Before I tell you the tale of Day Two, let me recount something that happened 22+ plus years ago. This will inform you about my frame of reference when eating with my in-laws.
We arrived in Taiwan, battered and bedraggled after the flight, as usual. On the first day, it’s obligatory that we eat together as a family. Back then, there were six of us, including my brother-in-law, Johnny, and his then-girlfriend.
Unilaterally, they had decided that I’d appreciate hamburgers since I was an American. It didn’t matter that none of them liked hamburgers. We were having hamburgers for my benefit. (For the record, I love a good bacon cheeseburger, so this isn’t immediately problematic.)
Johnny had identified a new hamburger place that served real, American-style hamburgers.
When we arrived, my wife was told that when Johnny and his girlfriend arrived, we’d have hamburgers, and she was told a little bit about this great new place that served real, American-style hamburgers.
My wife relayed this information to me and, I thought, “That sounds damned nice of them. We go to a hamburger place, and I can pick out a burger and, even if it isn’t really a ‘real, American-style hamburger’ I’ll get by and probably even enjoy it.”
Before I finish this story, let me say that this story turns out well. I had a great bacon cheeseburger, which really was American-style. But it very nearly was a burger disaster.
We did not go out to eat burgers. When Johnny arrived, he brought the burgers. There were six of us, so he ordered six hamburgers off their menu more or less at random.
The burgers, still in their packaging, were placed on the table and everyone — remember that burgers really weren’t their thing – just grabbed one from the pile at random.
At first, I reeled in shock that “random burger” was the modus operandi of the day, then I reeled in horror at some of the abominations that were included in the stack. I cannot even remember what some of them were, they were too horrific to commit to long-term memory. I’d probably have PTSD to this day if I had.
I got lucky. Not only was one of the burgers (towards the bottom) a bacon cheeseburger, but I was able to grab it and not appear like I was desperately trying to grab the only “burger” there that I’d eat.
I’m picky, I know it, I’ve made peace with it.
I hate the fact that they try so hard to be nice and accommodate me, and I’m a picky-assed eater, who has a very limited capacity to “choke it down.” That’s on me.
Yet at the same time, they’d never think to actually ask me what I’d like. They feel obligated to anticipate and present me with something I’ll love.
We’ve had over 25 years of this dance, and I’ve developed coping mechanisms to avoid the problems when possible, and my wife helps facilitate them, because we’re a team.
Whether you look at this scenario and think, “oh god, that’s a crime against humanity,” “that seems completely normal to me,” or perhaps you take some position in between, this is nonetheless what I have to navigate as best I can while trying to save face all around.
Now we can discuss Day Two.