It had been three long years. I was dining with an ole beau. The menu had changed a bit, reading like a situation comedy: Liver Come Back To Me, Ike and Tina Tuna Steak (split and probably stale) and more.
Feeling extravagant, we settled on caviar with chilled white wine. Luxurious though simple. We gave the order to our waiter.
“So what do you want as your main course?” he asked.
“That’s it.”
“But that’s just an appetizer.”
“That’s it. Please bring us a few slices of thin pumpernickel with …”
“An appetizer comes with crackers. Order the complete meal and you’ll get bread like French, rye or Parker rolls,” he was pleading.
“Do you not have pumpernickel bread?” I asked sweetly.
“Yes. But not with the dinner or the caviar.”
“Do you serve corned beef sandwiches?”
Deja vu. I flashed to Jack Nicholson in “Five Easy Pieces.”
“Yes.”
“Are they served on pumpernickel bread if requested?”
“Yes, they are, but …”
“So listen. Instead of putting the pumpernickel on a corned beef sandwich we do not want, bring us a few slices of pumpernickel and hold the corned beef. OK?”
“OK, but I’ll have to charge you,” he said.
“This will probably cost just as much.”
“That depends on what you mean by cost.”
We had an exquisite dinner. True, it did cost as much as complete meals. That’s not the point. We ate a la carte.
We did not have to have the basket of assorted breads or choose a salad. We did not ingest the sinful dessert. Oh, how virtuous we felt! We were not obliged to accept anything!
We ate only what we wanted with much satisfaction. No more “I don’t need the calories, but it is already paid for” guilt.
That’s when it happened — a genuine “aha” experience.
Eating a la carte. Loving a la carte. Parallels sprang forth. Isn’t it true that we tend to accept life’s “complete dinners” for the one or two items we really want while letting someone else put together the rest?
We…
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