“And How Do You Make That?”

mexican restaurant picture

Do you happen to have a friend that defies all logic, all natural laws of human sustenance, and dare I add, all sanity? The bond between their couches (or beds) and their bodies are so strong that nothing other than an immediate threat to their life will cause them to break it. 

Unless you are an ultra fitness nut (think Parks & Rec’s Chris Traeger), chances are you have at least one of those.

I am almost that kind of person myself if my friends are to be believed. My spare time is always a clash of titans – my sleep and my hunger. 

So naturally, the occasion when I choose to break the holy bond between my bed and me is either when my stomach grumbles are deafening, or I think I am experiencing HACE*. Please don’t believe it when they tell you that High Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE) is something only mountaineers experience. A lazy person can create very realistic and comparable laboratory results within the comfort of their bed (or couch). Ask your friend.

Please don’t take that to believe that I am an animal. I am not. I do step out from time to time. So one of those days, ashamed of having wasted almost an entire weekend doing nothing but this, I decided to find courage and step out in the sub-zero zone to grab a bite to eat armed with a new book and bottled water in my jute tote bag. 

As soon as I step out, regret takes over – why don’t I do this more often? Isn’t this just splendid, fresh air, clear blue skies

But before I can go down to Shameville again, I am distracted by thoughts of all I could eat at the food street. After a torturous yet titillating ten minutes of deep thought, I decide on Mexican. There is a cute little joint that I have been to many times before – that’s the one I choose.

There is a spring in my steps and a frenzy in my salivary glands. I have decided what I will eat – Veg and Cheese Quesadillas with a side of garlic cheese bread. 

I don’t have to read the menu; I head right to the counter and blurt my order instantaneously (14 hours of nothing but water can do that to you, trust me). The guy looks confused. I repeat my order, realizing he didn’t quite get my speech. Things look slightly better than before, but not much.

He now grabs one of the paper menus and asks me to point to the item I ask for. I do that with excitement and trepidation. His expression changes yet again. He itches the back of his head a little bit, twirls his hair, goes back to the front page of the menu and then again to my order, looks at the ground, looks back at me, and goes, ‘How do you make that?’

The man asked me – the customer – how to prepare an item displayed on their menu.

True story, ladies and gentlemen!

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