse, he was offering me a free lift ticket. I called Perez to see if he wanted in, I knew he was going just as stir crazy as I was. The city of Portland had shut down; chain-slapping buses spun sporadicly in the falling fluff.  We knew the mountain had been dumped on.  We rallied around 4 pm to embark on a two and a half hour journey in Nate’s 78 VW Bus.  We chained up around Rhododendron; the roads were getting nastier the higer up we got.  Perez was periodically recieving phone calls from our bosses, keeping us posted about the restaurant.  After much back and forth, we learned that we’d be closed until next week.  Our concerns lifted, an icy updraft, when we saw the lights of Ski Bowl. Heavy snowfall blanketed the mountain, and we were soon strapped in and smiling. We drank PBRs as we ascended the lift, smiling and swinging.  We raged the gnar for three hours or so, carving powder and bally-hooing to each other as we mached by.  I missed the mountain life.  Everything makes sense when you can carve powder turns.  We finished our beers in the parking lot and headed home.  The weekend went by slowly.  The skies were gray the roads were gray and the snow that covered everything was gray.  I felt the walls closing in; I lost myself in the web.  I annoyed my dogs with guitar and no walks.  I happily braved Tri-met to meet Chef and Perez on Sunday at the restaurant. I was prepping Tabla desserts and they were cleaning out the walk-in.  We crammed all we could into our freezers, but a good amount of food was about to spoil.  Not surprisingly,  Perez and I immediately volunteered to cook and eat the food.  It would be a crime of the highest order not to.  A damn shame.  We packed up what we could, and grabbing beer near 4th, caught a bus to my place.  We hit the grocery to augment our booty.  We drank and cooked and cranked music. We thrashed my little kitchen and dirtied every pot, pan and dish.  We even fired up Old Blue. My fiancee was out of town so it seemed the thing to do. We cooked and ate, carrying on and finally enjoying a bit of this down time…by cooking.  It made life feel semi-normal.  Through all the bedlam, the food was there for us.  We got back into the restaurant early in the week and re-prepped everything we had lost. Teddy put our kitchen back together.  Christmas day came and went. The rains finally came and washed away the slush and snow, the city awoke.  People mingled in the streets, then filled the seats in the dining room.  Smiling servers ferried food to grinning guests.  A storm had come, and in it’s wake a sharper image, clarity. I felt as if the people around me were looking at each other a bit different, feeling a warmer glow. I felt an in-the-trenches level oneness, a communal happiness to be back at work. Sometimes shit happens, and all you can do is dive in and swim.