Is something you might hear me say on meeting me, for the first time, whilst out for dinner. What my long suffering friends will tell you is that this translates into two rules for an easy life and enjoyable meal.
1. let me tell you what to order, ensuring no duplications, whilst allowing me to order last.
2. Look the other way while I sneak the first forkful.
What's going on? You might think. I reassure you, it's an act of altruism: think of me as the equivalent of a food tester, I am there to take the fall for you, to make sure everything is alright.
You see, for me, eating out is a paradoxical mix of pleasure and anxiety. Anxiety that the service will be slow, that the tables are too close together, that I will order poorly, or, even worse, that someone else will order the dish I should have ordered.
This anxiety paralyses me to the extent that there are only a couple places in my home town that I will happily eat at, these are tried and tested friends who have yet to let me down.
Maybe I should be called the not so curious eater?
Friday 28 March 2008
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1 comment:
How about 'the oh-so-orally-fixated' instead?
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