greetings when people tell me to. I don’t need the pressure.
You see a friend, they say, “When you see Alan, tell him I said, ‘Hi.’ ”
Right, sure.
Problem is, if you say, “Hi” to Alan, he goes, “Oh, you saw Joel? Tell him I said, ‘Hi.’ How is he doing?”
Now I’ve got to run back to Joel, “Alan told me to tell you ‘Hi’ and wants to know how you’re doing?”
“Oh, did you see him? How’s
he
doing?”
Why don’t the two of
you
get together and leave me out of it? I have things to do.
B ut my friend and I did promise to get together.
So, he calls me, and the first thing we have to decide is what
meal
we’re talking about. Socializing invariably involves food, and often, a bona fide meal. Because you need the focal point. You can’t just walk back and forth between two trees and chat. How would you know when you’re finished? That’s why you need food.
At least a hot beverage and a muffin. This way, if the conversation drags, you have something to talk about. “Ooh, that’s good coffee.” (Which offers more potential than “Boy, look how far apart those two trees are.”)
Sometimes your days get so busy, you have no actual meal open. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are taken, so you go for quasi-meals.
“How about drinks at five?”
If that doesn’t work, you have to start making up
new
meals.
“We’ll have peanuts at noon.”
“Corn chips at three.”
Unfortunately, this is another case where you have to let some friends go.
“It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that there are no more food groups left. We could do Oysterettes at three-thirty, but what’s the point, really?”
T hat’s what’s great about Coffee.
It’s the only meal for which the name of the food is also the official name of the event. “Coffee.” “We’ll get together for Coffee.” We know what we’re doing, and we know what we’ll be having: coffee.
Makes it simple when you get there.
“Do you want to look at a menu?”
“No, I already know: coffee. That’s why we got together. We got together for—Coffee. That’s what we discussed, that’s what I’ll be having.”
It’s the only food that has that advantage. You never say, “Let’s get together for lamb.”
“I’m in town, let’s get together for Fresca.”
“Whattya say? Grapes for everyone.”
You never hear it. It’s just not the same draw as Coffee.
I love coffee. I don’t
drink
coffee, but I love it. I drink tea, and I don’t like it. That’s my life in a nutshell, ladies andgentlemen, I consistently drink a hot beverage I don’t enjoy.
Let me say something about tea. Tea starts bad and never gets better. You put in honey, cream, sugar, lemon, and you still go, “Ooh, that’s bad!”
And the people who
make
tea know it’s bad. That’s why they give you so many choices. You go into a store, there’s a thousand types of teas. Every herb, fruit, and spice in every combination. They’re desperate to make this stuff palatable.
And it almost works. You think, “Wow! Look at this! Apple Cinnamon Mango Cherry tea. This should be good. I like all of those things. This is going to be just great.”
You take a sip and go, “Nope. That’s still very bad.” I don’t know how they go wrong with that, but they do.
So, when a waitress asks, “How would you like your tea?” I already know.
“I won’t.” Right off the bat. “I won’t enjoy it, but it’s not your fault. Just bring me hot liquid and a muffin, so I can talk to my friend here.”
T he greatest social food of all time is Chinese food. The whole purpose of this particular cuisine is to
share.
You get lots of different things, put them in the middle of the table, and you all share. But I find, even with people I like, I can’t stop taking inventory.
I’m smiling, but I’m thinking, “How many shrimpshas
he
had so far? This fat bastard’s got fourteen shrimps on his plate—two on his fork, three in his mouth that he
You see a friend, they say, “When you see Alan, tell him I said, ‘Hi.’ ”
Right, sure.
Problem is, if you say, “Hi” to Alan, he goes, “Oh, you saw Joel? Tell him I said, ‘Hi.’ How is he doing?”
Now I’ve got to run back to Joel, “Alan told me to tell you ‘Hi’ and wants to know how you’re doing?”
“Oh, did you see him? How’s
he
doing?”
Why don’t the two of
you
get together and leave me out of it? I have things to do.
B ut my friend and I did promise to get together.
So, he calls me, and the first thing we have to decide is what
meal
we’re talking about. Socializing invariably involves food, and often, a bona fide meal. Because you need the focal point. You can’t just walk back and forth between two trees and chat. How would you know when you’re finished? That’s why you need food.
At least a hot beverage and a muffin. This way, if the conversation drags, you have something to talk about. “Ooh, that’s good coffee.” (Which offers more potential than “Boy, look how far apart those two trees are.”)
Sometimes your days get so busy, you have no actual meal open. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are taken, so you go for quasi-meals.
“How about drinks at five?”
If that doesn’t work, you have to start making up
new
meals.
“We’ll have peanuts at noon.”
“Corn chips at three.”
Unfortunately, this is another case where you have to let some friends go.
“It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that there are no more food groups left. We could do Oysterettes at three-thirty, but what’s the point, really?”
T hat’s what’s great about Coffee.
It’s the only meal for which the name of the food is also the official name of the event. “Coffee.” “We’ll get together for Coffee.” We know what we’re doing, and we know what we’ll be having: coffee.
Makes it simple when you get there.
“Do you want to look at a menu?”
“No, I already know: coffee. That’s why we got together. We got together for—Coffee. That’s what we discussed, that’s what I’ll be having.”
It’s the only food that has that advantage. You never say, “Let’s get together for lamb.”
“I’m in town, let’s get together for Fresca.”
“Whattya say? Grapes for everyone.”
You never hear it. It’s just not the same draw as Coffee.
I love coffee. I don’t
drink
coffee, but I love it. I drink tea, and I don’t like it. That’s my life in a nutshell, ladies andgentlemen, I consistently drink a hot beverage I don’t enjoy.
Let me say something about tea. Tea starts bad and never gets better. You put in honey, cream, sugar, lemon, and you still go, “Ooh, that’s bad!”
And the people who
make
tea know it’s bad. That’s why they give you so many choices. You go into a store, there’s a thousand types of teas. Every herb, fruit, and spice in every combination. They’re desperate to make this stuff palatable.
And it almost works. You think, “Wow! Look at this! Apple Cinnamon Mango Cherry tea. This should be good. I like all of those things. This is going to be just great.”
You take a sip and go, “Nope. That’s still very bad.” I don’t know how they go wrong with that, but they do.
So, when a waitress asks, “How would you like your tea?” I already know.
“I won’t.” Right off the bat. “I won’t enjoy it, but it’s not your fault. Just bring me hot liquid and a muffin, so I can talk to my friend here.”
T he greatest social food of all time is Chinese food. The whole purpose of this particular cuisine is to
share.
You get lots of different things, put them in the middle of the table, and you all share. But I find, even with people I like, I can’t stop taking inventory.
I’m smiling, but I’m thinking, “How many shrimpshas
he
had so far? This fat bastard’s got fourteen shrimps on his plate—two on his fork, three in his mouth that he
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