Medium-rare?
Well
done?
You
don’t have to answer, because this isn’t really about steak. It’s
about preferences we have. For example, consider a cup of coffee.
If
you drink coffee on a regular basis, you can tell me exactly what
you like. Not because I’m offering you a cup, but because you
know what you want. With cream. With sugar. With cream and sugar.
Extra cream and extra sugar. The possibilities, frankly begin
to wade into limitless waters once we add in flavored options
such as hazelnut. You know how you like your coffee, and it may
be different than the way I like mine.
My
wife and I often have disagreements about onions. I love them.
All kinds. Raw on a burger. Grilled with sausage and peppers.
Onion rings. Love them. She’s good with them, but only if they’ve
been cooked. No raw onions for her, ever.
And
that’s the basis for this little piece. All of us have preferences
and different tastes.
One
of my roommates in college loved vegetables. He would sacrifice
any type of dessert in a heartbeat for an extra helping of carrots.
My
other roommate at the time had a girlfriend. (She later became
his wonderful bride, and they’ve been happily ever after as long
as I’ve known them.) One night, I was introducing the group to
fondue. We had an assortment of things to cook in the hot oil,
and I had gone all out in presenting a terrific meal. Then it
came to a crashing halt.
I
mentioned to her that there were several types of fondue, including
cheese and chocolate… and that was it. Chocolate fondue? Chocolate
fondue? I had to leave my two roommates in charge of the food
(which they ate… thanks guys). She dragged me to her car, then
the store, and we got ingredients so she could have chocolate
fondue not only that night, but as soon as possible. It was as
if I had introduced her to something she knew had been missing
her entire life and could not wait to try it.
Veggies
for one. Sweets for another. We want what we want.
Someone
I worked with used to laugh about his kids. None of them liked
black licorice. He loved it. And, with any purchase of it, he
would remind them that they hated it. One day, when all of them
were teenagers, something occurred to one of them. He asked the
others, and it turned out to be true. None of them could recall
having ever tried black licorice. Turned out, their father had
slyly always told them they didn’t like it so he didn’t have to
share it.
My
wife loves shrimp. Nothing unusual there. A lot of people love
shrimp. Turns out, I don’t. So, anytime we head to a place where
shrimp is being served, she quickly sweeps them off my plate.
Claims she’s protecting me and just helping out. Occasionally
I wonder if I should try it again, as it’s been a while since
I’ve had any shrimp. (But she’s faster than you might expect.)
I’m
convinced that even the most easy-going of people can seem extremely
picky when it comes to food orders. You may not think you’re difficult.
Then, with the right menu in your hand, you’re asking for tomatoes
to be removed, an extra serving of blue cheese dressing with your
wings, and your lemonade to come without ice.
Right
now, I need to go make dinner. I’d stick around for a while, but
I have a funny feeling I’m about five minutes away from hearing
I also need to make some brownies. And I’d hate to get the order
wrong.