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So You Say You Want A Resolution?

By Donna Covrett · December 24th, 2003 · Bite Me
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This year, I'd like to fight the obligation to make sanctimonious, magnificently philosophical resolutions. No danger of hyperbolic grandeur here -- the guilt incurred from having failed to end world hunger or flossing twice daily has been unbearable.

Instead, I'd like to take our customary pedestrian hopes for the ensuing year and aim lower. This year, I will make New Year's resolutions for others. Self-righteous, I think not -- self-serving, yes indeed.

As a restaurant host or hostess, I'll make a concerted effort to avoid sighing in a manner suggesting that, in order to seat a guest, I've been compelled to interrupt the complex work of nuclear science, which is, of course, my real job.

Being the proprietor of a restaurant doesn't mean I must include on the menu a dish entitled Chicken John.

I'll resist the notion that, as a diner, it's my duty to discuss my preposterous hopes for the future in a loud, animated voice with other dinner guests.

As a chef, I'll remember that water chestnuts are an ingredient, not a course, and that watercress, while lovely in a salad, is simply annoying as a "nest" for lamb chops.

It's important to note that as a cook in a vegetarian restaurant, despite my liberal leanings and mastery of all major Eastern philosophies, buckwheat groats remain cumbersome and possess unpalatable religious overtones.

As a baker, it will be important to appropriate these words verbatim: Bread that must be sliced with a hacksaw is too nourishing; bread that's more comfortable than an easy chair can't be good for anyone.

We as a nation of creative types must remember that we don't have to reinvent the wheel. If you're the very first to have considered adding jalapeno vodka or licorice root to mashed potatoes, think long and hard until you thoroughly understand the reason behind it.

As a deli manager of a large local grocery chain, I'll no longer cook rotisserie chickens at 8 a.m. and wonder why I can't sell them at 6 p.m.

As a produce manager, I vow to teach "sales associates" the difference between jicama and squash and never to underestimate the value of stacking overripe tomatoes on top of the pile.

Flavored coffees have been, of late, highly over-valued. Entrepreneurial beast that I am, I won't complicate the situation further by supplying yet another strip mall with a cleverly named establishment selling several sizes of these items accompanied by chocolate chip cookies and unrelated toys at a cost equal to feeding a family of four for an entire week.

Gluttonous eating in expensive restaurants several times a month and then writing about it for an alternative newsweekly with unnecessary flourish and excessive enthusiasm is not at all tasteful. I'll get a real job.

 
 
 
 

 

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