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Ignorant Whore

I try to pride myself on never assuming too much.

You know, never "assume" the bride and groom give two shits that you created an amazing chilled prawn display with large ice chunks and glass blocks that look like ice chunks, thereby creating a virtual ice palace where the prawns lounge like luxurious morsels of goodness.

Or never "assume" that the person standing rather impatiently next to you at the watermelon display in the produce section at the grocery store totally understands that you have to tap every watermelon until you find just the perfect one. (Yes, I tap watermelon and yes, I have a 100% success rate)

And never assume that the people you have planned an impromptu picnic dinner with fully understand the dynamics of packing a proper picnic basket.

So it's still hot here. It's not exactly 100 degrees "F" (And I mean the Big "F") but it's rounding out at about 88 and when you don't live in an air conditioned building it makes the desire to turn on your stove non-existent, even for The Food Whore.

So late this afternoon The Local Friend called.

"Hey, what's for dinner?"

"Oh, all right. It does sound fabulous. I will throw some things together and we will meet you out there!"

Now, I don't have a fancy Williams & Sonoma type picnic basket. I probably should but I find them to be a bit ostentatious. (That's twice in one day for The Friend in Texas) Anyone can pack a nice picnic in those things but it takes someone with a little skill to pack one in a regular old basket.

And I wrongly assumed that everyone had that skill.

Since it was short notice I decided to do a little deli hopping (moustache girl wasn't working) and get some good chicken and a little fresh orzo salad with feta and sundried tomatoes.

When I got home I got my straw bag and grabbed a bottle of wine, the cork screw, a pitcher of lemon drops (just in case, you know, "someone" wants one) the chicken, the orzo salad, a couple of cheeses, crackers, grapes, breadsticks, forks, plates, napkins, cups, a ziploc bag full of ice, a few bottles of water, mini salt and pepper shakers, and a warm wet bar towel in a ziploc bag.

My mother taught me years ago to always pack a wet towel in a plastic bag. Whether I am on a long road trip or taking some snacks to the park, I never leave home without that towel. People have snickered when they see the towel. They have mocked me mercilessly. But they're always begging for it when they do something like eat honey-laden figs and have a bad case of the sticky-s.

So we get to the resort and the pool is glistening and fabulous and there's a table waiting for us and I can't wait to eat and take a nice dip.

We meet our friends and they are toting a mini cooler and out comes some fruit, some cookies, roasted turkey breast, more cheese, some bread, a bottle of wine and crackers.

There were no plates. There were no napkins. There were no utensils. There was no cork screw. There was no towel in a bag - which I will overlook because not everyone grew up with The Original Food Whore like I did.

So they are watching me as The Husband starts opening the wine and pouring the lemon drops (For, you know, anyone who happens to want one) and The Local Friend gets a funny look on her face.

"You brought all of that? It's just a simple dinner by the pool, you know. And what's with the towel in the ziploc? Are you planning on washing our faces after dinner? Ahahahaha!"

"Oh, dear. You really can be ignorant when it comes to the rest of the world, can't you."

I guess I am.

But at least I can be ignorant while eating dinner by the pool and my food is on a plate and I have a fork with a pretty napkin.

And I can be totally ignorant when The Local Friend is begging for that wet towell after dropping chocolate cookie on her pretty white suit.

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Posted by Foodwhore at June 22, 2004 10:19 PM