I eat out a lot. Granted these days with my lack of transportation and income, I don’t do it nearly as much as I sometimes manage, but I still make it out once in a while. Don’t get me wrong. I actually like to cook. But there is something rather disheartening in putting effort into making something good, only to have it disappear in a fraction of the time it takes to prepare it.
What can I say, I eat fast.
Besides there is the whole social aspect of eating out to consider. Since 95% of my “friends” seem to fall under the category of bar or wait staff, I would be severely neglectful not to visit.
I frequently choose things that I can’t get at home when deciding what to eat. For one, I get more variety that way. For another it eases the guilt of paying for something that I could make at home much more cheaply. And finally everyone knows that restaurant calories do not actually count.
I went out today to my usual watering hole with a friend. Sat as the bar as usual and took a peek at the specials menu. My friend wanted an appetizer (pretty much all he wanted) so we split one. Among other yummy sounding things, they had a Mississippi Mud Pie listed, a personal favorite (despite never actually having one as good as the first one I had many moons ago), so I knew immediately that I wanted a piece. Now it is my experience that almost invariably when I have a dessert after the meal, I eat too much. For once in my life, I decided to be smart about it. The appetizer was not enough, so I knew I should eat some more (preferably something resembling healthy). But I also knew I wanted a piece of that pie. So instead of getting a meal and then getting the dessert despite my gut’s pleas of mercy, I ordered dessert first. I figured that way I would know how much room I had left and my actual meal would not be too big.
If I had known what a ruckus I would cause by ordering dessert first I might have reconsidered. Who knew that eating your meal out of the designated order was such a taboo idea. Everything was fine when I ordered my dessert and ate it. But it all fell apart when a short while later I ordered some … gasp … soup. The whole bar went deathly silent. An elderly patron fainted. One of the bartenders dived under the counter, the other shook uncontrollably as she placed the order. I am pretty sure I heard someone scream in agony in the kitchen a moment later. And when it was delivered, it was accompanied by a funeral dirge.
OK maybe I am exaggerating a tad. But it was rather funny how many people were thrown for a loop because I did it that way. My friend commented how they were treating me like I just ate a live Ostrich.
Next time, I think I will actually eat the appetizer last.