The food is cooked, the plates are filled. Everything smells delicious. Smiling, Ferrett hands me a fork. I smile back, but apologetically.
“Um, thank you. But can you get me a big one?”
It completely baffles him, but I hate eating dinner with a salad fork. For him, it’s an instrument of delivery for food. For me, it’s part of the food experience. The weight of the fork, the size of the bites, the balance in my hand, they all have a direct impact on how much I enjoy my food.
What I’ve never confessed to him (until now, obviously) is that since we’ve gotten a new set of flatware I often reject the dinner fork of one of the patterns for the dinner fork of the other pattern. This is not a matter of preferring one pattern over the other. No, I actually choose different ones on different days because that one is going to feel better eating this particular meal.
I know it’s silly. I’ve actually been so embarrassed by this at times that I accept the proffered fork from Ferrett, and then sneak back into the kitchen to switch them out. But eating is more than just flavor. It’s an experience for all the senses, and my sense of touch comes into play with the weight of that fork in my hand. Thin, flimsy silverware at a restaurant actually distresses me–but then again so does the stuff that’s overly heavy. Each spoon doesn’t need to weigh a quarter pound. I just don’t want to feel like I can tie it in a knot, either.
Let’s not even discuss bent fork tines [shudder].
Anyone else have odd aversions, ones that don’t relate to the actual food? Or is it just me?