No compromises

Some things are worth having. Wisdom. Satisfaction. A silent bedroom. Possibly they are far-fetched, but at least they give you something to do. You know what to strive for.

I'm not so far yet, I am trying to stay calm when served bad food
in an expensive restaurant.

In the beginning I tried an impulsive 'I don't want to eat this'. The
waiter would give me a surprised look and walk away. I would stay behind with the food.
Now I have evolved to negotiating.
I explain the dish is not what I had in mind. That me too I know how to cook.
After that there is the menu translation, allergies, my confused mind. The longterm view.

There is the option of crying. You are hungry. You want good food for a reasonable price.
They just answer with giving the bill.

Finally you can calm down. Or accept what is given to you.

Rather just go to a better restaurant.

Unasked for Advice

There are different ways to spend your life. You can start ploughing your garden, attempt sewing your clothes, you might want to classify your cds. By all means these are useless activities, they don't bring fame. One day you might decide baking your own sourdough bread. This is a complicated process. It takes more than 2 weeks, and the starter needs constant care. It has to be taken to work, on city trips, and you will have to get up for it in the middle of the night. Much flour will have to be thrown away. There is the risk you might have to start the process all over again after a week. It is easy to make mistakes. But when you finally manage to bake the loaf, the result will be gigantic. It will have to be shared with everyone you meet.

There will be many people tasting the bread.
There will be some people who might tell you have better things to do.
They will suggest you have to buy your bread in a shop.
They don't intend you harm, these people.
They only want the best for you.
They want to warn you for the pitfalls in life.

Then take your loaf and start running. There is nothing as dangerous as good advice.

Addiction

She was very critical when going to restaurants. A dish could barely make it to her table. And when she liked it, she surely found a lipstick glass, or a waiter who wasn't fast enough. Music tended to be too loud. Smoke disturbed her, and sometimes she even interfered in the neighbouring table's conversation. 'Please keep your voices down'. The bill was incomprehensible. But she kept coming and the staff had to live with this. She was a loyal customer after all.

Some waiters had found a way to deal with her, smiling and explaining again. Others took the avoidance-track, what was an enterprise in such a small place. The easiest was to put her on the outside table and avoid going out for a smoke.

That evening the steak was too chewy. She had taken one bite and had called the waiter then and there. He hoped it would be too much for her now, he hoped they would have crossed a line. That in the future she would go out to other places.

'You can bring me the piglet instead,' she said, 'because I absolutely love this restaurant'.

True

She couldn't choose, but she didn't know it yet. Guests would come over for dinner and she had decided to prepare it all: the nettle soup and the aubergine cream, the roasted pumpkin and the warm goat cheese salad, the hummus and the duck leg, the stuffed zucchini and the radish pickles, the chocolate mousse and the date truffles, the cheese cake and the raspberry tart. 7pm was approaching quickly and when she scanned her kitchen she realised nothing was ready. The nettles still stingy, the goat cheese too tasty and the raspberries lost during shopping. She regretted having put up her aims so high, now she risked having nada to show. Why not one big gorgeous dish, one plate by which she could prove her culinary guts.

For what there is you have to prove to the world.
yourself. your life. your interests. your existence. the validity of your tram ticket.
She decided not to participate and to stick to the unfinished mess.