My father was a Jazz musician, my mother a barmaid and waitress. I've always felt at home in the alleys behind bars and restaurants. The people who serve us, make our food, those who stock the pantries, clean the kitchens and empty the trash all know these environs better than anyone else who might pass through them. Here they get their smoke breaks, return their cell phone messages, talk among themselves, escape the heat of the kitchen, the inferno of the front end. In the kitchen it is improvization, variation on basic themes, the lemba of jazz reigns! It's all jamming and distinctive beats, experimental time signatures, the trajectory of elbows and feet, the inertia of loaded serving platters. Its a dance getting it done. The actual music, blaring in the background is more than likely these days to be hiphop than not, a legitimate heir to bebop.