“You know, this isn’t just your anniversary” my husband said to me when I made a face at his suggestion for lunch. It may seem to you, the innocent bystander, that I am a prima dona but I assure you I am not, nor have I ever been, and the chances of that experience coming to me are getting slimmer and slimmer as time passes.
I have some very firm convictions and closely held epicurean inclinations. Fried foods are not my favorite, beef same, chicken ditto. I like vegetables, whole grains, raw or gently cooked seafood, cheese, and confections. I have a particular fondness for baked goods made from scratch. I’m really not that fond of deep fried food. My husband on the other hand LOVES deep fried seafood, loves it, has conversations about it, plans an entire weekend around gastronomical hedonism.
We had lunch at Bob’s Clam Hut, fried clams, fried shrimp, lobster stew, and french fried sweet potatoes. We left our credit card on the counter; giddy from fried food excitement, we just walked away. Nick, a very attentive employee returned it to us. In all fairness, the food was very good and the seafood flavors were distinctive, tasting like clams and shrimp, rather than just a mess of deep fried rubber.
I can afford to be magnanimous on this shared occasion. Pretty soon I’ll have a significant birthday. The entire day will be all about ME, no sharing, no compromising, no deep fried anything; unmitigated self-indulgence run rampant from the time my feet hit the floor in the morning until I conk out in happy exhaustion that night.