Tag: cooking

Pepper, or Not. Tea?

I’m not one to complain. Really. And, as life goes, this isn’t a big deal. A meal. A simple meal. Or, so I thought.

If a meal isn’t up to standards, so be it. My choices at local restaurants are always the same, anyway. I don’t order calamari or sushi. Avocado never graces my lips – can’t stand the texture. Steak, chicken, or haddock with a salad and/or pasta side. Maybe, just maybe grilled shrimp. Chinese szechuan sauce is cool, Korean chicken on a stick at any food truck festival 👍, and cold Thai yellow tea … all personal favorites.

Simple tastes.

Oh, and pizza on Sunday. Need to have 1/2 mushroom, 1/2 pepperoni, slightly over done, with a diet soda after 6pm on Sunday. This started decades ago and must continue. For the sake of all my dearly departed relatives, this tradition can never stop. Used to be after “Dallas” and our local Friday night football game – when my mom whipped together batches of Chef Boyardee paper thin pizza. You know, that yeast-by-the-can treat that was only edible after a loving mother added her special recipe ingredients.

I never complained. After a long halftime show with a very uncomfortable wool band uniform on – and general disinterest in the game itself – I was glad to be home. As well, any other time, the food placed in front of me was to be eaten, regardless. I learned to be thankful … even for meat pie, stewed tomatoes, and tapioca pudding. Ugh. No complaining.

That was as a child growing up. I’m positive you were taught the same life lesson.

As an adult, pretty much the same. Ninety-percent of the time. Save last Wednesday at a restaurant I frequent more than any other.

Did you ever know, just know, things weren’t going to go your way? Winning two rather cute stuffed animals in the claw machine while waiting for three friends to arrive felt normal. It happens frequently. Not to brag, but some day I’m going to get dragged into a back room and questioned under dim lights. The claw machine toughies are going to questions my tactics, prowess, perhaps a level of skill a bit beyond the norm? … without even considering just dumb luck: which it is. My odds are much higher than most because … wait for it … I play the darn thing coming and going each time. Two chances for one dollar. In my case, ten chances for five dollars 😆.

This is when normal stopped. “My normal”, that is.

Same meal, same drink ordered. Nothing new. Except the waitress.

This wasn’t (maybe) her fault? I blame the electronic, hand-held ordering thingy’s order takers have to tap on more and more. She fought with it, slowly. Distracted as she seemed to be, it was almost like a Tesla was being ordered online with a full interior package and every extended warranty available.

Please understand, at this point I am not upset … just relaxed and placing my normal order of an unsweetened tea, salad, lemon pepper fish, and a side of macaroni & cheese. No menu necessary.

My tea arrives. I sweeten it with two packs – one pink, one white. One sip and my over-sweetened alarm bells go off. After taste-testing from others, clearly the tea wasn’t unsweetened to start. Not the best start to a meal. Making the evening worse, our waitress came across as being slightly less-attentive to our table as we had been accustomed. Nice girl. Polite and respectful. Just didn’t come back soon enough to address my tea situation.

Yes, a first world problem. I get it. Sometimes, however, after the two weeks I’ve had prior … I looked forward to a nice dinner out with friends.

Didn’t take long for our dinners to arrive. Usually doesn’t at this restaurant. I addressed the tea problem with our waitress and she was glad to fix it immediately while I started my meal.

Ah, the meal. Lemon pepper has a way of going bad, apparently. “Maybe the claw machine guys finally got to the cook and made a deal to end my lucky streak?”, I silently mused to myself. A replacement tea came as I hadn’t the heart to tell our waitress my fish tasted like a brown, stale, ten-weeks old piece of veal – not that I would have ANY idea what the flavor of THAT would be?

I did have enough thirst to mention to her, once again, the second tea was as sweet as the first prior to my two-packet OCD addition. With an expected surprised look, she returned to the kitchen – second iced tea in hand.

