On My Dietary Restrictions
I was recently at a press event at Saxon + Parole, a restaurant that makes some of the best steak I’ve ever tasted in my overwhelmingly carnivorous life. While we were sipping heavenly hot buttered rum, a debonair garçon (I’d normally just say “waiter,” but he was so classy that I feel required to call him something French) came over and asked if anyone had any dietary restrictions.
I snorted and said to my friend, “Does being unable to physically process anything that isn’t full-fat count?” Thankfully, I don’t have actual diagnosed dietary restrictions, but I considered my eating habits and realized I might as well. Here are a few nutritional limitations I use to navigate my meals:
-Triscuit Anaphylaxis: Whenever I eat a Triscuit, I feel like someone has sprung a surprise cinnamon challenge on me.
They just absorb all my saliva and crumble into dust. They are the culinary equivalent of centuries-old mummified corpses. I cannot understand the appeal. I couldn’t care less what kind of deliciously sharp/stinky cheeses you put on top of them. True evil cannot be concealed.
-Salad Intolerant: Why on earth would I fill valuable gastrointestinal real estate with lettuce when that space would be much better used to house a tender filet? I will admit that salad can be good if it’s chock full of things like mahi mahi, hearts of palm, and avocado, but I am resistant to the ones that are just bland greenness. As for kale, which everyone is still obsessed with, I was strictly anti for a while but will now tolerate it when grilled. It’s imbued with this smoky flavor that makes it much easier to fantasize about barbecued ribs.
-Vitamin B Deficiency: B stands for Bellini, FYI. If I am not actively drinking one, I most likely have dangerously low Vitamin B levels that need to be rectified immediately unless I want to suffer the consequences. Repercussions of a Vitamin B Deficiency include having an appetite that actually has limits and not being able to strut in heels like a supermodel/Carrie Bradshaw hybrid who is immune to pain. My birthday is in November, but Bellini IVs are undoubtedly hard to find. You should probably get a head start on that.
-Celery Allergy: All the “negative calories” in the world could not make me a fan of celery. Each bite results in a maddeningly peppery aftertaste. Don’t recommend I have celery with hummus to tide me over until dinner. I’d rather not eat torture as a snack, thanks. Also, please don’t waste even a single precious drop of the blue cheese that comes with chicken wings on your foul green sticks of bitterness. Is nothing sacred?
-Mezcal Aversion: My one experience with this drink makes me believe in both karma and reincarnation because I haven’t done anything bad enough in this life to deserve something so awful. I was with a friend at a bar and some guys bought us straight mezcal, which I had never heard of before. My first sip transformed me into a stern Christian pastor, mentally repeating “hellfire and damnation!!!” until the taste faded. I’m a glutton for punishment, so I had another hesitant taste. Never again. Don’t ask me what it’s like. I made myself forget.
Besides these, I love most food and drink. Oh, except the dishes spotlighted in this Instagram. I’d rather never have dulce de leche ice cream again than touch any of those.