I am a weird eater. When I was 20-years old, a dietician monitoring me commented that I ate my blueberry muffin like I was performing brain surgery — very seriously and with precision. Below are my five weirdest eating rules. This doesn’t even count being vegan.
1. Swansons Hungry Man had it right. I am a vocal Food Separator. I’m not talking about “put that on the side.” Please. That’s for amateurs. I’m talking about a designated section for each element of a dish: carb, protein, fat. I would prefer to dine with apportioned slots, but I am reasonable enough to know that that type of plateware is not readily available or convenient. Luckily, I know how to carve sections out on my plate if necessary. I just make it happen. Listen, I grew up in the ’70s and was initiated into dining to expect Salisbury steak in the main section, and then peas, mashed potatoes, and apple cobbler in their own separate slots. Those are the rules, OK? You don’t just mash them all up together and create chaos. Otherwise, we’d all be eating mush. Everything would be “mush,” as in who cares, let’s just mush it all up together. Sheesh. Even dishes that are meant to be eaten mixed up, say, spaghetti, I consume in as one-at-a-time manner as possible. Let me decide how much sauce I want on my noodle.
2. I like what I like. I once ate the same breakfast for four years in a row (vanilla yogurt with 4T wheat germ). I have now eaten the same lunch salad M-F for about 10 years. This basically means that my meals consist of like five food items. Yup, those items are a future blog post.
3. Goldilocks Syndrome. The perfect temperature for food is tepid. When I was about 10 years old, I distinctly remember waking up and feeling supremely comfortable temperature-wise. I asked my mom what the temp was because I always wanted to remember that this is when I was happiest. “72 degrees,” she said. Much in the same way, I enjoy my food room temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. In fact, I always let my food “rest” after taking it out of the fridge, microwave, or the oven to get it just right.
4. Night time is the best time. At least six out of seven nights out of the week I get up in the middle of the night and eat. Sometimes it’s a handful of cashews; other times it’s a full-on meal with dessert. There is no rhyme or reason to it, so I just roll with it. All I know is food tastes best eaten alone in the middle of the night.
5. Selfish AF. I will always take the corner piece. I will take the Bordeaux in the See’s box. Try me.
If this blog post has done anything, it has likely convinced you to never eat with me which, as an introvert, was my intent all along. I kid, I kid.