Me: The little girls’ room awaits!
Date: Hold on. I think the server’s coming back to take our order.
Me: Oh, will you order a bottle of their most expensive wine?
Date: What about for your entree?
Me: No thanks. I don’t really care for entrees. I’ll be right back.
* * *
I’ve always noticed that I have an unsophisticated palette...
At a brunch party, one of the guests was a bit disgruntled after she discovered that feta cheese was in her salad and not the superior goat cheese. She became further vexed when she saw me removing the goat cheese that was in my food. Eyes wide, she asked me, “What are you doing?” I answered, “Getting rid of this mushy stuff in my food.” She exclaimed, “That’s goat cheese! And they put feta cheese in the salad!” I responded, “You can have mine, but what’s the difference?” That poor girl. The salad didn’t have the proper cheese, I had the proper cheese and didn’t even want it, and to top it off, I wasn't able to sympathize with her because I don’t know my mushy cheeses. As you can tell, I had insulted her. And, being the self-respecting woman that she is, she defended herself, “It’s good that you don’t have expensive [food] taste. Your boyfriends [theoretical ones] won’t have to spend a lot of money when they take you out to dinner.”
I would have rebutted and explained to her that I’d want my theoretical boyfriends to take me out to extravagant dinners regardless. But she was spot on so, instead, I replied, “You’re absolutely right.”
...and then I thought that maybe my unsophisticated palette is genetic...
Preface: My biological brother likes to give me unsolicited suggestions for how to live my life (you know, like how to compensate for not having any marketable skill sets by suggesting ways for me to acquire marketable skill sets).
Years ago, I used Betty Crocker cookie mix to bake cookies for my brother. He ate them only a few minutes after I took them out of the oven. After multiple “Mmmm’s,” he said to me, “You should open up your own bakery.” He was serious. He genuinely believed that the euphoria he encountered post-consumption of cookies was a result of my baking talent. Here’s what my brother doesn’t know about himself – he likes warm cookies. And he likes generic and preservative flavored cookies. He also failed to realize that part of his euphoria was merely him being in awe of a person without marketable skill sets capable of baking cookies not from scratch.
His favorite kind of cookie is the one made from the Nestle Toll House chocolate chip cookie dough bar.
Date: Hold on. I think the server’s coming back to take our order.
Me: Oh, will you order a bottle of their most expensive wine?
Date: What about for your entree?
Me: No thanks. I don’t really care for entrees. I’ll be right back.
* * *
I’ve always noticed that I have an unsophisticated palette...
At a brunch party, one of the guests was a bit disgruntled after she discovered that feta cheese was in her salad and not the superior goat cheese. She became further vexed when she saw me removing the goat cheese that was in my food. Eyes wide, she asked me, “What are you doing?” I answered, “Getting rid of this mushy stuff in my food.” She exclaimed, “That’s goat cheese! And they put feta cheese in the salad!” I responded, “You can have mine, but what’s the difference?” That poor girl. The salad didn’t have the proper cheese, I had the proper cheese and didn’t even want it, and to top it off, I wasn't able to sympathize with her because I don’t know my mushy cheeses. As you can tell, I had insulted her. And, being the self-respecting woman that she is, she defended herself, “It’s good that you don’t have expensive [food] taste. Your boyfriends [theoretical ones] won’t have to spend a lot of money when they take you out to dinner.”
I would have rebutted and explained to her that I’d want my theoretical boyfriends to take me out to extravagant dinners regardless. But she was spot on so, instead, I replied, “You’re absolutely right.”
...and then I thought that maybe my unsophisticated palette is genetic...
Preface: My biological brother likes to give me unsolicited suggestions for how to live my life (you know, like how to compensate for not having any marketable skill sets by suggesting ways for me to acquire marketable skill sets).
Years ago, I used Betty Crocker cookie mix to bake cookies for my brother. He ate them only a few minutes after I took them out of the oven. After multiple “Mmmm’s,” he said to me, “You should open up your own bakery.” He was serious. He genuinely believed that the euphoria he encountered post-consumption of cookies was a result of my baking talent. Here’s what my brother doesn’t know about himself – he likes warm cookies. And he likes generic and preservative flavored cookies. He also failed to realize that part of his euphoria was merely him being in awe of a person without marketable skill sets capable of baking cookies not from scratch.
His favorite kind of cookie is the one made from the Nestle Toll House chocolate chip cookie dough bar.
I’ll have to check with my bro, but I’m pretty sure he provided Nestle with that last part of the product description.
...but I recently found out my 6 year-old cousin’s favorite foods...
- Chili
- Fish
- Creme Brulee
- French fries
- Cheese fries
- Grilled Cheese
...so it’s most likely just me...
For the past week at night, I've been munching on these wheat/oat/healthy crackers I found in the kitchen. I noticed right away that they were soggy and didn't taste good, but continued to munch on them anyway, attributing the yuckiness of the crackers to the wheat and oat ingredients. It even says right on the box that they’re a tasty way to stay on track (apparently, there’s a track - of eating food that resembles and tastes like pieces of wood - that people intend to stay on).
Anyway, it finally occurred to me that the crackers might be stale so I checked the expiration date. They expired in May.
...no, it’s definitely me.
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