Hey, that's my cashew chicken! (and hold the garlic, please.)

Why is it that food can bring out the worst in some people — especially when it involves group participation and dining out? There are the ordinary pitfalls of deciding what to eat, where to eat, and when to eat. Any one of these issues can have relatively sane people frothing at the mouth—and not because they’re starving, but because they can’t agree. Then, of course, there’s the tallying of the bill. In my experience, some do and some don’t—meaning that there always seems to be those who order five courses, the most expensive drinks, and then throw in two thirds (or less) of what they owe. I like to split the bill evenly, regardless of who ordered what—with each party putting in a credit card (hopefully their own). One friend of mine doesn’t feel this is fair, because she doesn’t drink, and everyone else does. Never mind that her husband drinks more than the rest of us combined, or that she was the only one who just had to have crab cakes for a starter, and finished off with tiramisu and designer coffee. I would come out ahead every time if I just paid for what I ate and drank—but who wants the hassle? So we usually split the bill and my non-drinking friend erroneously thinks she has paid more than her fair share. Needless to say, we eat in with this couple more than we dine out. We avoid the after dinner drama and the expensive cognac and port that her husband is so fond of ordering.

Yes, dining out can often involve some tricky navigation. For me, the most deadly of all issues involves “family-style” dining. For those of you not familiar with this term, it means that you order a lot of food and it goes in the center of the table and you all share and share alike. Note that the operative word here is share. No longer regulated to the local Chinese restaurant, or the neighborhood Italian hot spot, family-style dining has become popular in restaurants everywhere; no doubt a byproduct of America’s growing appetite to graze…and graze, and graze. So before you venture out for a “family-style” dining experience, or even gather to feast on an array of hors d'oeuvres with some friends, be warned. You may end up seeing someone whom you thought you knew rather well, in a whole new light. And it might not be very appetizing.

Now I’m as sensitive as most when it comes to someone reaching over and grabbing a fry off my plate as it barely touches down in front of me. But come on, family-style means sharing. Whether you’re with friends or family, there always seems to be someone who just can’t play nice. Sure not everyone likes the same thing. That’s why you order a variety of items. Every person doesn’t have to like, or eat, something from every plate. So why is there always one person who just has to have a heaping pile of food in front of them with their name on it specifically? This happened to me recently while dining with some friends. We ordered an array of fish, chicken and beef. When the fish was delivered to the table, one of our friends quickly slid the platter over in front of herself. Someone asked her what she was doing and she explained that she just wanted the fish and that’s why she ordered it. Just my luck. I go out for family-style dining and just get chicken. I don’t eat beef, and the fish was evidently off-limits. Needless to say, variety was not the spice of my life that night.

This also reminds me of my “marvelous” mother-in-law, Marvel. Her affinity for cashew chicken was well known, and neither my husband nor I can ever order it without smiling, and remembering her with fondness. We were visiting her in her retirement community in Arizona one weekend. She asked if we would take her out to her favorite Chinese restaurant, as she no longer drove and she hadn’t been there in several months. Off we went…my husband, me, our young son and grandma. Everyone discussed the menu and then we ordered. Of course, grandma said she wanted cashew chicken. With an array of mushu pork, kung pao beef, garlic chicken, and fried rice, we ordered one plate of cashew chicken. When the food came, my son reached out to take some of the cashew chicken. Like a nun with a ruler, Grandma’s chopsticks came down on the table with a whack! “Hey! That’s my cashew chicken,” she said. What a show stopper. I quickly comforted our son and explained to my mother-in-law that he was used to eating Chinese food family-style, where everyone shares. She replied, “I won’t eat your food, so please don't eat mine.” My husband quickly asked the waiter to bring out a small portion of cashew chicken for our son. Crises averted. Or was it? My mother-in-law ate about one eighth of her food, and sat there for the rest of the meal gazing longingly at our mushu pork. Our son? To this day, he doesn’t eat Chinese food, and while he likes sushi, chopsticks are definitely taboo.

Now I harbor no grudges against my mother-in-law. I loved her very much. She was elderly and set in her ways. And cashew chicken aside, she was generous to a fault. But I am sad to say that I do hold a grudge against a certain friend, whom I (and my friends) graze with no more. What came between us? Please, read on...

Recently, this friend and I, along with several other friends, headed out to a trendy new restaurant that specializes in, you guessed it, family-style dining. It was girl’s night out and we were having a great time—until the waiter came to take our order. You see, this restaurant specializes in garlic dishes. Even the name of the restaurant (Garlic Jo’s) includes the word garlic. To our surprise, our good friend doesn’t like garlic. You would think that she might have mentioned this sooner. After all, she has been to my home and eaten food that I’ve prepared with garlic for years—and she’s never said a word. And I use a lot of garlic! Anyway, she tries to insist that we have all the food prepared with no garlic whatsoever, so that she can have some of everything. This, at a restaurant specializing in garlic. We tried to compromise with her and have the food prepared with just light garlic. No go. Now you’ve got to realize that all the while we’re trying to negotiate with her, we see and smell mounds of bread with roasted garlic wafting by…and we are getting hungry, frustrated, and just a little tipsy from lack of food and our pre-dinner cocktails. Finally, we suggested to her that she order something a-la-carte so that the rest of us could still experience the garlic extravaganza we came for—which, by this time, had us literally drooling. To our surprise, our good friend stood up and declared that she was leaving and that we should all be ashamed of ourselves; first, for not knowing that she did not like garlic, and second, for not supporting her. We desperately tried to reason with her one last time.

It finally came down to our friend not mincing the garlic…or her words. She gave us an ultimatum. We had to choose. It was either the garlic or her. What can I say? We chose the garlic. Now I have to admit that we may have gone a little overboard; but I don’t think you should be responsible for your actions when on garlic "sensory" overload. To see it, and to smell it, for well over half an hour without being able to imbibe…that’s just cruel and unusual punishment. And maybe we were acting depraved, but as I said, we were subjected to extreme deprivation. Garlic deprivation. Plus, how are we to know that she doesn’t like garlic if she doesn’t tell us—until we get to the restaurant? She knew for over two weeks that we were going to Garlic Jo's. Did she think this was just the name of the proprietor? Mr. Jo, Mr. Garlic Jo? The deciding factor though, was that my friends and I decided that there just had to be something fundamentally wrong with not liking garlic. Really! As another friend pointed out...only vampires don’t like garlic. And you can never be too careful we decided. After all, this "garlic-hating" friend does have a pretty defined set of bicuspids and she favors bloody marys.

So beware the family-style dining experience. Before you head out to partake, make sure everyone is on the same page…or should I say menu. Otherwise, you might end up missing out on your favorite dish, losing a good friend, or even worse—holding the garlic!

© 2005 Teresa G. Franta