Picky Eaters! The Nerve!

Lets play a game! I’m going to give you a scenario and you tell me if you can relate.

You’re at dinner with – lets say – 3 other friends. You’ve sat down at your designated, beautifully decorated, wooden table. A small see through brown bottle holds daises and a vanilla scented candle is burning to set just the right mood. You’ve already tasted and approved the bottle of chianti you are splitting between the four of you. “Italian wine is very good” your date says, and you all nod in agreement.

When the waiter comes back over he flips back the cover of his note pad to find a clean page and starts to take notes while the first person orders, then the next person goes, and then the next. Easy. Then you get to the fourth person whose face in still buried in the menu. Said person looks up from the menu innocently into the waiters eyes and says something like, “I’ll have this plate please (points)(pause), BUT can I…”

And the list is endless! Oh the audacity! The nerve!

In case you lost the game because you are not This person or you don’t have a friend that is,  This person is a picky eater. This person has almost no respect for the chef and his kitchen staff, even the hostess is without courtesy! This person has changed the food-brain-child of another person. This person wanta what they like the way they love it at the exact time they want it, and I adore them for it.

I can’t get enough of these people! It’s just like them to order spaghetti carbonara but after additions and subtractions end with spaghetti puttanesca with garlic bread on the side.

She would deny this if she had the chance but the best picky eater I know is my sister. She’s a picky eater in the way that she wants her favorite foods all the time, not in the way that she’s trying to avoid tasting anything. She just really likes every plate served the way her belly is asking for it.

Now, I could show you countless photos of plates she’s “improved” but you wouldn’t  be able to spot the difference without a comparison. So! I’m sharing the picture below which accompanies the pictures from our meal at The Diner, Trunk’s day time cafe, in the Melbourne CBD. (We had an outrageously delicious breakfast experience there that will be repeated before Summer ends.)

Okay, this is why I wish I was a picky eater. I too was in her same diner (haha!); I couldn’t decide between poached or fried eggs, but I didn’t dare have the courage to say it to my family. I knew I had to decide. Then my sister, with all the confidence in the world, looks up at the waitress and orders one fried egg and one poached egg with her toast, avocado and bacon. My jaw dropped to the floor. I guess it’s true what I say: the picky eater gets the happiest belly.

In-n-Out Burger // San Francisco

Since I’m going back to Australia the 24th and I’m terrified my family will not commit to the 25-ish hour flight to visit me, I’ve been devoting all my free time to them. We’ve been on the road going from BU soccer game to BU soccer game to spend time together. This translates into a lot of on-the-go food which, coincidently, has caused a huge wave of wanting and missing In-n-Out Burger.

In-n-Out Burger was a long time coming for me. Everyone has heard of it, but only the lucky few living in west of the country get to enjoy it. And tourists. And probably some business people during business trips. After my trip to San Francisco, I am one of those lucky tourists.

As many deliciously outstanding restaurants as there are in San Francisco (such as Mama’s), I could not skip a In-n-Out Burger meet and greet. It feels funny; wanting to visit a fast food joint as badly as any other specially recommended restaurants even though I’m not an avid fast food eater.

The feeling of walking up to In-n-Out Burger was one of familiarity and comfort. It was like, what I imagine, finally meeting your life long pen pal in person is like.

When I skipped up to the counter, the clerk recognized my enthusiasm and matched it. They are the happiest fast food employees on earth, some say. I couldn’t help it, I was beaming with excitement! I already knew about the Double Meat Burger (two pure beef patties hand-leafed lettuce, tomato, spread with or without onions, stacked high on a freshly baked bun), and I just wanted it in my hands.

To be honest, I was a little confused during the first few bites. It felt like I had been tricked, like I hadn’t just eaten a burger and fries. I even contemplated  ordering another just to feel like one usually does after having burger. But then I got it. Their belief regarding healthy and quality food isn’t just a ploy, it’s all true and I could taste it.

