NTKOG #159: The kind of free-spirited, un-self-conscious gourmand who can happily smear and smoosh a whole meal in her increasingly goopy hands.
I am: known for pushing aside half-eaten meals when other people in restaurants chew too loudly — who knows what would happen in a restaurant where people’s arm hair acts as a sieve for food particles.
I am not: super comfortable eating in front of other people anyway. (You feeling me on this, ladies?)
The Scene: A small Ethiopian restaurant on our last night in Barcelona. For years, Kiss-Ducker has been suggesting we grab a bite of Ethiopian while we were out in San Francisco, but I’ve always declined.
TKOG: You have to sit on those tiny stools on the ground, right? And take off all your jewelry first? What does it even taste like?!
KD: It’s like Indian food, dude. Except not really at all.
TKOG: Oh, a stunning recommendation.
Okay, not to be a total yokel or whatever but, dude, the PLATE was made out of BREAD.
But Justice and K-D were in the mood, so we waltzed in the half-filled restaurant for an unfashionably early dinner (9pm) and were greeted frostily by the two permanent-snarl proprietors. Second glance of the restaurant revealed I was right about the stools: dozens of asymmetrical stools, hand-carved out of a dark wood, clustered like toadstools less than a foot off the ground.
So, fun fact: I’m pretty intense in my everyday doings. This is to be expected from a girl whose life strategy is: “hooAH, I am exiting these pants!” (my floors are paved with spare change). So instead of demurely perching on said stool and crossing my legs at the knees and ankle like a turbo-lady, I proceeded to lose balance and crash into that stool like I was dropped out of a helicopter.
Aaaaand SMASH. An entire leg of the three-pronged stool went skittering across the floor while I sprawled on the ground. Classy.
Kiss-Ducker and Justice — sensitive lasses — started cackling maniacally; tension broken, awkward amplified, everyone. in. the. restaurant. started laughing uproariously. Every time I thought the laughter was over, it rose again from one quarter and fugued its way back around the room. You don’t know what attention is until your ungainly damn form pulpifies furniture in the middle of a quiet restaurant.
This used to be a stool. Until it met THIS GUY.
On the bright side, my utter unwieldiness managed to defrost our glacial hostesses. Who subsequently brought us out a huge platter of food that we proceeded to eat with our hands. Kiss-Ducker was right: it was like Indian food. Except not really at all.
The Verdict: Because my ladies are lovely and genteel eaters, the whole grossness of hands-only eating was a completely non-issue, thank goodness. During the meal, we talked about how indisputably eating Ethiopian food would be the greatest first-date: how immediately plunging into something hugely embarrassing is the greatest possible ice-breaker.
That said, I don’t think I’ll be testing out my “TKOG: smasher of furniture, destroyer of worlds” schtick on dates any time soon.
{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
I took a guy out to Ethiopian for his birthday as sort of a…early days date thing. He was very conservative and uptight, so it was hilarious fun and it happened to be the night where they had lots of live music/drumming etc. so it was even more fun. In retaliation, he took me out for an amazing, very upper crust high tea for my birthday. That was really enjoyable, but man I felt way more awkward there than eating a giant crumpet/bread mat with my hands and laughing a lot. Our meal also had whole, cooked eggs in this sauce. I mean, they were peeled, but there is no way to eat a whole egg gracefully. Tasty though!
Wow. I LIVE in Ethiopia at the moment and I can share plenty of been-there-done-that moments re: eating Ethiopian on a first date. Eating greasy foods with your hands is one thing, but it’s entirely different thing when your date tries to feed you greasy bits of injera with HIS hands. Yep, the eating with hands and feeding your date cultural customs coexist in Ethiopia. There are many, many things about this culture I love, but being fed on a first date is not one of them!
Okay, being fed by a first date is potentially the biggest “run from a building shrieking” moment, type of setup ever. Just stating the obvious.
What she said. I actually grimaced when I read that. ew.
There used to be an ethiopian place on brighton ave, I am not sure if its still there, though. I enjoyed my meal, all except the appetizer. It was some sort of marinated chicken, and I thought “How could I go wrong with chicken?! I can’t” When it came out it smelled great, so I grabbed a whole bunch and shoved it in my mouth. To find out that it was served ice cold. Ice cold chicken is NOT my idea of fun.
“I am not: super comfortable eating in front of other people anyway.”
Haha, me neither! Like if I know them well it’s fine, but if it’s a new person, eating in front of them just feels weird. And sometimes I get anxious and my appetite goes away and…yeah I have issues. I love that someone else has that quirk. I don’t know why I have it. It’s not an eating disorder/weight issue thing, I don’t think. I think it’s a feeling that you’re maybe vulnerable when you eat? Who knows.
I just hate thinking of all that chewing. I can’t help but look at people and think, “Yeah, the beginning stages of digestion are TAKING PLACE.” Unpleasant.
Oh boy, I get very self concious when eating certain foods, I rarely order things in public that involve using my hands haha. This restaurant sounds kind of fun though!
Seeing other people eat does not bother me but *hearing* someone eat is another matter entirely. If someone is a loud chewer (or even worse chews loudly with their mouth open) I have to leave the room or turn on music or the TV to over up the noise.
All of the Ethiopian establishments I frequent (which are several; as the world’s least self-conscious eater, I’m all over some bread plates and finger utensils) feature regular ol’ chairs, so I’ve not had the opportunity to mangle a wee stool. Yet.
Love the post:) And I totally agree, that would be the best first date but can you please explain why so many women feel self-conscious eating? Weirdly, I’ve never felt this.
The whole process of eating just really squicks me out. I hate that it makes noises, no matter how careful you are; I really hate that other people make noises because they’re NOT careful; I hate watching people work their jaws like cows; I hate feeling food slipping down my throat and beginning to digest, and thinking that that’s going on in my companion’s throat. It’s just so much going on in the body! And it’s so grotesquely physical! If I’m with people I know really well, then I don’t think about these things, but if I’m even the slightest bit uncomfortable, I feel like it would be less awkward to go to the bathroom in front of somebody than to eat in front of them.
haha, thanks. i bet nobody could have explained it better (or more vividly) :D