Lies, Damn Lies, and Appetizers

“Self, just order and appetizer as your meal. All you need. All you want.” Did I listen to myself? No. No, I did not.

If you can go out to eat at an establishment that has appetizers, really good appetizers mind you, and not order anything but those appetizers, then you are a better one than I, Gunga Din. Kipling could rightly stare over his spectacles at me with disapproval as he sneers his quotable quote that “Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears” at my numerous examples of culinary pusillanimity.

“I’m just going to get an appetizer,” I lied to myself once again.

I’m the worst about this at my local Mexican joint. EVERYTIME I try to go with a strategery of “I’m just going to get the chips and dip and cheese sauce, I don’t need anything else. Then I talk myself into the menu items. Then I eat so many chips and dip and cheese sauce. Then I don’t fully enjoy my whatever the hell I ordered when I only really wanted to get my gastro-gringo on with the chips and dip and cheese sauce. Thus, what should be enjoyable ends in confusion, shame, disappointment.

There is always my most loathed chain restaurant in the eating out filament, Cheesecake Factory. Their appetizer menu has nearly as many items as Luther had theses. Just thinking of the wait, and din, and Menu Codex of the gaudy house of one-of-everything has me wishing someone would put a nail through my own head in the faux ornate Cheesecake Factory doors; at least that way I’d never had to go in there again. But when I am forced to go, I eat appetizers only. Or try to. And fail.

During a recent mall visit, one of the occupational hazards of girl-dadding, the quest for a prom dress was sandwiched around a trip to P.F. Chang’s, which has done for Asian cuisine what Totino’s did for authentic pizza. Once you realize the “PF” stands for Paul Fleming, of Fleming’s Steakhouse fame, you can’t really unsee it and Paulie Chang’s just doesn’t hit the same. At any rate, P.F. Chang’s lettuce wrap appetizers are darn good eats.

The flavors are there, the Do-It-Yourself interaction is fun, the portion is just the right amount to either share around or gorge yourself solo. And I love me some lettuce wraps. So, once again, I told myself “Self, the best thing on this menu is the lettuce wraps, you will eat enough of the lettuce wraps, just get the lettuce wraps. All you need. All you want.”

Did I listen to myself? No. No, I did not.

I ordered the lettuce wraps. And the crab wontons, and the — I’m quoting from the menu here — NEW! Popcorn Chicken.

Somehow the midlevel chain restaurant crab wontons with what is proclaimed to be “fresh ingredients” is far worse than my local strip mall Asian place where I’ve watched homeslice working the line dump the frozen right into the fryer. And I don’t mind one bit, they be good eats. The popcorn chicken at P.F. Chang’s was indiscernible from the product of the same name you get from Sonic for a quarter of the price, minus the crispy rice noodles and plate. But at Sonic they don’t give you 4 sauces in marked squeeze bottles so, there is that. Of course, Sonic has Christian happy hour from 2pm-4pm where you get half priced slushies. Perhaps in heaven along with the absence of pain, death, tears, and the presence of BBQ trees there will be good popcorn chicken with crispy noodles and grape slushies. What a day, glorious day, that will be.

Anywho, back in this current dispensation of time…

I devoured my lettuce wraps. This batch was particularly good and well prepared. And it made everything else that was already mid to start with seem even less-than because, once again, all I really wanted was the lettuce wraps and should have stuck to that.

Why, why do I do this to myself. My eyes are eternally bigger than my stomach. Almost literally these days, as I only have 20% of a stomach left anyway. So perhaps some reflection is in order. Perhaps a reconsidering of values when I approach a meal out. Whereas I can screw my courage to the mast and stand fast against all sorts of assaults and storms life throws my way, I can surely win a battle over mere amuse-gueule, a less anxious approach to antipasto, a little first course fortitude, a little less hors d’oeuvre wh…well, you get the idea.

Or I could just go out and order some mozzarella sticks. Fried cheese fixes everything, after all.

This piece also appears at Ordinary Times.