Mashed

The other day, RJ and I had a lunch date at one of my favorite Italian restaurants which has a Madeira cream sauce to die for.

Every now and then I come across a restaurant that has specific items I actually dream about and yearn to return to. I have quite a few of those under my belt now. They give life meaning.

Our server was an older man with an accent we couldn't quite name which I found added to the exotic feel of the joint.

After our pasta dishes were served he asked if we wanted shaved Parmesan.

"Not me, thanks," I said, while RJ was affirmative.

The man returned and started shredding above my plate.

I held out my palm à la "Stop! In the name of love..." and repeated my none-for-me mantra.

The man mumbled a vague apology and added, "It's so rare someone doesn't want cheese..."

Have I been called out as the weirdo? I get it. People generally like cheese.

I had to laugh about it. This harkens back to other dining experiences:

- At an Indian or Pakistani restaurant, when offered three different kinds of naan, I say, "None." *shocker*

- When ordering curry at a Thai place, I decline jasmine rice. *What?!?*

- Flour or corn tortillas with my camarones a la diabla? Neither, thanks. *No you didn't!!!*

You catch the theme here. Seriously I have stunned my share of good, honest, hard-working folks in the hospitality industry. For that I do not apologize.

What is that, blasphemy? It's convention after all.

Fuck convention, I say. And what's more, fuck carbs.

So, yeah, you bet I'm a tad jaded. But, as for this fav restaurant of mine, I found the passive-aggressive rudeness oddly endearing. It's quite continental, when you think about it. Just another quirk to enrich the ambiance.

That's the power of quality noodles. Noodles are my love and my weakness. Any kind, shape and form, any cuisine. They're the one instance when I'm blind to convention AND carbs.