Let's get one thing straight: I'm a big fan of eating. This is largely due, I assume, to my self-diagnosed status as a supertaster (if you're wondering, I was convinced of such status by reading the list of problem foods for supertasters on Wikipedia and realizing it matched my tastes perfectly). My love of food has caused me problems in the past, and continues to do so. You may be surprised to be apprised of the fact that not all of these problems are weight-related.
My wife has pretty good taste, but is not nearly as much of a food-lover as I am. I can't really hold this against her; she's lactose-intolerant and, therefore, cut off from a huge family of foods that are simple to learn and difficult to master. It's tough to just sit back and enjoy the flavors when you have to constantly watch your back for any insidious cheese particles. Although we've recently discovered that a large variety of cheeses contain little-to-no lactose, I don't think she'll ever overcome the crippling fear of delicious that seems to be a sort of badge of honor among the lactose-averse: a sneaking suspicion that everything good-tasting will somehow manage to make you sick.
Thankfully, I have none of her gastronomic weaknesses, and all foods fall before my iron digestive tract like cows to an oncoming train. You'd think, with such wildly divergent tastes and allergies, we'd be more interested in finding ways to eat that didn't necessarily involve us both eating the same thing. And you'd be dead wrong! My wife has a sort of mania, a phobia, an obsessive-compulsive drive about which I have no choice but to inform the world. She's crazy.
There are foods that my wife is even more allergic to, it seems, than lactose: these are any foods one gets at a restaurant. Of course, any sickness she contracts from eating out is purely psychosomatic; something about the act of handing over money for food and then having it cooked for you rubs her the wrong way. This has been the seed of more than half of the arguments we have had in our relationship. Even before we were married, she fretted regularly over her concern that I would FORCE her to eat in RESTAURANTS nearly EVERY DAY.
Crazy.
I feel that I am a reasonable man. I understand her concerns about the associated cost of paying people to cook your food for you. I don't understand how her mind manages to translate "I'd like to go out to eat once in a while," into "I demand that we eat at restaurants nigh CONSTANTLY!"
I know that she fears a descent into a restaurant-based lifestyle because of how vigorously she plans out our meals each week, leaving no room for discussion and little for complaint. Understand, reliable reader, that she and I come from two different worlds vis-à-vis planning stuff. Hers is one of methodology and detailed lists, mine of spontaneity and imagination. I would never stoop to plan a meal without taking a look at my ingredients first; my style is to go to the supermarket, buy whatever looks tasty, and make a dish out of it. She relies heavily on recipes, apparently not trusting her own sense of visionary yum.
By the time we get to the supermarket (we nearly always go shopping together; she claims to enjoy it, though I suspect this is mainly in order to monitor and control my impulse buys), every single day is planned, and the plan never says "restaurant." My friends, this is why the last month has been so amazing.
True, I had hoped to do a lot more cooking while she was gone -- in fact, I was somewhat disappointed that I only had the opportunity to cook for myself one time. On the flip side, though, in the past month I have eaten at restaurants more than in the past two years. Let that sink in for a moment, and you may realize just how terrifyingly spartan my wife's culinary lifestyle is.
The problem is more than just home cooking, though. Say you're going to be driving for ten hours one day. What's a reasonable food schedule if you're leaving at 5pm? Drive a few hours, stop somewhere for dinner, drive another few, stop for a snack. Naturally you should also walk around a bit at each stop, and pack plenty of water. This is all completely normal, and somehow my wife finds it completely abhorrent.
No, she would much rather pack a couple ham sandwiches and force me to drive past hundreds of tasty-looking restaurants, my legs aching for the comfort of solid ground and my stomach aching for the succor that only a non-hastily-prepared meal can provide. Look, home cooking is one thing, restaurants are one thing, but how can I be expected to abide a freaking sandwich? She sees it as a matter of saving money, but honestly I'd just as soon save money by never going to the doctor. She's stated to me recently that she's more interested in spending money on experiences than on possessions; well, what about dining experiences?
That's why these past few weeks have been so amazing; I've had the opportunity to try dozens of different kinds of foods that I never would have even heard about had I simply stuck to my wife's recipe book. Don't let yourself get caught in the same rut as me. Even if it's just once a week, forget about just saving money to live in the future and start spending a bit of money to live right now. When my wife gets back from her second trip, I'm going to have a long talk with her about the importance and desired orientation of restaurant dining in my life. I want to share those experiences and flavors with her. I want to show her that there's a cost that outweighs the savings when you never go out to eat, and that cost is one that can't be made up with money. I want to see her laugh in the dim restaurant lighting, I want to see her eyes widen with delight when she tastes a bit of the appetizer I ordered, and I want to hold her hand across the table while we eat. Maybe I should just play up the romance aspect of restaurant dining? I'm confident that she loves me more than she loves money; I just need to show her that, when she avoids going out to eat, her choice doesn't reflect that love.
***PAID FOR BY THE NATIONAL RESTAURANT ASSOCIATION***
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