In which I die, just a little bit.
Last night we went out to dinner to celebrate my dad's 72nd birthday. My mom suggested we dine at Italian Restaurant X because it's nice enough to attract a crowd of Italian expats but they also do this serious oak-fired brick oven pizza that will go around well among the grandchildren. This restaurant is not "white linen tablecloth" nice, but rather "authentic trattoria" nice. The wine list is a single page, that sort of thing.
So, being a pack of Iberics (except my niece, who is 1/2 Irish) in an Italian restaurant, we order wine. It is a sad testament to the state of my family that one bottle went around to five adults. The sad fact is that my sister, the person to whom I ceded the womb space in which I had floated cheerfully for +/- 9 months, doesn't drink and doesn't like drinking and if she had a full glass of wine would be--and I'm being as serious as a heart attack here--roaring, bed-spins, drunk. So she got a half-glass to be sociable, but that was it.
She also has other issues, like hating pasta.
Meanwhile, my children were happily, greedily decimating a large platter of fried calamari.
See, I realize I'm a foodie weirdo. I got it, OK? Still, it pains me to see people order all kinds of weirdness. I don't blame the restaurant for having all sorts of trendy stuff on the menu which they translate to Italian to palm off as authentic. After all, they have a buck to make. So, I sat, surrounded by children, eating the carpaccio al funghi and the mussels steamed in Cinzano while people wrestled with smoked salmon pasta and sesame-crusted tuna. Oy.
Am I the only person who suffers so?
-J.
So, being a pack of Iberics (except my niece, who is 1/2 Irish) in an Italian restaurant, we order wine. It is a sad testament to the state of my family that one bottle went around to five adults. The sad fact is that my sister, the person to whom I ceded the womb space in which I had floated cheerfully for +/- 9 months, doesn't drink and doesn't like drinking and if she had a full glass of wine would be--and I'm being as serious as a heart attack here--roaring, bed-spins, drunk. So she got a half-glass to be sociable, but that was it.
She also has other issues, like hating pasta.
Meanwhile, my children were happily, greedily decimating a large platter of fried calamari.
See, I realize I'm a foodie weirdo. I got it, OK? Still, it pains me to see people order all kinds of weirdness. I don't blame the restaurant for having all sorts of trendy stuff on the menu which they translate to Italian to palm off as authentic. After all, they have a buck to make. So, I sat, surrounded by children, eating the carpaccio al funghi and the mussels steamed in Cinzano while people wrestled with smoked salmon pasta and sesame-crusted tuna. Oy.
Am I the only person who suffers so?
-J.
Comments
And no, you are not alone - we went Japanese last night and my poor brother blanched at the sight of K's hamachi kama. He had the 'teriaki chicken' which I AM SURE is authentic Japanese.
Not that I mind. I'm just sayin'.
Do not EVEN get me started on my extended family, including my uncle who will only eat hamburgers at restaurants. That's it. That's all he will order. If they don't serve hamburgers, we can't take him there.
Oh my God, I need another pill just thinking about it.
I am hoping at some point to get out enough to restaurants (that aren't Red Robin) so I have the opportunity to spurn and snicker at menu offerings again. In the meantime, I'll live vicariously through your blog.
And btw, how's TFBUM coming along on those remodeling plans for kitchen and bath?! ;)
No, not the real ones....
When we go back home in the States I stuff myself with all the Asian food I can find. I'm even reduced to eating the sushi in the terminal at O'Hare.
Canadian food is 90% blah.