Listen to your grandmother...

There is a particular memory from my childhood that won't go away, and it's one shared by millions of Americans: Dinner with my grandmother at a restaurant where she would annoy the crap out of the waitress (who invariably had limited English skills) with all of the things that my grandmother couldn't eat and why.

"No salt. I have high blood pressure. And no MSG - it gives me a headache. And take it easy on the chili peppers - they give me gas." And so on.

The point is not that my grandmother was every Chinese restaurant's worst nightmare; The point is that my grandmother knew WITH GREAT PRECISION what she could and could not take. And she knew it in the 1970s. AND ... the restaurant was adept at handling these requests (in fact, they knew their customers and expected those requests.)

I have long believed that mass customization and food belonged together to create the ultimate taste experience, but there is a higher calling down the road. Food allergies have been increasing over the years, along with specific diets as our population ages. And as people get older, their sensitivity to "ordering errors" will go up. It may be that 50 years from now, in countries like Japan that have rapidly aging populations, automation may be the only way to serve food to so many older adults without risking their lives!

Shame on ALL of us!

I saw an interesting movie a few months back. “For the Bible Tells Me So” documents the struggle between religious parents and their gay children and contains a scene that struck a chord with me. A young man tells about how, when he was a child, the boys would look at Playboy and talk about the strange feelings going on in their bodies; but HE didn’t feel anything. But, he figured, he should probably SAY that he feels something or risk standing out.

This is how I feel about Champagne. It tastes like piss to me. It has ALWAYS tasted like piss to me. But, I would pretend to be excited whenever there was Champagne around, since that’s what everyone else was doing. On occasion, I would confess to a friend that I really didn’t like Champagne, and that pouring any of that $50 bottle in my glass would be a waste. “NO,” they would respond. “You just haven’t had GOOD Champagne. Try THIS!” So I would try it. And it would taste like piss to me. And I was forced to wonder, is it me? Am I a freak? Or does it taste like piss to everyone, but society has forced them to pretend to like it?

I remember living in Japan and promised myself that I would try to eat ANYTHING presented to me. And I did. And some of it disgusted me, but I ate it and smiled and told my generous host how delicious it was and paid for my deception my finding a second helping on my dish when I turned away. I suffered. But I was not alone.

I know countless people who live with “Gourmet Food Shame”. ‘L’ likes iceberg lettuce, not the fancy stuff. ‘A’ doesn’t like mushrooms, no matter how rare and expensive they are. ‘F’ thinks caviar is disgusting. Ditto for foie gras. But all too often, they lie and they smile and they eat and they don’t enjoy. I’m probably the worst of all – I wouldn’t last a day in Cape Cod!

But there is a glimmer of hope in the future. Gastronomation and the prospect of interacting with a system (instead of a judgmental person) and getting things EXACTLY how you want means that our long suffering may one day end. Yes, it is good to try new things. But if you KNOW you don’t like them, cast off your shame, my brothers, and eat what you enjoy!

A Battle of Wills with No Winner in Sight!

I am conflicted about my coffee. You see, every Saturday for longer than I care to admit, I have gone to a certain coffee shop and ordered a special drink. No, it’s not my “daily” coffee, it’s a special treat (because I think it has about 600 calories and I weighed 10 pounds more when I was drinking it every day). I had a nice life with this ritual, until the unthinkable happened… They ran out of my favorite Torani – Chocolate Mint!

Now, the girls at the coffee shop are very nice, but they have no appreciation for the OCD that fuels my charm. “Oh, we have another mint. It is the same!” Sorry, ladies. Peppermint is not the same as Chocolate Mint. To my mouth, they are night and day.

“We’ll order another bottle” said the matriarch of the café. But that was months ago. “It’s very difficult to find,” she tells me. But I’ve found it at another place. And here is the dilemma….

You see, the ritual, itself, is part of the experience that makes the Saturday so nice for me. It’s the farmer’s market across the street, my bagel and cream cheese, the special outdoor bench AND the coffee drink. With the Torani substitution, I can only get about 85% of the overall experience. Sometimes I will go somewhere that DOES have what I need, but then I give up the farmer’s market and the rest of the ritual. Any way you cut it, I’m screwed.

“Why not bring your own syrup,” says my fiancée. “Because then I’d look like a freakin’ dork with a bottle of syrup,” I say. Not exactly conducive to a relaxing Saturday, either.

Next week, the girls at the coffee shop have PROMISED me (again) that they will have the syrup. I’ll give them another shot, but if they fail me again, they may have lost my business for at least a little while as punishment. And as for my Saturday ritual, I may ultimately have to look inward to restore the calm, and make a new ritual. Sorry, coffee girls – it’s hard to get a new customer, but easy enough to lose an old one!