Lamb Chops

MAY 26

Brace yourselves.

Today’s meal of choice was dinner with two of my best friends and a number of members of my best friend’s family (those who think I only eat white foods) and friends of the family. The locale was an oft-frequented Greek restaurant whose owner is a celebrity chef with the catchphrase, “I’m Greek all the way, baby!”

I view the restaurant and its proprietor with a sort of awe since they seem to me like the real-life manifestation of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, my favorite movie. (I can describe what’s happening on-screen by listening to the movie’s soundtrack with my eyes closed. True story. I’m magic.)

I therefore entered the restaurant with a certain level of trepidation since I was afraid I would fall victim to the famous, “He don’t eat no meat? HE DON’T EAT NO MEAT? Oh, that’s ok, I make lamb,” at the hands of this real-world Aunt Voula. (This quote is subtle foreshadowing – get ready…)

The first thing that happened was the delivery of a basket of warm corn bread to the table. YES. MY FAVE.

“You’re eating the cornbread?” my friend’s mom exclaimed. “How can you do so? Cornbread is not white!”

“Hahahohoho!” I replied.

But, really, though, I’ve got 99 problems, but a food-color-disorder ain’t one.

Real-life Aunt Voula then approached the table to take our order.

“Uhh…could I please possibly just get spaghetti with butter?” I asked.

Her eyes widened, aghast.

“No,” she said firmly.

“No?” I responded. Was this a joke?

“Not butter,” she said. “Olive oil.”

Now I had incurred the scorn of Greeks worldwide. According to Wikipedia, that holy font of knowledge, “the Ancient Greeks seemed to have considered butter a food fit more for the northern barbarians.” Okay, then.

At least I could get my spaghetti.

“He only eats foods that are white,” my friend’s mom told her.

The grand hostess stared at me, studying, and then spoke: “I remember you now…Mr. White.”

I would hope so. I was, after all, the author of the Constitution of the Greek Gods and Goddesses at the Greek Gods and Goddesses party at this restaurant only about a year ago. Don’t ask. I’m not really sure either. I was Hades.

I had done enough damage to the reputation of the establishment with my preposterous orders so I sought to rectify that by announcing, “I will try a new food.”

This was met with shock and horror and consternation. Protestations! Could this be?

“Tell me a food to eat on this table and I will try it,” I said to my friend’s sister.

She selected lamb chops.

Righty-o. Nice and bland.

Here’s the thing: lamb chops are sooo incredibly far from anything I would consider putting in my mouth. For one thing, they look nothing like anything I eat. For another thing, let’s be real, you wouldn’t eat something called cute puppy strips and when I think of lambs, I think adorable, white, fluffy friends.

Nevertheless, I had agreed to try it and the other options – some spinachy plate and other saucy items – were even less appealing. So I ate a lamb chop. And you know what? It was good. It was salty, not too sticky or stretchy, I liked it. I would try it again. It didn't even bother me that much that it's like a cute, fluffy lamb chop.

My taste buds still get overwhelmed so after eating one lamb chop, I was pretty much finished for the night, but I ate a lamb chop! My most exotic, most surprising, most successful new food experience since fried calamari in 2006. Huzzah!

As I left the restaurant, its Greek-all-the-way owner bade me farewell with a Greek-all-the-way, “Good night…Mr. White.”