Dining Out

Walked into Squatters the other day and sat at the bar waiting for a table to break free. Two heads covered with knit caps, young peeps, seemed to be enjoying each other's company. They both could be considered part of the pretty people crowd if you looked real closely at them. I'd say they were in their mid twenties or something. Whatever she was eating had created a slight white mustache above the lips. For some odd reason, he wasn't letting her know about it. I fought back the urge to point it out to my friend but finally caved and we had a good laugh about it. My friend continued to watch while I scanned the room for other interesting dining rituals. Next thing I heard was, "She's kind of a sloppy eater". I thought to myself, this may be an exaggeration, but after watching the next large bite get shoved into her mouth, I was in agreement. And still he's not saying anything.

What is it with manners anyway? I mean does it really matter how the food gets from point A to point B? For some reason it's embarrassing to have a smudge of whip cream on your face and a few crumbs on your shirt, but if both are left on the plate, nobody notices. And why have we made a ritual out of eating?

The human animal is just that, an animal. If you boil down eating to it's most basic component, it is an animal instinct. Basically we get hungry. So the food goes into the mouth. And what is a mouth? It is the first step in digesting the food. Digestion? We like to look at another person begin to digest food? What is so great about that?

Some people like to call me an Idaho spud. For the few odd years I spent growing up in a small farming community, I consider myself much benefited from. We learned how to work. Working in the early hours of the morning, watching the sun rise. Working in the hot sun. Working in the evening, watching the sun set. Walking through endless fields of potatoes, making sure they get watered, struggling to make the process of irrigation happen so that somebody, somewhere could eat.

The potato is an odd thing. It's basically a root and if you look at it raw, it looks and feels more like a rock. I was once told that is mostly water but there are nutrients there that make it highly desirable for human consumption. So why don't we just dig these things up, peel them, slice them, and eat them?

It's because they just don't taste that great in their raw form. So more energy is put into the root rock so that it can be turned into french fries, baked potatoes, or one of my favorites, funeral potatoes. It's an extra step that has to be done to most foods before they can find their way into our initial digestive system, otherwise known as a mouth.

So let's skip to the end. What's the last step in digestion? I'll give you a hint. It's your bum bum and duty comes out. Yucky right? And yet this step is just as important as the first one. But there seems to be a big disconnect in the way we treat the first step compared to the way we treat the last one. Instead of making a ritual out of it, inviting friends to share in the experience, we isolate ourselves in a room and just take care of it.

To this day, I have no proof that some of my friends have ever pooped. And yet I've witnessed just about all of them putting something into their mouth. If the item that is inserted, pleases their tongue, they will often crinkle up their face (smile) and show the pearly white chomping mechanisms (teeth). All the while, they will be trying to hide the food that just one second ago was presented to them in the most astonishingly amazing manner.

I don't want to see their food all chewed up. I don't want to hear it going down their throat. I don't want to hear the stomach growling when it hits. I don't want to hear or smell the gas that sometimes results. And I don't want to know that you create little poopers in the potty.

Most people don't hang out in the bathroom with their friends unless they are sisters, girlfriends, or senators from Idaho.