I could tell you that when we sit down at meals, just the two of us — meal after meal after meal — we talk about better ways to fight global warming, or brainstorm about how to eliminate homelessness or whether to use light rocks or dark rocks to fill the muddy spot on the driveway. But I’d be lying.
No, what we talk about all the time, every time, is our next meal. Seriously. It’s all about the food.
Those of you with kids in the house or who are pre-retirement, probably don’t give food much thought. I remember those days when everyone had different schedules; the chaotic years jammed with kid-related activities — school, sports, scouts, braces — and full-time jobs.
Food was incidental, a border-line necessity that involved throwing together a meal. In our house, it wasn’t unusual for someone to ask, at about 7:30 PM, “Hey, did we eat tonight?” And no one was ever sure.
Food was not at the top of my priority list back then and I was happy to eat anything and everything except maybe liver. I did like going to restaurants, but it was never about the food. It was because someone else bought it, made it, served it and then cleaned the mess.
The food didn’t matter. I was just as happy eating eggs at a diner as when we ate at the Four Seasons. Well, maybe I’m stretching it a bit there, but you get my drift. Food was just never that important to me. That’s what makes it so weird that I ended up reviewing restaurants
Singing for my supper
Me, the same person who gave our family food poisoning. But that specific question never came up during my discussions with the publisher of the restaurant review guide. She explained that I, and a companion, would both eat for free, though I would not be paid …
I stopped her right there. She had me at “eat for free.”
My first stealth assignment was on the North Fork. I dressed in dark clothes, so as not to be conspicuous. My husband was my companion when we went out to eat. We were the perfect dining duo, Yin and Yang. He cares that the food is hot. I care that the wait staff makes eye contact. He likes a subtle flavor in sauces, I like fresh coffee. He likes hot and plenty. I like a clean bathroom. United, we made a great team.
Most of the restaurants got good reviews from us and no restaurant got a totally negative review. I mean, if nothing else I’d compliment the flower arrangement in the entryway, the nautical wallpaper or the well-marked parking lot.
There was that one restaurant
The wait staff at one particular establishment, which is no longer in business (NOT my fault!) was having territory issues and it appeared that our table was in no man’s land. We listened as two employees carried on a loud and heated argument because neither wanted us.
Eventually, the biggest loser stomped over, slapped down menus and stomped away without a word. Or eye contact. That’s a big no-no in my book, whether I’m an under-cover operative eating for free or a paying customer. We left.
The publisher thought perhaps the restaurant was just having a bad night and said she’d send someone else to review it in a few weeks, but by then it had closed. Gosh, go figure.
Ditched by kin and Yang
In the beginning it was fun. But I wasn’t keeping up and soon my list of assignments grew long. For one thing, even when you can, you don’t always want to go out. And I still had to go to work, do all the kid-related stuff, then added to that, go out and eat, pay attention and write about it. Such a burden!
Then, one dark and dreary night, my regular partner quit on me. He just wanted to stay home and eat a bologna sandwich he didn’t have to inspect, dissect and rate.
I called a relative who was happy to join me. And I called her twice the next week. About the third week she stopped answering her phone. I drove to her house. Her car was there. She was, too. I could see her behind the couch.
I managed to find other dinner companions and completed my assigned restaurants. But for about two months after, I didn’t want to go out to eat or talk about food.
That’s why it’s so ironic that now, it’s all about food, and at every meal we’re talking about our next meal.
Here I thought we were the only ones, then last week I saw this post: “Being married is just saying ‘what do you want for dinner?’ back and forth, until one of you is dead.”
Yep.
