Share My Carrots

A while ago I had an epiphany that changed my life.  No...not really.  But it did make me think, so I wrote a little blurb about it, and in honor of my brother McKay, I am posting it here for the enjoyment of all.  The basic premise is that people are most generous with commodities that don't mean very much to them.  I'm interested to know what people think.  Here you go, McKay.

Share My Carrots

The best Indian food I ever had I ate at a mall restaurant in Japan. I went there for lunch about once a week, and when the short, bearded man at the counter saw me coming, he would throw some naan in the oven and start cooking up some level two chicken curry.  The sweet warm taste of the curry and the soft, thick naan was always the highlight of my week.  It was over a year after I returned from Japan that I was able to locate another Indian restaurant near where I lived.

My boyfriend at the time took me there one night.  The restaurant was decorated in muted golds and dark reds.  A belly dancer in a near-see-through costume floated by our table every once in a while, jingling her bells and shaking her hips.  I glanced at the menu and quickly decided on chicken tikka masala, a slightly spicy dish that I had come to love.  Jeremy nodded and said that we would share it.

“I want my own plate,” I said.

“We can share it, and if you want more, we can order more,” he smiled condescendingly.  “You may not like it.”

The smells from the kitchen wafted over to our table.  I could taste the chicken right then. I looked over my glass at Jeremy.  “I know I like it.  I want my own plate.  I’ve wanted Indian food for months now.” Now that I was getting it, there was no reason to share it.

“I’ll pay for my own if I have to, but I want my own plate,” I said stiffly. What was the point of ordering another plate later when I knew what I wanted, and I knew I could eat the whole thing?

“There’s no need to get upset about it.  We can just order more later.” Jeremy patted my hand, and I pulled it away.  My frustration grew.  I had waited months to eat this chicken masala.  I had been looking forward to it since the day I stepped onto the plane that took me from Japan to the United States.

The waitress came, and I was about to order when Jeremy said, “We’ll have a plate of chicken tikka masala.”  The waitress looked at me and I nodded briefly, my fury building up inside of me.  I hated couples who made scenes in public, and I didn’t want to be one of them.  But this was about more than my chicken masala; it was about control.  Who was Jeremy to dictate what I was to eat, or how I was to eat it?  The fact that he made such a huge issue out of something that really wasn’t an issue at all irritated me.  It said to me that if I was with him, I wasn’t an individual.  I couldn’t act on my own.

I don’t mind sharing food.  Brownies, animal crackers, leftovers from last week, those are okay to share.  But you don’t go to a restaurant and eat two half-plates of food when you know you can eat a whole single plate.  You don’t share good food.  Chicken masala or chicken korma aren’t the foods that you say here, have one, like they’re celery sticks or baby carrots.  People offer you baby carrots because no one craves baby carrots, no one looks forward to curling up on the couch with a blanket and a bag of baby carrots. One less baby carrot from their little plastic baggie means one less baby carrot they have to eat.  It’s not a sacrifice to share your carrots.

There’s no individuality involved.  People eat baby carrots to feel like they are a part of the ever-increasing nutritious masses.  “Here, have a carrot.” Someone says.  They’re eating in front of you and they don’t want to be impolite.  I don’t really want a baby carrot, you think.  But I don’t want to be impolite, so I’ll have one. “Thanks,” you say, but you don’t really mean it.  At least I’m being nutritious, you think.

Carrot psychology is one of the most fascinating branches of psychology out there.  It is the psychology of “should” and “ought.”  I should eat these, they’re nutritious.  I ought to share these, I don’t want to be rude.  I don’t want to be rude, I better eat a carrot so she won’t be offended.  Carrots are really about thinking.  They make people think.  They also make people generous, because it’s not a sacrifice to give away something you don’t really want.

Chicken masala is entirely different.  It is a food that should not be shared.  It’s not a “Here, have my masala” kind of food.  People who like chicken tikka masala are smart enough to know that when you have a good thing you keep it to yourself.  That’s why I ordered another plate of masala and dumped the boyfriend.  Here, have my boyfriend. 

*In the spirit of truthfulness, it took me another three weeks to dump Jeremy, but the ending just worked out so well here.  :)

Comments

[Daniel "What would you do" Creviston]

Maybe he didn't want to order his own plate because he was afraid HE wouldn't like it! Belinda and I share food all the time when we go out. We make sure to order things we will both like so we can have some of eachothers.
Fun Story!!

[Darcy Tikka Masala]

Thanks! I am less opposed to sharing now as I was when I wrote the story 4 years ago, but generally, I don't like sharing Indian food.

I went out with some friends for my friend Lindsey's b-day, and we did a bunch of sharing. I think it works better when it's new stuff and you want to try all the different things.

You have a good point, though, maybe it was him. I'd have been fine with that, but I'm all for direct communication, and if that was how he felt, I'd have been much happier if he'd have been up front about it. The way that it came off (and the way many of the aspects of that relationship came off)was him trying to be in control and making a show of respecting my feelings while doing the complete opposite. It wasn't so much about the Indian food as it was about respect. Hmm. That could be an entirely new story: Respect My Carrots. :)

[L]

Great story! (even better that it's a true one)
I share food all the time with people, but I agree that I tend to eat my favorite things in a small back room with the lights off so no one will catch me in the act and force me to share. As for lunches, I say sharing should be a mutually agreed-upon decision. Sometimes I share and sometimes I want to have the whole plate to myself. I try to eat with people who understand the philosophy, and applaud you for dumping someone who insists on controlling your Indian food consumption habits.
BTW, my favorite Indian place ever was in the U-district Seattle. After I graduated UofW and moved away, they closed and I was very sad about it. Now and then I do get occasional nostalgia cravings for chicken vindaloo, but haven't gone searching for a replacement restaurant here yet.

[Darcy]

Good luck with the search! I make a point to locate the nearest Indian restaurant whenever I move to a new place. :)