At a recent office gathering, a colleague (who shall remain nameless in order to protect the guilty!), had the nerve to refer me as a “foodie.” Can you imagine the audacity! In my circles, a “foodie” is one who eats from one of those ghastly food trucks. Or, who drinks tea out of a cup but does not have the good taste to use a saucer. Or, worse, considers a fine meal one which does not include the words “Hamburger Helper.” Really!
It is true that I am a lover of fine cuisine, a connoisseur of the best wines, a patron of the arts, and an overall bon vivant, However, this should not give you the impression that I am a snob. Not that I need to impress or convince you, but as I have a few moments to spare while my 1869 Chateau Lafite I just uncorked breathes, I will indulge you.
Here are but three example to help illustrate how someone like myself, with my breeding and good taste, is in no way a snob.
- I was born in the most dangerous area of Hell’s Kitchen in New York. My first bottle of wine was with my fellow gang members when I was eleven. The wine was Boone’s Farm Apple. It cost about two dollars a gallon. and It was a versatile little white wine. If you couldn’t drink it, you could use it to burn down a building. Or, build a campfire. Arsonists love it. The point being: I did not wake up one morning with my current pseudo British accent until I was twenty-four years old. The night before I drank my first bottle of wine that cost over eight dollars. That’s what the finer things brings into your life. You instantly become a cultured gentleman or lady.
- I didn’t always need to dine on fancy meals. In fact, until I was twenty-three years old I had never eaten a meal with my plate resting on a table cloth. Or, used a cloth napkin. In those days, my sleeves were meant for cleaning a little spittle or upchuck. Dining on proper thread count fine imported linen and eating with sterling silver cutlery and bone china began not until I was, say 23 or 24 years old. Prior to that, I was a mere mortal just like you.
- Yes, presentation of food is crucial to a fine meal. However, I did not always require it. In fact, it was not until I earned a Wall Street salary of over $18,000 per year that I began to only consider a dish a fine one if it was laced with a “drizzle,” made with “extra, extra olive oil,” (one can never have too many extra virgins, now can one?), or looked down on my plate and become disappointed that the portion was small when the cultured me soon realized that small portions are “nueva cuisine” and the smaller the portion, the exquisite the dish.
So, as you see, I am not a “ food snob.” But, I am also in no way a “foodie!”
Can I help it if I have good taste and breeding afforded me by making a Wall Street salary of $18,000 per year? I mean, those sanitation jobs washing the streets in the Wall Street area pay well. So, I live well.
Now, if those damn food trucks would move I could finish cleaning this damn street and clock out before I lose my reservation at Cafe Arrogante!