On the Side

Legging One Out

So the other night I was sitting at my desk, eating my two-piece dark meat special after a hard evening of note-taking on alternative energy sources and economic development firms, when I actually offended myself by saying something heinous. For dramatic pause, I'll direct you to the picture of a delicous chicken leg, posted here after much web-searching effort. Like you can't see it hanging out over there. By golly, it's more like a turkey leg! I love Photoshop...

Anyhoo, a boss and I got to batting back and forth weather chicken itself doesn't really taste like much of anything unless it's coated in spices and/or breading, and fried. The boss contends that you can taste the difference between free-range, wild and, well, the less fortunates from factory farms that we figure are probably used at most restaurants and that most of us (like me) buy at the grocery.

And then I said it. "This may be the only time this chicken leg has gotten used," I said, hopping it across my desk. I paused in thought and then scowled. "Wow, I just offended myself!" I proclaimed. "I don't know if I can eat this now." The boss chimed in that he'd eat it. But I forged ahead for the sake of hunger.

It's not the first time the topic of livestock treatment has arisen with me lately. The Spouse and I have debated Issue 2, which, if passed, would change Ohio's constitution to form an oversight board. The Humane Society is, of course, contending that the people who need oversight shouldn't be overseeing themselves. The Spouse contends that animals we'll eventually eat shouldn't necessarily be tucked in at night and read a bedtime story, unlike our cat, who still jumps up and bites our feet hanging over the bed in the middle of the night (ungrateful feline). As long as they the food doesn't make us sick, then what's the big deal, some say. I like the idea of a chicken being able to run and peck at the ground instead, to get some enjoyment out of his or her short life. But I'm still myopic in that I'm not exactly forking over the dough for any of those birds yet.

Thoughts?

A Tipster

Dear server,

Let me start by stating that I admire what you do for a living. If pimping ain't easy, than serving certainly isn't. You cater to the hungry masses. You generally tolerate their hypoglycemic-induced impatience. You give the rude your warm, friendly smile. And you balance those heavy trays laden with plates and beverages ever so adeptly.

Every now and then you may almost drop a sizzling steak platter on someone's head. And no one can blame you if you come back to the table and can't remember who got the Coke and who got the iced tea. You're even entitled to be a little grumpy on really bad days - the kind we all have, on occasion, when you start off by running late, you flail to the ground on the last stairway step, a sore throat portends a nasty cold, and you accidently spill coffee on your crotch. I know how it is and I sympathize.

Having said all that, I hope that you'll take my advice into account here. I'm talking good stuff - stuff that could make you more rich and maybe get you that much closer to buying that Coach purse you've been eyeing. I've spoken of this topic before but feel the need to address it again: that of tipping. Over the past two weeks the spouse and I have noticed an alarming trend which has prohibited us from tipping to our full potential. Servers have suddenly forgotten how to handle actual money, as in paper bills and coinage, or have simply forgotten an important rule of Serving 101: give your customers the appropriate change for maximum tippage. If you're giving a customer $7 in change from a $30 bill, DO NOT bring back to the table a fiver and two ones. Although someone like me often uses this archaic method of paying for meals, I don't always have extra George Washington's just floating around in my wallet to supplement that which you've left me. This seems like a fairly straightforward concept to me, and I'm one of those people who got excited when I found out my cell phone has a tip calculator feature.

Perhaps, since many bartenders are now responsible for making change rather than you, you're actually unaware of what you're specifically giving me. Who knows, maybe she thinks you're prettier than her and she hates your guts. A word to the wise: start taking a peek. Because it's more likely that I'm going to leave you that whole two dollars and loose change (maybe a Connecticut quarter, the prettiest of all state quarters, but not a gold-plated one like that which is pictured above) and pocket the other bill. Particularly if you don't care enough to leave me the option of giving you more, and when you sprint away from my table, never to be seen from again and therefore never to be flagged down for more dollar bills in exchange for the five.

C'mon, I know that new Bleeker patchwork leather duffel looks mighty pretty there in the display window at Westfield Franklin Park Mall. Think about what I've said here as you continue to window shop.

Sincerely,

Your Connecticut Quarter Fan Customer

Quiche Me

I was swiping student ID cards at Miami University's Erikson Dining Hall one day when a guy asked me the usual question - what's good for dinner tonight? Quiche Lorraine, was my obvious answer. Sure, you could go with waffles or the usual cheeseburger or chicken nuggets, but the featured dish was quiche and it was good. "I'm not eating that! I'm not gay!" the guy defensively snapped back at me, clearly offended. I was confused. What does eating an egg pie with meat have to do with your sexual preference, I wondered? People scarf bacon, ham, and scrambled eggs with any number of other ingredients all the time as separate entities; a quiche is just adding them together with a crust. I'm not gay either but I love quiche.

