The Old Coot is a cut-up.
By Merlin Lessler
My wife and I had lunch with a friend the other
day. I ordered a short stack of pancakes and sausage. I love restaurants that
serve breakfast all day. It’s right up my “cheapskate” alley. Pancakes were the
cheapest thing on the menu.
I cut them into bite size pieces, ditto for the
sausage links. Our friend Lynn didn’t say anything, but I could tell by the
look on her face she was wondering, “What kind of idiot cuts up all their food
at one time? It’s what mothers and fathers do for a toddler.” I do it to avoid the fork and knife
switching, back and forth after each use of the knife. I can’t cut with my left
hand and can’t use it to get food to my mouth. It’s only used to hold down
whatever I’m cutting.
In
Europe, and with adults with more sophistication than me, the fork stays in the
left hand, the knife in the right (for right handed people). They maneuver food
from the plate to their pie hole with their left hand, using the knife to help
load it onto the fork, often with the tines facing down, transporting the food
on what I call the wrong side of the fork. (I’ve tried it many times, to no
avail). Also, what do you do with peas? How can anyone balance them on a fork
held in the “wrong” hand?
This
is where being an old coot has its benefits. People don’t expect much of us.
(And, we play that card as often as possible). We arm ourselves for battle, the
fork in our left hand, the knife in the right, and go to war with a piece of
meat or whatever is too big to eat in one bite. We cut it all up, send the
knife into exile, move the fork to our right hand and eat in peace, just like we
did when we were little kids and mom cut up our meal for us. We’ll eventually
end up with someone cutting up our food again, so we might as well get a head
start on eating the sensible way before it becomes a necessity.
Comments?
Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com
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