My hands were not greasy, I was not grossly full, my fries felt dry (in the best way possible), I didn’t even want to nap. I was in awe of the carefully toasted bun and the juiciness of the beef. I would have gone back and back again had we not been on our way to the airport!

In my normal life (the non-traveling-and-being-my-sister’s-biggest-fan-life) I go out of my way to make sure I never give into that inviting yellow M, because when I’m hungry and in a hurry is the only time it’s ever even considered.

Right now, in this rented black Jeep driving from Dartmouth College back to Boston University, I can’t help but wish for an In-n-Out burger to magically appear and save me from the extra crispy chicken of KFC.

The Paramount // Boston

I keep a draft folder in my gmail account filled with restaurants I want to visit. It’s categorized by city, which keeps the research and decision making easy when travelling. After five short days of visiting my sister I had crossed out everything on my Boston list, which caused disappointment on my families face when the only idea I could offer was a blank stare. We needed something fun, quick, and delicious, so I searched and searched my blogroll but couldn’t find anything that fit. I finally turned to Time Out Boston and found The Paramount.

The Paramount is a small caffe in Beacon Hill that stands out due to its head to toe red awning. Everything in Boston seems to include a hint of red in the fall, even the trees, and I’m loving it. Inside The Paramount you’ll find a long and open kitchen giving their cafeteria style eating system a comfortable and homey feel. As you walk in you will be greeted by a host who will explain how it all works. You get in line, choose what you’d like to devour, order, and watch as multiple chefs work together to prepare it. A little like Mama’s in San Francisco but you witness a lot more action.

The need for something warm and comforting lead me to order the Banana and Caramel French Toast; with the addition of a small coffee and a large orange juice my meal was perfect. I got caramel on the side, but it all ended up in my tummy anyway. I already knew banana and caramel was a match made in heaven but the addition of french toast is ace. I was suppose to share with my sister, but it somehow all disappeared before she had the chance to ask for some.

Every 5 minutes at least one person came walking through the door. On the Friday morning we went, it wasn’t unbelievably packed, but it was definitely busy which should have been a given due to it’s desirable location. Since they serve brunch until 430pm I’m sure it fills up quickly as the day goes on.

Another fun fact about The Paramount is that it’s run by Colombians! We probably should have tried the Huevos Rancheros, but I guess there’s always next time. And the time after that.

If You Can’t Be an Athlete…

If you can’t be an athlete be an athletic supporter! Is that table right or is it very right?

Now a days you can change almost anything about yourself. You can change anything from your hair, to your car, weight, address, career, boyfriend, priorities, to your your blog theme. I know, I’ve changed all of those.  One thing I was never able to change no matter how hard I wanted is the speed with which I run.

I’m slow. I’m very slow. You’d be surprised how slow I am.

I don’t know if your friends do this, but my friends love racing each other. They think they are little versions of Usain Bolt and challenge each other to 100m sprints. Since I’m an athletic girl, they give me weird looks when I start backing away slowly, jog to my car and speed away.

That brings me to my sister, the speed machine. She’s strong, toned, and raises fear in anyone that is in her way. People use to laugh at me when I ran; that may seem like it could work in my benefit because their defences are down but by the time I got to them with the ball they were done laughing and ready to take the ball away from me.

I’m the type of person that faces the facts and move on when I try really hard to improve (training) and nothing comes of it. Many years ago, my sophomore year of High School, I gave up on trying to be good at soccer. The only thing I was missing was speed, but it was the only thing I knew I’d never get. Instead I focused on things I was actually good at which had nothing to do with soccer or speed, while becoming my sister’s number one fan.

She’s good. She’s very good. You’d be surprised how good she is. 

One of my favorite things in the world is supporting and watching my sister play college soccer at BU. She works so hard, and I respect her so much for it. I know I’m biased but in my eyes, she’s a super star! I could not be prouder, happier, and more excited for her. It probably doesn’t make sense, but because she has been able to accomplish so much through soccer I’ve never, ever felt bad about sucking, failing, and taking up a spot on my team for so long.

The only thing that really stuck with me is my ability to eat like an athlete.