Via e-mail yesterday at 1:58 p.m.
Sharing food is all the rage these days what with tapas–fancy talk for expensive little plates of food–restaurants springing up all over American cities. On a recent trip to DC, it seemed like I couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting a tapas restaurant.
I do not like to share food. There, I said it.
Yes, I know that we were taught to share from the time we were in pre-school, and its supposedly some universal good, but sometimes I just want to say “no, buy your own friggin pancakes” rather than succumb to this societal pressure.
A recent business lunch with an important client had me sharing food, and when my office mates (who I habitually and loudly do not share food with) found out about this they were aghast.
So let me, for the record, stipulate where I draw the sharing line.
If you are a homeless person, and you approach me in a restaurant asking me to share my lunch, I will share with you. I’m not a monster. Of course, if you’re a homeless person and are reading this blog it makes me wonder how you can afford a computer but not a sandwich…so maybe you just better not ask. Just keep voting Democrat, everything will be fine.
If we are out to lunch together and you want the chicken tacos and I want the steak tacos, it is perfectly acceptable for us to order one of each and share them provided that we each have the same number of tacos at the end of the exchange. Same rules apply to half portions of sandwiches. This, however, does not work for salads because it’s hard to portion out the good parts of a salad (dressing, croutons) from all that extraneous lettuce. It also doesn’t work if you order pasta and I order steak; it’s not even in the same league.
No, I will not let you “try” what I’m eating. This is not sharing. This is mooching. Exceptions are made for my children who I am trying to get to eat something beyond chicken nuggets. I suppose when I was a single man I would have let you try my food in the hope of sleeping with you later on, but I’ve been married for a while, so I no longer try to pick up women, and my wife knows me well enough to know it’s just easier for her to order her own food.
No, I will not “trade” with you if you don’t like what you ordered. It’s not my fault. Go around and stare at other people’s plates like a normal person if you can’t properly imagine what the food is like from the descriptions on the menu.
And for the love of God, please stop ruining Chinese dinners by ordering a bunch of plates for everyone to “share.” This is not about sharing. It’s just so some cheapskate can order sugar cracked snow peas and scam off my General Tso’s chicken. If you wanted chicken you should have ordered it; you’ll know better next time.
We’re trying to have a society people.
My favorite yet.