Fried Haddock

JUNE 13

Ah, vacation. The ocean’s roar, tours of the ancient ruins, the motorcycle rides through the village, the treks up the mountains filled with bleating goats, stuff like that. Actually, none of those.

But, the point is, ah, vacation is more like aghh, vacation for picky eaters like myself. When I go away, my daily menu is usually:

         BREAKFAST: French toast

         LUNCH: Grilled cheese OR Pasta with butter

         DINNER: Pasta with butter OR grilled cheese

Sometimes I just have grilled cheese for every meal.

We were at an inn where we’ve gone many times before: we had reservations every night at the same restaurant, the Tavern on the Inn’s first floor. Last time I was there, I ordered this mac and cheese dish with lake cream sauce, something like that. Lake sauce? Cream lake? Sauce brook? Who even knows. Anyway, it was good but preposterously rich – it had these breaded crumbs inside it – very delectable.

Point is, lake cream pasta was no longer on the menu – I don’t think anyone who is not a picky eater can fully understand the fear that pulses through you when you look at a menu and see not a single thing you’ve ever tasted. Panic.

The first night I ordered a double order of the buttered pasta from the children’s menu. Another major issue with eating out as a picky eater: calculating the children’s menu sizes. If you just ask for the children’s chicken fingers, you stand a chance of getting not even a hand’s worth of fingers – if you ask for a double order, they might give you a coop’s worth. The struggle is real.

This time, I violently misfired. Instead of a nice, normal dish of buttered pasta, I received a small vat. Suffice it to say I could not finish the pasta, perhaps additionally hindered by having ordered a popover for my appetizer (which turned out to be similarly sized to appease the alien intruders in the event that a race of giants from outer space should overtake the Inn – it’s best to be prepared).

Going in on Day Two, I was more prepared. I carefully ordered a double order of the children’s menu’s carrots and celery sticks – I mean, hey, it’s raw vegetable sticks, how many do they really expect a child to eat? Let me say: the best carrots I have ever eaten. And I eat a lot of carrots. Heavenly carrots.

The menu option of fried haddock entrée sounded vaguely like fish n’ chips so I asked for that. The waiter responded, “Oh, the fish n’ chips?” We were in business.

It was quite good and certainly qualified as a new food – after all, fish n’ chips is usually cod and usually called fish n’ chips – this was haddock and called fried haddock. It also marked the first time that I had ever ordered a new food as my sole entrée – or should I say my haddock entrée – hardeeharhar.

The next night I insisted we cancel our reservation and I ate coffee yogurt in the hotel room. The night after that we ended up in a different town at some sleazy restaurant where I ordered mozzarella sticks and chicken tenders and carrot sticks and celery sticks – this was a gross mistake in all senses of the word. The chicken tenders were nasty and the mozzarella sticks were like giant fried breading with some cheese inside. If the Tavern was preparing for the giant alien invasion, the sleazy joint with the mozzarella sticks was orchestrating it. They even gave an overly massive order of carrots and celery.

Actually, I think I would enjoy life as a rabbit. The average rabbit diet consists of good quality pellets, fresh hay, water, fresh vegetables. “Anything beyond that is a ‘treat’” declares the House Rabbit Society and “should be given in limited quantities.” That’s amazing. Everything should be given in limited quantities that’s not fresh vegetables, water, hay (let’s say bread?) and good quality pellets (which clearly symbolize applesauce and/or just good quality pellets) – that’s my ideal world.

Also very important from the House Rabbit Society: “Aggressive rabbits can be scary…Never tap your rabbit for biting.” No rabbit-tapping. Under no condition. Ever.