Asshole Monday: Picky Eaters

Some of you may be thinking, “But, Stacey, you are a vegetarian. What is your beef with picky eaters? You are a picky eater!” And to that I say, “No, no I am not a picky eater. I just don’t eat meat. There is a difference.” In truth, I will try anything once.* How am I to ever know that I don’t like if I don’t try it?!

Picky eaters as a whole don’t really bother me. Not at all. I understand certain people have their reasons for not liking certain things. As long as they are willing to try it, I am all for it. But for picky eaters that won’t even try things…

Let’s all be adults here. You are old enough to eat something or at least try something out of the ordinary. You look like a whiny little bitch when you don’t (And for the love of Pete if you try something and you don’t like and you spit it out, you deserve to be kicked repeatedly in the face for being a petulant child). One bite is all it takes and if you don’t like it, I will never ask again. Simple, right? It’s pretty fucking simple.

The worst kind of picky eater (This is where I go ahead and tell you things that people probably think about you but never say because those people are nice):

Listen, this is very, very important, when you go to a restaurant that is known for something specific, say seafood, or steak, or sushi, or Chinese food or whatever…don’t order a fucking cheeseburger. I really, really can’t stand it when people go to a restaurant that has one specialty and they get something else. Like going to Half Shell and ordering a cheeseburger. Really, going anywhere that isn’t known for cheeseburgers, and getting a cheeseburger is the most ridiculous thing, redneck thing I could have ever imagined in my entire life. Does that make me an uppity bitch? No doubt! Am I okay with it? For sure.

If you don’t like seafood, fine. I actually do understand when I want to go somewhere, say sushi, for example. And if the person I am going with doesn’t like sushi, I am more than fine with picking somewhere else. I am not going to make them go somewhere where all they do is bitch or…order a cheeseburger.

Here is the thing, if you go to a restaurant and you don’t get what they are famous for, you are doing yourself a grave disservice. Whenever you go anywhere, please, get what they do well or else you are a picky eating idiot. True Story.

And then, sigh, there is this…

When I ate meat, I loved steak. Loved it. I would eat it at least once a week if I could. I would rather have it over chicken any day. It also needed to be pretty rare. Not quite to the point of a blood soaked plate, but close. That sounds disgusting as all hell to me now but back then, I loved it. I never cooked steak but David did and he was very good at it. He is also where I learned a very, very important rule about steak consumption:

Never, upon any circumstances, should anyone put steak sauce on a good steak. Ever. If it’s a shitty steak, go for it. I actually love the taste of A1 and I put it on a baked potato with sour cream. It is the bees knees (or if you want to go really crazy, throw some spicy, garlicy hummus on it!).

My point, if it’s a good steak, you don’t need steak sauce. The taste of the meat (dead, cow carcass farmed in half the time and corn fed) is good enough without all that shit on it. Just enjoy the meat, bro. It’s what it’s there for (poor cows…). Putting steak sauce on a good steak isn’t exactly the equivalent of putting ketchup on any steak, but it is close.

Really, all I am asking here, is just be open to new things. Food is one of my very favorite things on this here shitty planet that we live on. Enjoy it and try all of it. You could have been missing out all this time on something awesome, you picky fucking assholes.

*That is actually not true. I refused to eat a pickled egg one time and I stand by my refusal.