eating again 11/9/09

i like eating at home because i don't like maneuvering through crowded restaurants like a lewd tightrope walker, inadvertently shoving my ass in people's faces as i try to avoid shoving something else in the faces of the neighboring table.

for me, dining out reduces the pleasurable act of eating to a stressful social dance where there are protocols to follow. i particularly dislike the waiter system- it seems formal and sophisticated because someone else serves me food, but only after i first get his or her attention by waving wildly like an infant incapable of feeding himself. then the waiter comes over, ask why i'm crying, then i effectively point to my gaping maw and say "feed me." it's all really humiliating. and then i'm supposed to pay for this? and leave a tip? no, thanks.

anyway, i cooked at home the other night. it turns out that my baby analogy is a good lead-in to discussing this meal, because that's exactly how i felt eating it. that orange-ish mound is some purée of something mediterranean-y that was probably supposed to taste like Provence or Italy, but really tasted like a shoe. being that it was a puree, i had to usher it into my mouth in spoonfuls. i feel like i should have worn a bib. the spinach was better, because i adulterated it with a generous slab of butter and a splash of puddle of cream.

since french grocery store clerks are about as useful as VCRs in 2009, they scan your groceries and then hurl them down a metal slope, where you're supposed to bag them yourself. since i come from a place where someone would blow my nose for me if i asked nicely enough, i'm not used to this. as a result, i just get disoriented and confused when my groceries come flying at me. i guess in between the can of chick peas that hit me in the gut and the box of cookies that nearly hit my nose, i missed the salt that was rolled down the metal slope. my meal, thus, contained no added sodium.

anyway, the pesto tortellini was/were really good, since the sauce on them is cream, butter and shredded comté cheese.

dessert was something called a gâteau au fromage blanc. if i make this in america, i will call it a meh cake, since that's pretty much the sentiment it inspired for me. i might also call it the american psycho cake, because it looks like christian bale had a swing at this with his chainsaw.

i enjoyed this meal, even if my gallbladder didn't. the flavors were mostly good, but the best part was that i got to eat it at home. i had to do the dishes, of course, which wouldn't have happened in a restaurant, but if scrubbing a pot is all i have to do to avoid asking a waiter to perform the basic function of feeding me, pass me my t-shirt and fancy dinner boxers, daddy's done eating out.