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It was raining that day in Boston when Julia came out to grill some steaks. It was a quiet sort of rain, the kind you can barely hear and only notice 'cuz you're in it, and there I was, in it: standing there, getting wet, holding ingredients. Ain't it just like the weather, to piss down on you when you're rating sauces. New England is always gonna give it to you, no matter where you go, what gods you yell at.Julia was a hell of a dame, grilling like a champ between umbrella breaks while the cameras were wiped off. I couldn't stop thinking about that envelop under my door last night which told me about a new speakeasy down the road. They grill steaks there, too. Hot.They were looking for a line cook and was I interested. I didn't know. I had a good thing going here, running my way around America's Test Kitchen. But a good thing going doesn't always pay the rent here in this bitch of a city. I like making television. But the money ain't in it. Maybe I should hop on to where the money is. And get out of the weather.