Everything I Tell You is Hearsay

Till you go to the doctor and have bloodwork done. But that is a matter for another post…

What I refer to here, rather is the situation in which I find myself, some 130 miles south of where I have spent the bulk of my life, young and recently aging. I have spoken more than once of the privilege  of being a Portland native. I took pride in having spent my life there, of knowing what it was like before the descent of Hipster Blight. One thing I heard consistently, from transplants, was how excellent the food was, and how spoiled I had been by my lifelong access to it.

While I could agree that indeed, most of the restaurants in town had at least one decent thing on the menu, and from time to time my mind and mouth would be blown away by something I encountered, I didn’t imagine that to be all that unusual.

And then, I moved to Eugene.

I thought, originally, how different could the culinary options be, really? It’s a liberal, prosperous college town flooded with vegans and Portland ex-pats. Surely the 2 1/2 hour drive wouldn’t have thwarted a southern migration of decent eateries?

How wrong I was. 

I have been consistently disappointed with the fare I’ve come across in town. Turtles, which is very close to both work and home, and has the advantage of being relatively inexpensive has disappointed me repeatedly. I keep hoping I’ll find something tolerable on the menu since it is so convenient, but they have managed to fail at items I consider nearly unfuckupable; chicken strips? Seriously? How can you screw up chicken strips?? Chicken+breading+deep fry=delicious! Also of note, the grilled cheese sandwich. This is my go-to default can’t-go-wrong option when I’m unsure about a menu. But somehow theirs goes wrong; oh how wrong it goes. Worse than either of these are the nachos. As a lover of all things Nach (including, but not by any means limited to: tot-chos) I am personally offended at the hideous use of alfredo sauce in the dish under any circumstances. By all means apply liquid cheese, but for the love of all that is decent, not alfredo.

The Sixth Street Grill had won me over at first, with its small plate offerings which are generally tasty and reasonably priced, but they betrayed me profoundly by removing the best offering from their menu after I had only been able to have it twice. The Olympus was a grilled turkey sandwich with artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, and kalamata olives on a toasted ciabatta with a jalapeno cream cheese spread. It was fucking fantastic. Now it’s gone, and all I can do is lament its loss and fail to find anything in the place that compares favorably.

The Beer Stein actually has totally decent food, and coupled with that, they offer a fantastic beer selection. They also always have a mead offering, which makes me pretty happy. The last time I was there I had the Father Guido Sarducci which is thinly sliced turkey, honey ham, pepperoni, red onion, lettuce, tomato, pepperoncini, olive tapenade and provolone on a toasted hoagie roll. It tasted pretty amazing. However the boyfriend has vetoed any further consumption of the sandwich based on the “vile, repulsive, and persistent” nature of my breath once said sandwich was had.

The only place in town that has fed me something I consider equal to my spoiled rotten Portland expectations is a little place right around the corner from my new office called the Agate Alley Laboratory. The place is just adorable as all get out with it’s laboratory chic schtick. The chemical formulas for Chocolate, Cinnamon, and several other goodies are stenciled on the wall. The periodic table is emblazoned against the side wall of the bar. Beakers and flasks everywhere. Aside from that, though, the offerings are amazing. My Moscow Mule was made with genuine ginger ale and a heavy handed pour. The food is locally sourced, lovingly crafted, deliciously realized. So. Fucking. Good.

So, I was happy to find it, even if it is a bit above range for more than an every so often treat, it’s reassuringly extant at any rate.

Nothing, however, will make me stop missing the taquitos at Pepinos. Covered in the salsa that made me realize I had completely reversed my position on cilantro. Or the Muu Muu burger, crammed onto a crusty roll right along with the fries and that magic crack-sauce. Or the Salted Carmel Ice cream from Fifty-Fifty which I am not kidding you I have fervid passionate dreams about.  And by no means the Squashed from Tin Shed; butternut squash ravioli drenched in creamy mushroom sauce and covered in parmesan. Oh, god. I’m drooling just thinking about it.

Eugene has a great deal to recommend it. It is beautiful and friendly and a lovely place to live. I am genuinely much happier than I have ever been before. Yet I long for Portland in this one unexpected inexorable way. When I come to town I think first of who I will see, but only moments before I think about where I will eat.

i come from a family of inveterate drug doers.

seriously. my mother and i are not currently speaking because she hotboxed my kid.

i am the only person in my immediate family who does not have a substance abuse problem. except that i kinda do… in the form of taco bell. and wendy’s. and burger king. and jack in the box. oh, mother-of-god jack in the box.

i am a fast food addict.

left to my worst, i will have it 7-10 times a week. i dont like to eat in company, and so the drive thru has a particular appeal. no one sees me feed myself in this fashion. and there is ranch, and taco sauce, and mustard. it usually gets down the front of me…

but i am trying to reform.

not least becuase it is so very bad for me. i am getting old now and this behavior reminds me of that forcefully. no more can i glibly consume a mexican pizza (no tomatoes, no ground beef) without consequence. neither can i down bacon cheddar potato wedges without ill effect. no, i must now be made to pay for these pleasures, and i am simply not strong enough to withstand the punishment.

