Can this Marriage Survive?
You know, everyone is always telling me I should also do restaurant reviews. Clearly, I love food and the right to fine dining should be enshrined in the Bill of Rights. However, I have a deep, dark secret (I know, I know, ANOTHER one) -- I'm kind of a picky eater. My mother swears that I was fine until I was three and then it all went to hell. It's probably part of what started my life-long love affair with condiments -- one of the few things I would eat was a mixture comprised of mayonnaise, ketchup, and red wine vinegar. I know I've blogged about it before and I'm too lazy to search back through my surprisingly extensive archives.
I would put that special dressing on everything - salad, carrots, liverwurst (Oh My God, that was the best and worst treat ever. I'm salivating).
Okay, but back to the idea of restaurant reviews. The picky eating thing has a bad effect on that. All these reviewers are like "And then we had the pickled quail eggs over Dover Sole stomach with a fricasee of sparrow nostrils." That just doesn't sound good to me. I like to get what I like to get. I wouldn't want to feel compelled to sample everything on the menu, especially if there was some nasty things on the menu. I don't care how high-brow your restaurant is, there are dishes on the menu that will always be nasty.
And those dishes usually contain zuchini and button mushrooms. Before I continue, I must note for you that that used to read "and all mushrooms," but in my later years, I discovered that I liked fancy expensive mushrooms (see some of my "switched at birth" posts). But I hate hate hate hate hate hate that demon zuchinni. I'm not even going to bother looking up the correct spelling.
I think it goes back to my organic Bay Area roots and the horrific proliference of zuchinnnii plants and that slime-of-the-earth output: zuchini bread. My stomach would clench in horror when some birkenstock beclad friend of my parents would flounce in the door and announce, "Hey I brought you some fresh-baked zuckini bread!" I still need special therapy.
Anyway, Mr. Mustard is Italian, half-Italian actually, but as a co-worker noted, "Even if you're only part Italian, you're all Italian." And it's been a sticking point in our relationship that I hate mushrooms, and zucchini and eggplant(!). But he's soldiered through the pain and suffering, occasionally resorting to what he resorted to last night: adding sliced mushrooms and yunchini to the top of his salad like a...like a...like a...condiment.
Look, I can get through dealing with those supposed foodstuffs as vegetables, but to turn them into CONDIMENTS?! In front of my face! That's adding insult to injury. I just don't know how I can go on. Sigh.
Condiment Grrl
I would put that special dressing on everything - salad, carrots, liverwurst (Oh My God, that was the best and worst treat ever. I'm salivating).
Okay, but back to the idea of restaurant reviews. The picky eating thing has a bad effect on that. All these reviewers are like "And then we had the pickled quail eggs over Dover Sole stomach with a fricasee of sparrow nostrils." That just doesn't sound good to me. I like to get what I like to get. I wouldn't want to feel compelled to sample everything on the menu, especially if there was some nasty things on the menu. I don't care how high-brow your restaurant is, there are dishes on the menu that will always be nasty.
And those dishes usually contain zuchini and button mushrooms. Before I continue, I must note for you that that used to read "and all mushrooms," but in my later years, I discovered that I liked fancy expensive mushrooms (see some of my "switched at birth" posts). But I hate hate hate hate hate hate that demon zuchinni. I'm not even going to bother looking up the correct spelling.
I think it goes back to my organic Bay Area roots and the horrific proliference of zuchinnnii plants and that slime-of-the-earth output: zuchini bread. My stomach would clench in horror when some birkenstock beclad friend of my parents would flounce in the door and announce, "Hey I brought you some fresh-baked zuckini bread!" I still need special therapy.
Anyway, Mr. Mustard is Italian, half-Italian actually, but as a co-worker noted, "Even if you're only part Italian, you're all Italian." And it's been a sticking point in our relationship that I hate mushrooms, and zucchini and eggplant(!). But he's soldiered through the pain and suffering, occasionally resorting to what he resorted to last night: adding sliced mushrooms and yunchini to the top of his salad like a...like a...like a...condiment.
Look, I can get through dealing with those supposed foodstuffs as vegetables, but to turn them into CONDIMENTS?! In front of my face! That's adding insult to injury. I just don't know how I can go on. Sigh.
Condiment Grrl
posted by CondimentGrrl at 9:18 PM
3 comments
