Part III of the Idiot 'ilogies.
The glass can not be full unless a hot meal comes with it.
Oh yeah... we're talking one step away from going primitive.
You check into a charming, little hotel... Quite nicely appointed and off the beaten track -- perfect for your weekend getaway. However, your allergen-meter goes on alert when you spy horses gently grazing on the property. Horse dander and you have never been on friendly terms -- in fact, the last time you went for a horseback ride, you dismounted covered in hives from the belly-button down. Not a deal-breaker, but definitely a reason not to go for long walks on this particular property. Once the body goes into allergen-response mode, it seems as though it reacts more sensitively to the allergens it comes into contact with subsequently.
You check in and then go up to your double room. It's a rustic hotel, and it looks as though it doesn't have A/C. You immediately claim the bed near the window... purely because "She who is near the window controls its opening and closing," in theory. If you can keep it closed, you'll hopefully minimize your allergen response... Your BFF is happy to claim the other bed, and you both plop down for a second -- after the long ride, it feels good to stretch out on a mattress.
BFF starts reading aloud from one of the brochures she picked up at the desk -- there's an attraction nearby -- you could conceivably check it out before dinner. "After dinner," you correct her. You are stAAAAAAARVing and nothing will keep you away from a succulent half of a cornish hen, roasted 'til crispy- brown with an herbal rub and surrounded by new potatoes, broiled in a buttery, rosemary glaze... Or a horseradish and sesame-crusted tuna steak, lightly grilled so that the center is still raw... With julienned ginger, zucchini and summer squash... Or maybe even chicken korma, with chunks of dried fruits and whole cashews, with an extra green chilly for good measure -- and, of course, how can it be ingested without a delicious tadhka daal, basmati and -- oh, let's go all out -- a kerala paratha! And wash it all down with a glass of red Sula, and a generous helping of 3 gulab jamuns.... Ohhh... Your heart races just thinking about an imminent feast.
"Why?" BFF asks. After all, she just ate a couple of hours ago.
After a bit of clever coaxing, you're on your way to a restaurant that was highly recommended by the reception clerk. When you get there, you find it's slightly more than a pub -- which is fine -- you just need one good, "stick to the ribs" kind of meal, and pub fare will do the job just as well as haute cuisine.
You alert the hostess that you have deadly food allergies, and ask if they can accommodate you. "Sure!" she says, without much hesitation.
Okay, perhaps that's a good sign....
You're seated at a table that offers a lovely view of the gardens -- you're both quite pleased with the rustic charm of the place. You open the menu and discuss the selections, as you begin to narrow your choices. A bit of girl-talk and giggling ease into the mix... your stomach's growling, but you're still able to enjoy the perks of being a girl. During the conversation, you take out a flash card and place it on the table - readying for the most important conversation you will have all day. It's as though you're operating on two levels of consciousness -- on the one, you MUST eat -- and, on the other, it's nice having a couple of days away with your BFF. Not long afterwards, the waiter comes to take your drink order and announce today's specials. You then make your announcement.
Virtually the same words every time... but you tailor them to the listener -- go into more depth here and there, as you gauge whether or not you have connected with the person's comprehension... all you need is for him to understand, then he can take your flash card and be your worthy messenger.
You connect, and the waiter says he will speak with the chef. In his absence, conversation turns to another girlfriend who just gave birth to twins. You both try to wrap your heads around how she is handling two sets of hungry mouths and poopy bottoms when the waiter returns. He says that he'll take your order and then consult with the chef. You both place your orders. Yours is strategically chosen to demand the least customization of all the selections -- baked salmon and garlic-sauteed spinach... healthy and simple. You specify that you don't need any garnish, and that they should just place the fish and spinach on the plate without anything else. The "no garnish" concept was a bit difficult -- garnishing a plate is normally a thoughtless endeavor -- but garnish awareness is essential for a successful dining experience, so... the waiter disappears into the kitchen with your orders.
BFF asks why you have to take so much time to explain your requirements to the waiter... "Every time! I mean, gosh... Doesn't it get embarrassing for you?" Somehow, it comes through that the embarrassment BFF refers to is more hers than yours. Not quite sympathetic.
Your friend nibbles on the bread, but you cannot -- you have no idea whether the ingredients are safe, so you abstain... that leaves more room for the food that you're paying for anyway... oh yesss... every, delectable morsel of salmon....
The waiter comes back with a few questions about the foods on your flash card. You answer, in hopes that this will help them determine how they will prepare your dish. The aroma of the dishes on the surrounding tables makes your stomach growl even louder. "Mmmm... the food here smells great!" BFF says, looking around at the other tables. You look around also, thinking, "Finally! My one, square meal of the day."
The waiter comes back, bringing your flash card. "We're sorry, but the chef said that the oils we use all contain sunflower, and we don't use any other type of cooking oil."
"Butter?" you offer.
"We use a margarine spread that contains sunflower. So we can't make the salmon and spinach for you. We can steam some carrots and broccoli for you, though. We would steam them and we know you would be fine."
You look at BFF, who does a reverse-nod and says, "That sounds good to me. Will it be ready with my sliders? We're hungry!" She bats her lashes.
The waiter responds, "Yes." He turns to you, "Are you okay with the broccoli and carrots?" You're disappointed that BFF still wants to eat here... despite her sudden hunger and lack of empathy, you give in, since you need to eat something other than fruit and nuts sooner rather than later. He disappears into the kitchen.
"Why couldn't we go some place else? I've just eaten fruits and nuts today -- I'm going to grow feathers!" He had barely disappeared, when this sentiment burst from your lips.
Okay, that lacked subtlety.
"What do you mean? You're going to have vegetables -- that's better than nuts, right?" BFF says this without a trace of deeper understanding.
Your mouth literally drops open... which is good... it's best that you check your initial response for something more tactful. "I'm not a vegetarian, Bea. Organic - yes. Vegetarian - no. They're not the same. I need one square meal a day, at minimum... and I really am craving fish or chicken."
"Oh... I didn't know. Can we just stay and then we can go somewhere else tomorrow?" Just as these words are out of BFF's mouth, the waiter arrives with your food. Her sliders make you salivate, despite the fact that you don't eat beef. Your steamed carrots and broccoli look more boiled than steamed... and when you take your first bit, you realize that they did not use any seasoning -- not even salt. Your eyes water.
You've known BFF since the year after your anaphylactic diagnosis more than a decade ago. If she doesn't understand by now, she never will