Come to find out I was a little behind the times, having never heard of the famed 1982 book that spent 53 weeks on the New York Times Best Seller list called "Real Men Don't Eat Quiche." Bruce Feirstein's sarcastic take on stereotypes gave us the term "quiche-eater," meant to describe an effeminate man. I still wonder why he picked quiche. Why not souffles or corn dogs or tuna noodle casserole? "Real Men Don't Eat Tuna Noodle Casserole" sounds much better, dontcha think?

For the millionth time I wondered why some people feel it necessary to be homophobic jerks. And here's an interesting aside - that statement alone led to a phone call this afternoon by none other than Feirstein himself, who also happens to be a contributing editor at Vanity Fair, was a writer for publications from The New Yorker to Playboy, and is a screenwriter for the James Bond series (the man's done a lot). Feirstein thought I was labeling him as a homophobe when it fact I had the Miami U. quiche hater in mind. The Los Angeles resident said that after all these years he continues to have more than his fair share of run-ins with people accusing him of being a gay basher because of his "Real Men" book. "It was much more about guys trying too hard to keep up with the latest trends than anything. It was a tongue-in-cheek look at what were then the very beginnings of what we now call the metrosexual," he explained. But over-the-top manly men were also mocked too. It was "taking sociological trends and just making fun of them." The book's ultimate message was that "a real man is about being true to himself and having that moral compass that always points due north," Feirstein said. He graciously added that my title "Real Men Don't Eat Tuna Noodle Casserole" wouldn't have been bad either.

Talking with Feirstein was an absolute pleasure and I'm glad he called so that I could clarify my statement - the last thing I want to do is write something that could potentially be so greatly misunderstood, or tick off the man who's imagination keeps James Bond dodging the bad guys in oh-so-creative ways.

At any rate, there's a picture up above of my tasty lunch today - tomato quiche (with a bite out of it because I was so hungry I forgot I was going to post a picture of it) with a famed butterflake roll. From time to time I make my own quiche Lorraine too, although the spouse refuses to eat it. In fact, I don't know any man who will. Could it be that 25 years later this goofy label is still influencing people's eating behavior?

Male readers, do you eat quiche? And female readers, what have you observed lately? Is quiche still as taboo for men as running to the store to buy feminine hygiene products for their women, or are they easing back into quiche domain, secure in the fact that they can indeed eat egg pie and remain heterosexual? 

A Dilemma

I'm at a crossroads and must decide which direction to take. Without going into too many specifics here, lest I be sued for defamation, I'm teetering on the brink of a boycott. I know some of you must know what conflicting, tragic emotions I'm dealing with here. You patronize a place. You kinda likey. You go there again. You decide you more than likey. So you keep going back (or at least have every intention of going back). 

When suddenly, said place really ticks you off or offends you in some way, shape or form. You weigh your options. You consider self-imposed abstinence. You wonder if you can handle it. You ponder if it's the right thing to do.

The magnitude of my dilemma is not even close to, say, that of the Montgomery bus boycott, the era of which this picture depicts. That boycott, driven by the force of thousands of people acting individually for the sake of one cause, lasted 12 months instead of its initially intended 1-day and helped launch the Civil Rights Movement.

The act itself is named after Charles Boycott, who was involved in a 1880 Irish land reform dispute during which he refused to charge lower rents to his tenants and ultimately ejected them from their homes. That resulted in his family being blackballed by servants, farmhands and store workers, and the term for such treatment was applied to his name.

My boycott, if I so choose that route, will be a solitary one involving individual principles. My absence certainly won't cause the owners any sleepless nights. The problem I'm facing, however, involves an obvious disparity - I'd be refusing to patronize a particular restaurant because of issues that have nothing to do with its food, service, pricing or atmosphere. All of those factors I like a great deal. In fact, the offense doesn't even have anything to do with this place offending me personally; it's not like I was treated like garbage during a recent visit or found my fried chicken frozen in the middle (things that have happened to me but which only resulted in repeat visits, actually).

I'm wondering if a boycott would really be justified at this point or not. Maybe the reasons are ultimately too petty to bother about.

Have you ever actually boycotted a particular business? What were your reasons?

Jewel of Sri Lanka

Mmm. Look at that lovely faceted aquamarine. Doesn't it look delicious? Might be a little bit difficult to bite into, but if it's surrounded by chocolate then who cares - certainly not you, anyway, if you're willing to fork over $14,500 for such a dessert. The following AP story details the kind of dish that will likely never be offered in Findlay:

COLOMBO, Sri Lanka (AP) — This dessert may be a little too rich for you, but you’re probably not rich enough for it.