Sweetened iced tea and horrible fish – 3, Doug – 0. Oh, btw, my salad and macaroni & cheese were both so-so at this point…

The manager I went to at the front desk – one who is familiar with my frequency – accepted my fish frustration with kindness after I explained the problem. He offered to personally go back and oversee my lemon pepper replacement. Good to go.

Yep. Good to go. Good. To. Go.

While sitting in baited anticipation for my fish, a third iced tea arrived! Woohoo! It’s unsweetened. Our waitress mistakenly switched pots/kettles in the back when cleaning. Problem identified. Problem fixed. I give her credit for, at least, recognizing the issue. My mood and expectations didn’t match up with it, however.

The manager hand delivers my lemon pepper fish. “Ah,..”, my mind sighs,”.. looks great!.. slightly darker than normal. Yellow-ish with good texture. I’m finally going to enjoy my meal”.

Slightly darker really meant extra pepper. When I type, “extra pepper”, I really should type what was going though the mind of whomever was over the grill. Phrases like, “He wants extra pepper …. I’LL give him extra pepper … grrrr..” and, “He thinks the LAST fish I grilled was bad … hmffph….” are most appropriate. I needed the whole third glass of tea after only two bites of fish. So much pepper … soooo muuuuch. I even took all the unused lemon wedges from our table to help suffocate the seasoning.

Hunger overtook the evening. I choked it down. Scraping after scraping, the fish went down with enough tears to fill any reservoir full of fish. As finally explained, the first plate of fish was seasoned with garlic .. that’s why. The seasonings got confused. Actually, they didn’t 😆, the cook grabbed the wrong one.

Again, with all that’s wrong in our beautiful world, this one meal – tea and fish – is so small and insignificant. I had food. I had friends to share time with. I had the money to pay for it. I had a few minutes to play a game and win prizes.

.. And a kind manager who didn’t charge me for the meal.

During the whole incident, no angry words were exchanged. Tears were shed because of a pepper error, not words. Things were a lot sweeter, albeit unnecessarily so, and stayed that way due to calmer heads prevailing. Throughout the meal, five adults had a wonderful time, yes, at the expense of one who had some difficulty getting ahead with his meal.

It was, truly, just tea and fish at the end of the day. Just like mom’s meat pie which I dislike to this day, if need be … I would eat it, be blessed, and fortunate to have it in front of me without complaint.

This evening, dad will be joining us for a dinner out if it works in the schedule. If you’ve been following lately, you know his struggle. It would be my honor to share an iced tea with him while I still can.

Sweetened, or not.

There are never any complaints when out with dad. Sharing a meal with someone who can’t process a menu anymore or understand the simple act of ordering, is never the time to complain. It’s a time to sit back and enjoy a meal regardless what season of life it is for someone who struggles every day, yet takes peace in the reality that’s his to cherish.

Pepper, or not.

And with that healthy serving of what is really valuable to all of us, the little inconveniences of too much pepper or sugar shouldn’t ever get in the way. Besides, there’s always a chance at more happy, cute animals just around the corner no matter what happens in life … unless I get there before you do.

Guys Who Cook

I run a concession stand, but don’t really cook. Sure, every week there are quarts upon quarts of very fine chili sauce marinating upon my stove – though I don’t consider that cooking. Anyone can mix up their grandmother’s tomato base, special spices, ground beef, and onions recipe in a stainless pot … turn the burner dial to medium/low heat, … to free the simmer-scent from its previously packaged existence. Right? One of my good days, casually placing meat on a grill, or condiments in a bun, doesn’t top off a Gordon Ramsay measuring cup bad day. There are guys who cook-cook, and then there’s … me.

I’m not a guys’ guy, either. In the outdoors checklist of life, there’s empty boxes beside camping, fishing, hunting, hiking, mountain biking, llama-sighting excursions, white-water rafting, or rock climbing. I have one vice in storage we found in my grandfather’s toolshed when cleaning out his estate; therefore, you can accurately assume no tobacco or alcohol products have danced across my lips (save the one drag at age twelve and once a year if that wine cooler). It’s a life.