so i have sworn off fast food. it’s really for the best.

and yet, i yearn. in much the way any junkie might. i think about what good times i am missing, alone in my car, post-drive thru. the pleasure of that jr bacon cheeseburger hitting my gullet. the flush when the chalupa hits home. (nevermind the flush that happens later when the chalupa really hits home)

today, it was tacos. i really wanted them. really. they are deep fried and awful, yet utterly irresistable. Jack, how i curse your round head, pointy hat, amusing commercials, and vilely delicious culinary marvels. plus also an oreo cookie shake.

i have constrained myself thus; i must sit down in any restaurant at which i want to dine. and since the concept of eating at tacobelljackintheboxwendysburgerville is totally odious, i have not yet succumbed. and i laugh just as heartily as the next at the absurdity of this stricture, but it is apparently necessary.

and so, on day 18, i longed for tacos.

have i mentioned, i also like to shop? more on that later…

i barely recognize myself lately; but i think it’s mostly a good thing.

i have always been somewhat glib about my strange relationship with food. i have characterized is at combative in the past, and it really seemed apt at the time. it still occasionally does, but lately i’ve been trying harder to make peace.

previously shudder inducing; now considered edible!

a few weeks ago i was sitting at the bar in a local eatery looking at the menu and contemplating my options. typically, in almost every dish there was at least one ingredient i did not wish to enter my mouth. this is because i have a fairly long list of food items i do not much care for. and one of them is tomatoes. which, it turns out, lots of other people actually like. while i am not certain i will ever understand this fact from anything more than an intellectual standpoint, i do recognize that since so many people like them a) they may, in fact have some redeeming qualities (even though i have yet to discover them) and b) they are present in lots and lots of things i want to eat.

i have handled this in the past by ordering in a vaguely “When Harry Met Sally” sort of way:

“i’d like the bacon mushroom bbq swiss burger with no tomato or mushrooms. and could i get cheddar instead of swiss? and mustard for my fries rather than ketchup?”

and yes, i DO like the taste of spit, thanks very much.

recently however, i’ve decided to revise my attitude toward food. i do not want to see it as my enemy. i do not want to see a meal as a gauntlet of nasty unwanted items to be plucked out and disposed of.

so.

i have started eating stuff anyway. things i would normally have NEVER eaten. tomatoes only being the most prominent item on the list, there are many more indeed:

• avocados: slimy yet flavored as i would expect earwax to taste
• cilantro: mmmm soapy!
• beets: why yes, i do love “vegetables” that look like dayglo innards
• garbanzo beans: in hummus, they are yummus. otherwise gro-ess
• mushrooms: fungus. nasty. only meant for recreational consumption. not budging on this one.

so now, my new approach is to simply order whatever i am getting with the ingredient list in tact. then, i put it in my mouth. if i do not immediately throw up or die, i chew and swallow. turns out, this is not nearly as hard as i expected it to be. i havent died once so far!

this also extends to other sorts of food related hang ups. for example, i have long had the tendency to not eat leftovers. i cant explain why this is exactly, but i just find the concept of reheating food rather odious. an exboyfriend of mine used to INSIST i take home doggy bags from restaurants (i have a small appetite and can almost never finish a portion the size a typical restaurant delivers) so as not to make the chef/waitstaff/maitre de/parking attendant feel bad about themselves in case they saw my leavings as a condemnation of their fare. he would insist upon this knowing FULL WELL that i was going to throw the food away as soon as i got home, or after letting it take up space in my fridge for a few days more. because i simply could not bring myself to eat something a second time around.

and yet, tonight, i made myself a meal that was comprised ENTIRELY of food items from last week. and it was tasty. and i did not throw up or die. this, is progress.

the funny thing is, that for the first time in my life there is no one pressuring me to make these changes. it has been a sore point in almost every relationship i have ever been in, my pickyness. and now, when everyone who matters seems to be pretty okay with my weird relationship with food, i look at the people i most admire, and they are not the least bit picky about their food. they eat with relish and enjoy what is set before them. it is more that i wish to follow their example than that i am being prodded to grow up and stop being such a brat about what i eat.

thinking about this made me contemplate more fully the role of acceptance in relationships. i like to think of myself as a pretty forgiving person. i judge people certainly, i see faults, but i in no way expect or desire them to change. i feel like i should be able to take people as they come, appreciate who and how they are, and love them nevertheless.

and yet, it is a truly rare thing to have. i know i am not always perfect at this, but i think i am pretty damn good about it overall. and, not to be unduly immodest, but i consider myself to be better at it than a lot of the people in my life who have loved me. much of the love i have received in the past was expressly conditional; dependent upon my willingness to change, fix, and improve myself.

but somehow, at this stage, i can say that i have love in my life that is profoundly unconditional. that is based on that kind of comprehensive acceptance. it is not that anyone is fooled about me; it is not that they fail to see my frailties and shortcomings, but rather that they are seen, and accepted, and loved in their own right as a part of the whole of myself.

and this, beautifully, is what helps me feel free to change in the ways that i like. to become more who i am, and who i want to be.