A Sri Lankan resort is charging $14,500 for what it calls the world’s most expensive dessert, a fruit-infused confection complete with a chocolate sculpture and a gigantic gemstone.

"The Fortress Stilt Fisherman Indulgence" was created to give visitors at The Fortress resort in the coastal city of Galle a one-of-a-kind experience, said the hotel’s public relations manager, Shalini Perera.

The dessert is a gold leaf Italian cassata flavored with Irish cream, served with a mango and pomegranate compote and a champagne sabayon enlighten. It’s decorated with a chocolate carving of a fisherman clinging to a stilt — an age-old local fishing practice — and an 80-carat aquamarine stone.

The dessert has to be specially ordered, Perera said. Though the hotel has received calls about it from as far away as Japan, she said, no one has yet forked over the money to try it.

Pretty darn over-the-top, eh? And with a giant sweep of my generalized stereotyping pen, I can peg the kind of person that would be all over this deal: the hillbilly lottery winner. Ever watch any of those shows on TLC and the like that feature those nuevo riche showing off their new toys? "An this here's ma air condeeshin and heater unit fer the house, all operated by one o' them computers. It run me about fify grand." You know the type - the kind that consider dining at Denny's a splurge, and that will brag until they die about that set of plates they bought for only $5, right next to the diabetic sock table at the flea market.

I suggest the workers at that Sri Lankan resort make sure there are plenty of fun noodles for visitors to their cement pond, and that they have plenty of Busch Light on hand for buyers to wash down their "Fortress Stilt Fisherman Indulgence."

On Strike

It's all over the news today that Italians are on strike against their beloved staple - pasta. What next - a boycot on Manolos? It seems that rising prices have made them resort to such extremes as giving up their favorite muy delicioso carbs for one whole day. Must be a slow news day.

At any rate, I hopped onto the Epicurious website this afternoon and lo and behold, their blog mentions the strike. It then asks for people to come up with puns for it. Here are some that readers have come up with and a few are actually pretty darn good:

Meganos: A Fussilli Idea

daveklop: A semolina moment in Italian food history

ascoli: Pasta? Basta.

epicuriouseditor: pasta joke; starch reality

janekathryn: We are not giving a penne!

cookingwithamy: Strike the Spaghetti!

middyboo: pasta la vista, baby

Obviosly some people were really using their noodles. Who knows, if you look again at www.epicurious.com, there might be more.

A Nice Shiny Quarter

Here's something for you all to ponder and perhaps discuss amongst yourselves if you'd like while I'm losing my life savings at the blackjack table: does age affect how well a person tips?

I've addressed the issue of tipping before, but it was brought to mind again this past Saturday, when I miraculously rolled out of bed before 9 a.m. (those who know me know that is truly a miraculous occurance), enabling the spouse and I to have our BBD (Big Breakfast Day) one day early. So after ordering "eggs in a basket," or, as my 8th grade home ec teacher called it, "toad in a hole" and partaking of that, I witnessed the following: a senior citizen, returning to her table that had sat eight of her friends transported from a local assisted living center, in order to leave one quarter as tip.

Now, back in her day, I'm sure a quarter served as a completely justified tip - 15 percent of a $3.75 meal. But the spouse just pointed something else out: maybe the lady did order a senior meal or small breakfast that cost less than $4. I can honestly say that if I'm leaving a tip, no matter how much my meal costs, I can't bring myself to leave less than $1. It just doesn't seem right, particularly if the service, not to mention food, is good.

Assuming a minimal 15 percent tip is in order due to the above factors that are found to be satisfactory, do you think it's ever OK to leave a quarter as a tip under any circumstances? And do you think there are different tipping standards amongst different generations?

No Tip for You

A few weeks ago I was patronizing a local restaurant that I won't name, but which is still a solid favorite of mine, when I did the unthinkable - I did not tip my waitress.

Coming from a working class family that knows all too well the value of a dollar via physical labor (aside from me, who, as a writer, sits on my butt a lot), I had to think hard about the above decision and then be prepared to live with myself afterward. This was my first, and hopefully last, time that I've even considered doing this.

What precipitated it was simple - bad service. I ordered a pasta for lunch, but my waitress showed up with a salad and seemed confused when I told her she was mistaken. She then said she realized she completely forgot to put my order in to the kitchen (strange, considering my friend's got there just fine, as did her food). A manager type ambled over a little later and, to make up for things, asked if I'd like more of their coveted rolls (which they're pretty stingy with at lunch). Those never appeared. My pasta, when it did arrive, wasn't quite up to par either. And so no tip.

Have any of you ever left absolutely no tip? What were your reasons?