Seriously, Though, Bon Appetit!

A quaint gathering of prawns on a neighboring table at a Paris restaurant.

A pivotal moment in my, otherwise, mundane dietary domain tipped me over the edge with a stunning realization. And that, My Friends, is the day I started developing my “policy”.

It was not a conscious construction of nutritional parameters, but instead, an evolution of my thought process in relation to what I was consuming.

Seventeen years old. Sitting in the Victoria Intercontinental, a five-star hotel in Warsaw, Poland, with forty other teenagers after having spent five weeks in Israel – walking and camping out in the desert, hitchhiking to the beach (Ignore that part, Mom!), nights spent in youth hostels, a conglomeration of dairy and vegetarian meals. Stepping into what felt like luxury for the first time in over a month, the air-conditioned atmosphere provided a sharp contrast to the experiences we had left behind.

Tired, hungry, and anticipating a hot meal, we filed into the dining room, eager to revive our bodies from the long day of travel. Platters of what appeared to be roast beef, were prominently centered on large, oval trays, resting on the hands and shoulders of the servers.

“All right!! Roast beef! It’s been 35 days since I’ve had any meat, and I’m ready!”, I thought.

As the contents of the trays were placed on the tables, I greedily eyed the sliced roast beef, salivating at the thought of consuming this hearty protein.

Picking up the large fork, I gently lifted a slice of the meat, already imagining its texture and flavor.

But then……Wait!!

As I looked more closely at the lone portion dangling from the utensil, I noticed that this roast beef looked much different than my mother’s. Oddly, there were no “grains”, against which it had been cut. Instead, there were miniscule bumps all over it.

Then it hit me!

Tongue! Beef tongue!

Until that moment, I had only heard that people actually ate it – yet there it was, being proudly presented to us by our waiter, as if he were delivering a long-awaited gift to this congenial group of ravenous travelers.

After recovering from the shock of my discovery:

“There is no way I am going to eat something that can taste me back!”, I declared.

Since those days, it is fair to say that I have become more squeamish, more discerning, and more wary about food, leading to the implementation of my 3-Fold Food Policy:

I won’t eat something if…..

· …it looks like it’s “life form” (think…”taste buds” from the above story)

· …it is uncooked

· …I can’t pronounce it

Pretty straightforward and fairly understandable. Let’s delve deeper into these self-imposed guidelines.

Life Form – Growing up, I enjoyed lamb chops, barbequed ribs, and a good chicken drumstick every now and then, never stopping to think about the animal to whom they once belonged. I took for granted that the food appeared in the grocery store, my mom bought it, cooked it, and finally served it.

Thanks (or maybe not?) to the incident at the Victoria Intercontinental, I became more aware of how/where my meals were “sourced”. It isn’t as though I made a choice, but rather, the choice was made for me. It wasn’t that I no longer wanted to consume these things, I simply couldn’t.

In short, anything that resembles itself prior to its journey to the kitchen or dining room table, seems to be off-limits to my palette. I wish that were not the case, but alas – the life form criterium of my food policy remains firmly intact.

Uncooked – This applies to food that should be cooked but isn’t. There are labels on many products, warning us of the potential danger of consuming raw or undercooked meat, eggs, and fish. When did it become chic to eat meant-to-be-cooked-food uncooked? (Exemption: cookie dough!) Take sushi, for instance. As a youngster, it was never introduced at our table, though it was being served in the United States as early as the 1960’s. My mother would never have plopped down a helping of raw fish in front of me and directed me to eat it. Because it is often somewhat “disguised” in the midst of seaweed, avocado, rice, cucumbers, and a myriad of taste altering sauces, is it now acceptable to eat raw fish? I can not wrap my head around (nor sink my teeth into) this!

Mind you, I do eat sushi. However, it is the vegetarian or vegan variety – which is a tasty delight, without the pesky worry of contracting a stomach ailment from not being thoroughly cooked. Some might say that I am missing out on the trendy delicacy of consuming raw fish – but my gut and my brain tell me otherwise!

Pronunciation – First of all, if I cannot pronounce it, how do I know that the server will understand what I actually order? If one visits a Greek restaurant, but is not well-versed on its cuisine, he/she might have a hankering for a Gyro (pronounced, “YEER-oh”). Upon requesting a “JIE-roh”, the server may envision a child’s toy with a colorful spinning wheel, rather than grasping the fact that the patron was actually asking for the lamb meat wrapped in a pita.

Likewise, if one inquires about an appetizer of “crudites” (CRU-dites), instead of utilizing its proper pronunciation - “kroo-de-TAY” (crudités), the server might speculate that the person is describing what they may have seen on their caving expedition, along with the stalagmites and stalactites, rather than thinking that the customer is attempting to order some pre-meal nibbles of fresh veggies and ranch dressing.

There is also that awkward silence, as we endeavor to articulate our choice from the menu but are unaware that some consonants are “silent” and the vowel standing by itself is not actually acknowledged in the elocution. Therefore, being tongue-tied while trying to pronounce a dish is a valid reason for choosing the path of least resistance when it comes to ordering our food. I have seen the pasta option called Spaghetti aglio e olio. Have you? Would that roll off your tongue like jello down your gullet? After some dedicated practice, it is actually rather fun to say: “spah-GET-tee AH-lyo OH-lyo”. Give it a couple of tries and allow yourself to get lost in its melodic cadence! However, do not attempt to impress the waitstaff with your ability to pronounce it “on the fly”. He or she will likely talk about you in the restaurant kitchen. Instead, choose something “safe” that you are certain to know how to pronounce, like:

“I would love it if I could just keep it simple by ordering some spaghetti with garlic and olive oil?”

“Oh! You want our Spaghetti aglio e olio! I’ll put that order in right away!”

While it was not my intention to create and implement a food regimen, it nevertheless, befell me at a weak moment in Poland, when I was deeply disturbed that my longed-for roast beef turned out to have taste buds.

I never begrudge those who do not adhere to my standards of food consumption. That is something I learned from my grandma, who said it was rude to comment about what other people eat. So, while I frequently dine with friends, and am aware that they enjoy meals that still look like their life forms, might be raw or severely undercooked, and even as they massacre the names of those difficult-to-pronounce dishes, I mind my own “peas” and q’s, hoping that my self-imposed Food Policy holds steady at 3 Folds, rather than escalating to include (exclude?) other conditions that dictate my dietary dabblings.

Bon Appetit!

© Cre8ive Writes, LLC 2023