Shortly after my distasteful birthday dinner, EconMan gave date-planning another try.
“This place is dead,” I said as EconMan and I took our seats at Mojito’s, a new Cuban locale.
Though it was mid-afternoon, the posh restaurant was as bright and lively as a funeral parlor. The windows were obscured by heavy drapes in blood-toned colors and the massive dining room was empty. It was as though we’d been deserted on a culinary island.
“Good evening, folks,” a boyishly attractive waiter said when he approached our table. He rocked back and forth on his heels and put his hands on his hips. “Have you dined with us before?”
EconMan snickered; he hated when waiters asked that question.
“No, we haven’t,” I offered up politely.
“Let me explain how this works, then,” the waiter said. He crouched down beside me and propped a menu on my lap, then explained the difference between a la carte entrées and the unlimited Cuban barbeque.
“I want to try a bit of everything, don’t you?” I asked EconMan.
EconMan shrugged and scowled.
“Barbeque it is,” I said.
“I can’t believe it,” EconMan said after the waiter sauntered off.
“What?” I asked. “The price?”
Mojito’s was more extravagant than our usual date-night dinners, but for all-you-can-eat meat, it was worth it.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice,” EconMan said.
I held up my hands. What could be wrong already?
“The waiter was totally hitting on you!”
“He was being friendly.”
“He was looking at you, smiling, getting all cozy.”
“You’re insane. He was doing his job.”
EconMan shook his head. “He was hitting on you.”
The waiter returned and placed a penis-sized wooden peg in the middle of the table.
“When you’re ready for your meat,” the waiter said, gripping his woody. “Flip the green side up. When you want to stop, flip it to red.”
Brown-skinned servers paraded by with huge animal appendages on poles, slicing flanks of meat so fresh steam rolled around the edges of their knives.
I happily noshed; EconMan nibbled.
“Don’t you want some more?” I asked after I swallowed my fifth serving of red meat.
EconMan shook his head sullenly.
“The point of a place like this is to get stuffed,” I said. “You’re paying for it; take advantage.”
“If you eat when you’re not hungry,” he said as he dropped his napkin on the table, “how do you know when you’re full?”
EconMan patted his emaciated stomach. More and more, he looked like an albino Gumby to me.
“Food isn’t just for fuel,” I said. “It’s about enjoyment, too.”
“I’ve enjoyed. Now I’m ready to go.”
EconMan waved the waiter over.
“How was everything?” the waiter asked.
“Fantastic,” I said. I exaggerated my smile just to spite EconMan.
“I hope to see you again.” The waiter said. He placed the check on the table and spun around on his heel.
“See?” EconMan said as he took the tab. “He didn’t even look at me.”
“Stop it,” I said.
“You better believe I’m not leaving a tip,” EconMan slapped the leather folder on the table. “I don’t understand why eat out so much anyway.”
“Because it’s what couples do.”
Perhaps food was a pretext; what I really craved was EconMan’s undivided attention. Away from his cluttered apartment, where EconMan stacked projects-in-progress literally up to the ceiling, there was little distraction.
My motivation was also economic: I wanted to be worth the premium restaurant prices. Because money was EconMan’s obsession, I wanted him to prove with his wallet what he couldn’t with his words. Being treated to dinner made me feel more loved.
EconMan cut back on the extravagant meals out; soon we were stuck in a rut eating the same entrées at the same Mexican haunt every week.
“I want the taco salad—no crispy bowl—with chicken instead of beef,” EconMan told the waiter at El Loro. “And three tortilla shells on the side.”
The waiter raised an eyebrow.
“You know, tortilla shells,” EconMan said, folding an invisible taco between his hands.
“You don’t want crispy?” the waiter asked.
“No,” EconMan said in exasperation. “Flour tortilla shells.”
The waiter’s eyebrow didn’t drop.
“The white, round ones,” EconMan said.
The waiter nodded and walked away.
“You’d think he’d know what tortilla shells are,” EconMan sighed.
“They’re not called tortilla shells,” I hissed across the table. “They’re just tortillas.”
EconMan shot me a nasty glare and took a swig of his O’Doul’s.
“Why do you order salads in restaurants anyway?” I asked.
“Because that’s what I want to eat.”
“But it’s salad. You could make that at home. The point of going out is to eat something you wouldn’t make for yourself.”
“When I want a salad—or anything else—at home, I make it.”
“Since when have you made shrimp fajitas?” I asked, indicating my favorite dish on the menu.
“I haven’t made them because I don’t want to eat them.”
“Or because you don’t know how,” I said.
“So you’re saying I should order something I don’t want to eat?”
The debate was always the same: me, hedonist versus him, prude.
The waiter returned with two platters.
“That’s not my salad,” EconMan said, indicating a plate with several lumps of shredded lettuce, guacamole, sour cream, and beans.
“No, senor,” the waiter said, placing the plate beside me. “This for the senorita’s fajitas.”
“These are just the condiments,” I explained. The waiter set the other half of my order—a sizzling skillet of shrimp, peppers, and onions—on the table with an oven-mitted hand.
EconMan shook his head in wide-eyed disbelief.
“You eat more like a college frat guy than a cover girl,” he said.
I froze mid-fajita construction.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“You treat eating like an event,” EconMan said.
“Well…yeah.”
“Eat to live,” he said as he dug into his saintly salad. “Not the other way around.”
Cheapskate Taco Salad
Ingredients
1 pound boneless skinless chicken breasts
1 envelope taco seasoning mix
2/3 cup water
1 bag romaine lettuce
1 tomato, diced
1 carrot, shredded
½ cup jalapeno cheddar cheese, shredded
2 large flour tortillas (if you want to be authentic)
6 small flour tortillas (if you want to be anal)
Sour cream, guacamole, and salsa (optional)
Directions
· Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees. Grease baking pan with cooking spray.
· Place chicken breasts in pan; bake 30 minutes or until chicken in thoroughly cooked and juices run clear.
· Remove chicken from oven and transfer to cutting board; slice into strips.
· In large skillet, dissolve taco seasoning in water over medium-high heat.
· Add chicken to skillet; simmer 5 minutes.
· Place large tortillas on baking sheet and cover with aluminum foil; heat in oven for 1 minute.
· Remove tortillas from baking sheet and roll aluminum foil into two balls. Top each ball with 1 tortilla, shaping it into a bowl.
· Bake tortilla bowls for 6 to 8 minutes, or until crisp and lightly browned.
· Remove from oven and cool on wire rack for 2 minutes.
· Fill tortilla bowls with romaine lettuce (if eating authentic-style) or arrange lettuce on plate (if eating smart-aleck-style) with small tortillas on the side.
· Top salads with tomatoes, cheese, and warm chicken.
· Add sour cream, guacamole, and/or salsa to taste.
· Eat and brag about how economical it is to make taco salads at home.
July 2005
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