Insulting the Cook

I had two delicious broccoli based dishes today. At the Nelson's deli, they have a salad made with broccoli, raisins, sunflower seeds and something else that was charming. Then tonight I had supper with my dog sitters at the Chinese Restaurant that straddles the area between Main and Bridge and had a perfectly prepared vegetable and tofu dish with the fancy little corns, broccoli, water chestnuts, and a few other ingredients. Absolutely excellent and the sauce was perfect.

Here is my problem. Since I misplaced my dentures, the broccoli that was correctly cooked al dente was too hard to eat. I could have just explained why I needed it cooked a little more and had it done with, but I didn't want to insult a good cook.

I should try and think - What Would Ray Do. While I was in the psych unit, excitement was generated by spectacular tirades by a guy named Ray who was on so many medications that my heart ached. I actually think he was so bored with the procedures and he just performed his act to break up the monotony for the rest of us. He couldn't sleep (most people with mental illness have sleeping problems) and was perfectly quiet in the mornings when everyone else was sleeping - that is why I am so sure it was an act. Ray would find out what people's dreams were and then show them a way to work toward them, but most people were lured with the idea that Ray might have money and would just gift their dream to them, after all this was MAYO and even Putin gets his checkup there.

I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to laugh so hard your stomach hurts after you have been depressed for ten years and Ray would cut through the crap and get to the heart of the matter in a couple words and always loudly. He was so interesting because everything that came from his mouth was unexpected. The food there was spectacular and they sent around a form for us to grade the food. They asked Ray what he thought, expecting a compliment, I suppose. Ray yelled, "It made me shit."

When he wanted some assistance, he would yell over and over for it and the nurses would walk very, very slowly to his room. Sometimes he just yelled "Help", not like he was in danger, but more the "Come do your job description". Another reason I liked him was because food was just his body's fuel and if he ever came for a visit, I think he wouldn't mind my cooking. I could just slop together anything and stick some barbeque sauce on it and he wouldn't mind. Damn, I lost his address as I was going to send a bus ticket to him to come to my Festivus party.

Ray would have shouted HELP but I was too shy. Really quite stupid as the place wasn't busy yet and the cook would have gladly done it, I am sure. I probably ruined the evening by asking the dad a lot of questions instead of questioning the Mom about her dreams and wishes - after all the dinner was to thank her for watching my dog while I was hospitalized. The worst thing I did was help condition the little 7 year old girl to value men more than women also. I gave her my fortune cookie and then told her to share with her brother. What kind of gift is that if I tell someone what to do with it. Of course if I thought before I talked, I wouldn't talk at all.