Chinese Food
I have a girlfriend back in Pittsburgh I love spending time with. We are completely compatible in every way except for one thing. She is obsessed with Chinese food. Not like a rational person, but like a crazy person. She could - and I’m not exaggerating - eat it for three meals a day. Every. Single. Day.
The other problem? The caliber of restaurants we ended up at. Infested with rodents and flies? No big deal. Cited by the Health Department for dirty kitchen surfaces? Whatever. A buffet bin full of greasy, questionable dark meat that may or may not be chicken? Bon appétit! (I’m kidding…a little.)
Thankfully, since I moved to Florida, she has a new meal partner—a friend who shares her love of sh*tty Chinese food. They have lunch dates at the buffet…oh…I don’t know…I’m guessing at least twice a week. Whenever I’m in town and meet them to shop or hang out, I brace myself for a hug, holding my nose against the lingering cloud of sweet, sticky Chinese food.
If you’ve been reading regularly and following along, you know I’m not a fancy food girl. I’ll happily devour any kind of junky food—pizza, burgers, onion rings—but I draw the line at godawful, crappy, cheap ass Chinese food. After years of lunching together—me nibbling on a molecule of broccoli—the smell of Chinese food now makes me gag. At this point, I might be incapable of enjoying even the finest Chinese cuisine (though I happily dive into Thai or Vietnamese without even thinking twice). It’s hard to swallow. Literally.
While I miss my pal, I’m glad I’m off the hook as a guest and thrilled her ritual has continued with a new buddy. But last week, Bill started making noise about wanting Chinese food, and one of my Italian-ish dinners was met with, “I’m really craving Chinese… like you used to get back home,” and let me tell you, nothing says romance and inspires me to cook more (said sarcastically) than my man comparing the dinner I slaved over to back-alley Dollar Store Chinese food.
Naturally, I did what any self-respecting, crappy-Chinese-food-hating housewife would do: The next day, I drove to Costco and grabbed a box of frozen General Tso’s chicken, frozen wontons, frozen broccoli, and instant rice. Back at home, I whipped up a “feast” that easily outshone any Chinese buffet of congealed rice, unidentifiable meats swimming in oily sauces, and the limp, gray vegetables Bill was referring to.
Nothing but the best for my man! Hopefully, that put his Chinese-food craving to rest.
A girl can hope… and dream… and maybe even celebrate a little.