What’s For Dinner?
When I sit to write a new piece, I will typically consider what has interested me lately or a thought that continues to pop-up over the last few days. It’s ironic that once I chose the topic of indecisiveness that I went back and forth on how to begin…
For some, deciding on what to have or where to go for dinner is an easy, fun jaunt through a field of delicious choices. After a couple of quick considerations with your dining mate, you’re off to eat. For others, like me, it is a mind numbing , possibly relationship ending dilemma that rarely yields a winner. And today, after an otherwise extremely pleasant day, I have found myself in this exact position.
It’s not that I want my life to be difficult, as it would perhaps seem, but I have an unavoidable urge to weigh the pros and cons. For example, if I may, is this healthy, is that place too expensive, is it too casual, are the bar seats good, do I like the current menu, how are the wine by the glass prices because I intend to drink at least two glasses, and so on. I tend to also stall until I am at peak stress — hoping that the perfect spot will just come to me (hint: it never does) — which only amplifies the discomfort. Anxious yet? You may wonder, Jasmyn, if it is so agonizing to choose, why go out at all? Fine question my reader and one I should sincerely consider, yet — get ready for this twist — I also have gripping ‘fomo’ (fear of missing out) when it comes to restaurants and I want, no, need to have an opinion should a restaurant come up in conversation. I must know what the vibe is and if I’m a fan. The longer the restaurant list, the more choices I have but, you know, I’m looking for the perfect spots and that takes research.
Necessary self reflection has shown me that I have always been like this just in various forms. As a young child my parents excitedly exposed my sister and I to a wide array of foods which I happily obliged to. As I grew, I pleaded for multiple appetizers wanting to try it all — there’s that ‘fomo’ — and would then barely touch my entrée. I would joke that once the entrees finally came I would take one bite for taste, a second bite for courtesy, and then take the rest home. I began working in restaurants in my teens, more specifically a farm-to-table Vermont fine dining restaurant, that taught me about great food. I had been eating there since I was quite young falling asleep at the tables after my dinner while my mom finished her glass of wine, but once I worked there and took a peak behind the culinary curtain I was filled with excitement. From then on I knew what great food should taste like, feel like, and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice much when I went out to eat.
After one too many moments of scrolling through “dinner near me” options on Google, I typically find a place for a cocktail to narrow my search and attempt to relax. Today, that mission was sidetracked by a sidewalk coffee cart which I obviously could not resist — it’s a small business of course! Icy, grassy matcha in hand I discussed the potential Japanese origin stories of said drink with my barista. I say my goodbyes and continue down the street and remember, shit, I have nowhere to sit with my new drink and consider where I’m going! Stomach growling and brain now completely scrambled, I dive into a nearby bookstore to peruse the novels and shiny cookbooks.
Similarly to when I run, encouraging myself to go another mile with the promise of a beer at the end, I tell myself that I’ll start at nearby, familiar spot for a wine and snack then move on for dinner if I’m not jiving with my decision. Running and restaurant choices are all about negotiation and compromise. With one confident and caffeinated breath I move forward towards my destination. An important reminder here: do not look any other restaurant in the eye as you walk down the street. Water Witch for a tiki drink? No, we need food. Maybe a quick sake and sushimi at Ukiyo? Not today, I heard they’re changing chefs and updating the menu and cannot risk a disappointing meal. Better to avoid until they figure it out.
It wasn’t always quite like this. As I grew more concerned about the money I spent or the food that I put into my body, it became more and more difficult to choose as there were more things to consider. I will say, too, that I have saved myself from bad meals or underwhelming experiences by thinking so much and it is for that reason and that reason alone that I will say, thank you anxiety.
Finally, I’ve made it to the restaurant and there’s no turning back now. I snuggle up to the bar, starving, and relax into my seat. Deciding on what to eat at a restaurant feels like a science. It depends on the time of day, who you’re with, how long you’ll be there, and so on. When it’s just myself — and I do dine alone quite often — I typically stick to the small plate section. That way I don’t have to decide on just one main dish and I can have a few nibbles from maybe two to three plates. If I’ve never been to a restaurant and I’m unsure, I’ll start with a glass of bubbles and a small plate to feel out the food before I dive in for more. This gives me an out if I’m not loving the food. In this instance, I'm happy with my cocktail and oysters that I’ve ordered which feels like a little win.
For all of my nervous, picky, indecisive, overthinking eaters: I see you. I’m there with you, two barstools down probably, wondering why I can’t just order the chicken and a glass of sauvignon blanc and get over it. But, what’s the fun or adventure in that? After all, if I’m not debating with myself on where or what to eat, no longer caring about the time with a loved one or a precious moment to myself then I might as well stock my freezer with dinners and retire my cocktail dresses. That or I could become a trusty regular at my neighborhood bistro… I can never decide.
