Food dramas

I've likely mentioned before that for work I do event coordination for a non-profit. 'Tis the season for catered events, and therefore 'tis the season for all the crazy about food to surface. The folks who give me direction about what they want ordered for each event each have their own requests (demands) because of their own food preferences.

Have the caterer bring Diet Coke only! No one drinks regular soda anymore!

Chocolate chip cookies only for dessert! No one likes lemon bars or baklava!

The vegetarians can eat salad and rice pilaf! Meat protein is the most important item at the table!

And yes, I find the last sentiment particularly galling because I'm a vegetarian and somehow us veggies always manage to get stuck with the salad (generally of the fancy cheese and toasted nut variety and therefore, thankfully, good), the rice pilaf (ok, sure), and the limp-dick sauteed-to-death vegetable medley (sigh). At least we get a Diet Coke and a chocolate chip cookie out of the deal, eh?

It's all fun and yummy-in-my-tummy until the food runs out at an event. I've endured what I lovingly refer to as Catering Drama!!!! four event days in a row because we didn't order enough food for how many guests actually showed up.

The number of people who RSVP: 28
The number of people I order catering for: 35
The number of people the caterer actually provides for: 40
The number of people who attend: 63

Gulp. Catering Drama!!!!

Make no mistake. The people who didn't bother to RSVP and who show up 45 minutes late to an event with a clearly stated start time due to keynote speaker or other program are always the ones who are the most indignant about how there's no more food left. "Shame on you," they say. "You should always make sure there's enough food for your guests."

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I made friends with a couple of new moms of boys when I was a new mom myself, and we've hung out a couple times a month with our little ones in the almost two years since. At a certain point, I started noticing that whatever snacks I brought for Oliver were not allowed to cross the lips of the other boys. I wondered why and even felt hurt by my friends' decisions to not let their boys eat what I'd deemed worthy and healthy for my own son. I thought, Do they think I'm white trash? Because these sweet potato and cinnamon crackers are gluten free, they're from Whole Foods, and they cost upwards of $6 a box! It's not like I'm feeding him some Nabisco bullshit, sheesh.

After my wound healed over a little, I found some clarity. Food is a classist issue in my world. In the 1980's when "generic" was the big deal, I was embarrassed to be seen with my mom in the grocery store, picking out generic canned cream of celery soup for whatever that week's casserole was going to be and generic beer for my dad to drink after mowing the lawn on a hot day. Surely the rich, popular girls at school had moms who picked branded versions of canned soup and beer. My parents had no sympathy for me when I pointed this out. They viewed, and still view, anyone who spends more money on food than they "need" to as privileged and fancy (not in a good way). My husband and I, and my sister and her husband, all have "fancy" taste in food. We buy organic produce, and prefer to use olive oil or butter to cook with rather than margarine, and, worst of all, not a one of us spoiled brats will eat Jello for dessert. We all prefer dark chocolate... fair trade, 55%+ cacao, small batch, made in the Bay Area, Portland, Seattle or Brooklyn, $4 a bar dark chocolate.

I always wanted to ask my mommy friends why they wouldn't let their kids partake of our food, but I could never find a way to ask in a neutral, not-defensive, way. One day we were all at the park, Oliver was munching on hand-cut sticks of (organic, locally produced, purchased from vegetarian co-op) cheddar cheese when one of the other boys came up while my attention was diverted away from the container I was holding. When I realized the little hands having a cheese free-for-all didn't belong to Oliver, I called over to my friend, the boy's mother, and asked her if it was okay for him to have the cheese. "Oliver and I don't mind if he has some, as long as you don't mind," I said. She told her son to put the cheese back and I reiterated, "I seriously don't mind sharing. There's more here than Oliver will eat on his own." She replied, "Honestly, I don't want him to eat it because then he'll ask for it at home and I can't have cheese in the house because I love cheese and I'll eat it and next thing you know I'll have gained 10 pounds."

Incidentally, having overheard this exchange our other friend took this opportunity to chime in as well. She said, "Everyone tells me I'm a total control freak about what I will and won't let my kid have. My parents were super weird about food when I was growing up. Now as an adult I have food issues, too." I had gotten the answer to my unasked question in one fell swoop. The food drama wasn't really about me and my food. It is about them and their own experiences with food.

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Meanwhile, back at work... we are planning our annual holiday party, a luncheon at a popular Mediterranean restaurant. The restaurant has worked up a special menu for us consisting of all their greatest hits served family style. When my coworker sent the final menu out to our staff and queried whether we would like to also add a dessert course, it was met with a strangely reactionary, well, reaction.

That's already so much food!! Why would we need dessert as well??

As a frequenter of this particular restaurant, I think it will likely be an adequate amount of food but certainly nothing crazy. I felt like getting reactionary right back to the reactionary folks by telling them to pick the wad of panties out of their butt cracks and find something else to worry about, for fuck's sake. And, for what it's worth: YES, I would like dessert with my holiday meal, thank you very much.

It just brings home the point that everyone reacts from their own experiences with food and eating.