A Thought on Bad Taste

Let’s say you were seated in a new restaurant and the waiter brings you a menu with the cover announcing the place as Bistro D’Oc. You glance over at the table next to you and see someone happily munching away at a steaming pile of odorous poodle turds covered in creamy bechamel.

The poodle might be of the French variety and the bechamel recipe might have been copied from Escoffier’s own, but those my friend do not French food make.

PS – This was my wake up in the middle of the night thought/rant after having just returned from being taken to a trendy overpriced restaurant that had positively horrible food. I remember quietly seething in the restaurant over the fact that my none of my hosts were aware of the quality problem. And I was as angry then as I am now at just how my hosts presumed to snatch two hours of my life away from me, putting me into a horrid environment that I couldn’t extricate myself from. And just as bad (or worse), here I was awake, forced to do some critical self-examination and then – and then! – only to discover a loathsome but thankfully mostly dormant character flaw.

And so it was I found – for whatever reason – going all the way back to my earliest memories of childhood that I am seriously (and murderously) resentful of any person or situation that robs me of my right to decide. If I am put in a situation where I can’t gracefully walk away, where I can’t graciously say no then I am unhappy to the point of great anger. That position even to me sounds uncompromisingly childish, but it is what it is (and I am what I am).

ab initio, ab irato

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