Food things that irk me, part 2

Part 1 was vegetarians. I wrote, with some glee, about vegetarians who come for dinner and don’t forewarn you about their uncompromising diet, so that you have to scramble to accommodate them.

Today’s peeve is sharing at restaurants.

I’m out to dinner with some friends. I go over the menu with great deliberation, and finally zone in, happily, on exactly what I want. Then the voice of one of my dinner companions erupts, usually quite chipper,

“We’re all sharing, aren’t we?!?”

“Of course!”

“You bet!”

“I love sharing!”

My answer is, usually, “No, thank you.”

Right now, you may be saying to yourself, oh, come on, what’s the big deal about sharing? It’s fun! You get to try everything that everyone orders! You’ll probably taste something new that you wouldn’t have ordered otherwise—and maybe even love it. Come on—lighten up!

Well, my answer is, I DON’T FUCKING WANT TO SHARE. After careful consideration, I’ve found exactly what I want and am hugely looking forward to having it all to myself. I want to savor every bite, from start to finish. It’s not as if you’re going to starve if I don’t share my food with you. You have your dish. I have mine. Isn’t that enough? I don’t want your long arm reaching over the table to stab at my food, and I don’t want my long arm reaching over to stab at yours, most likely dragging my sleeve through the butter in the process.

If you have never rejected the idea of sharing your food, let me tell you, the looks you get. The comments! It’s like the five stages of grief.

First, comes disbelief. They look at you like they didn’t hear you correctly. “He couldn’t really have said, ‘I don’t want to share.’ Impossible!” The second stage is they want to know why. “You don’t want to share? Why not?” I always give them an inadequate answer, “I’d just rather not.” The third stage is outrage, usually not openly expressed. Well, maybe some mutterings, “Well, if that’s how you want it….” They often look at you as if you’re a right wing fanatic. Or a left wing fanatic. Certainly anti-social. Probably un-American. The fourth stage is an uneasy silence while everyone waits for their food. The fifth and last stage is they give you one more chance when the food arrives.

“Are you sure you don’t want to share? It all looks so good! There’s more than enough for everyone!”

At this point, I’m feeling like Scrooge eating alone, wary-eyed, misanthropic, silent. But I’m not going to give in. I’m not going to change my mind. I’m loving this food, every single bite of it.

“No! Not now. Not ever! BON APPETIT!!!!”