To be honest here, I do give in to a risk/reward obsession. This is the one clamp around my personality I call a life. Casinos, pre-pandemic, and more than occasional stops to the local convenience store – during our viral experience these days – is what checks my boxes. Yep, there are way too many slips of paper and cardboard squares in my past with losing numbers on them. It’s my go-to for semi-validation, probably, and entertainment. All of us do what we do every day … week … to get by. Understanding ourselves is the key. Let’s not do a nasty on our back and pretend it’s a nice spring rain. This was my 2020. It was, I’m sure, a lot of our 2020’s.

I’ve known about my tilt into financial risk taking. I survive by taking those chances. Some work out, some don’t. They’re calculated, yet chancy, and I don’t ever place anyone in harm’s way. Nearly two-thirds the way through a life of wonderful experiences, I’m still here celebrating on the first day of a new year. You are still surviving a life you choose to live, too – with your faults and vices in tow as well.

Maybe you’re cooking today. I’m not. Guys that can are dutifully carving up delicious meats and smiling over stew pots as evidenced by my social media feed pictures. I am envious. I sit here writing words while friends internally glance over memorized recipes in their manly brains. Seasoned pork, shrimp skewers, taters my mom wouldn’t even try, silvery cutlery embedded in meatloafs and pies … all reaching out, yet ungrabable by me. A semi-opened bag of nacho chips within reach here my only friend at the moment. Wanting more is risky. A risk even I cannot take due to the, now, beginning icy road conditions and, additionally, I have some – but no exacting idea – where any of these culinary masters live. (As an aside, the uninvited issue wouldn’t bother me. Maybe them. Not me.).

The early afternoon hours of a new year bring renewed thoughts of community. A time of honesty about ourselves, others, and where we are, especially beginning in 2021, seems so appropriate.

I saw a quote run through the comment section of a friend’s post this morning: “How uncomfortable are you willing to be, so that someone else can feel comfortable?”. This gets right to the point of us – together – as a community. If we’re to be honest with ourselves, are we doing what we need to do for the benefit of someone else? What risks are we willing to take on to benefit someone else? Is unease an ingredient we’re willing to mix in to our recipe of compassion for others?

All pretty deep questions during a day when empty bottles are still rattling around on the table and paper party hats hang from lamp shades even now calmly warm from early morning festivities. Gangs of loved ones celebrating the end of a simple December day. None of us know what this new year will bring. We want nothing special from the fourth digit flip of a zero to a one, other than no more pain and suffering in the lives of those we love. Belonging to us is the hope of a new year crowded with hugs and smiles in person – not millions of 1’s and 0’s transmitting faster than a Covid-19 virus in an empty grandparent’s holiday home or local family restaurant.

The purpose here isn’t to unmask any answer. I don’t have the Gordon Ramsay magic and, thankfully, his colorful language to shock you into a new way of thinking. No meme, cute saying, or puppy/santa picture (although I do have one queued up) elegantly inserted here will either erase your memories of last year, or have you take the next happy exit ramp. Today is Friday, January 1st, 2021. “One day at a time.” is about all I can drop into the party, unannounced.

…which is really what I’d like to do soon as I’m getting hungry and there’s at least a dozen guys who can cook close by. Ah, but I do have a few other options. Friends. Friends who UberEats. I’ll allow them the pleasure through “contractual risk transfer” – despite the possibility that they’ll never know a contract exists. A simple knock and a nod blocks away by a friend could return pork and shrimp back to me. I have ways of finding addresses previously unknown. Little risk / yummy rewards. Well, I may lose a friend in the process, which would be sad. I have to think how uncomfortable I am willing to be … in order … “. Oh man! The trap we set by our own words. How about I simply invite my friends over soon to my concession trailer for a burger, or cheese-steak? At least I know I can cook those.

Start this new year knowing who you are and who you can help. Two really cool commodities that may serve you well going ahead into a time of perfect uncertainty. Level off your measuring cup and stay calm. If you’re a guy who can cook, hat’s off, my friend. Please post pictures for me to see with an address to avoid my searching google maps and, by all means, leave the front door open. I don’t want to lose any friends.