Phil's News For Those Mid-Life Blues

An Ordinary Object

       Though I consider myself well-traveled, I do find myself in certain ordinary situations where I am baffled. I wonder to myself what the proper partaking of this item or what the etiquette is for this. Case in point, I sometimes order a tropical drink such as Sangria, or Pina Colada.

   These drinks often arrive at the table with everything symmetrically placed to be appealing to the naked eye; a frosty curvy almost voluptuous glass glistening in the sun. The slice of pineapple or orange perfectly inserted on the glass rim and accompanied by a couple of Maraschino Cherries skewered through the fruit with a toothpick or a thin bamboo stalk. my dilemma begins at this point; Is this garnish? Should I just set it aside gently on the table adjacent to my drink? Should the fruit be spritzed into the drink? Is this edible? Depending on how hungry I am, I may immediately begin chomping down on it and washing it down with the tropical drink.

    I would like to assume there is no wrong answer, but there usually is. It totally depends on the number of stars in the establishment. Is it five-star or one-star… How you dine at Golden Corral or Outback differs from how you consume your lavish cuisine at Le Pigeon or El Gaucho. So I often rely on my wife’s comportment to be my guide, but I still want to be able to decipher this in an instant and independently. I should know this.

    How can I pass this series of guidelines on to our children or consider myself a man of refinement or sophistication if I’m stumped by a piece of fruit wedged onto a glass?

       Well, on this particular evening it’s just my lovely wife and I at an all-inclusive resort. I am starving and thirsty from walking around the Chichen Itza in Cancun. An absolutely well chaperoned, informative and interactive tour. We get back to our resort and I’m in the mood for something exotic and outlandish. This adults-only venue was sparsely populated with extremely tame patrons.

    My cocktail arrives adorned with a large orange slice on the rim. With total reckless abandon I forcefully squeeze the juice from the orange with a closed fist until my forearm muscle is pulsing loudly mumbling,

     Oh yeah, get all of those drippings, that’s it. Get in there.

But wait, I’m not done, now I have to take that mangled slice of citrus fruit and gnaw it down to the rind then toss the empty husk next to the drink; throwing caution to the wind.

      My wife has a poker face, not giving me any clue if she‘s embarrassed by my beverage décor or proud of my neanderthal like penchant for my cocktail, unapologetic and primal. She simply smiles and sips her green tea.

    Wow, I thought, if she was sitting across from me playing head-to-head Texas Hold ‘em I wouldn’t know if she was holding a straight or had straight garbage.

    To add to my turmoil over this behavior she reaches over and nibbles on one Maraschino Cherries and smiles. Is she being supportive of my foolishness, mentally placating me or being bold and joining me my reckless abandon of table niceties. Well, maybe she just wanted a cherry.  

   I am in way over my head, so next time I’ll just order a rum and coke. Keep it simple stupid…

  I was firm on that decision. So as I scarfed down my orange and her pineapple, feeling this is my final helping. I felt emboldened and asked my wife,

   What do you think of the fruit that comes with the cocktail? Do you consider it garnish or do you eat it?

    She gave me a quizzical look as if she was surprised I wasn’t aware of her stance on this. Then she answered in the with the slightest amount of cynicism;

    I’m not sure the beverage preparers always wash their hands, so …

I immediately stopped chewing.