“Please… Just F*cking Eat.”

“Do you know why I always walk on the street-side of the sidewalk with your mother; Do you know why I open the door for your mother; Do you know why I bring flowers home for your mother?”

“Why Dad?”

“Because I love her.”

That is my Dad. It’s as simple as that. He respects her, and loves her, and as a result, it’s mere second nature to do everything he can to make her feel happy and protected.


This is the man who taught me everything I believe, and as a result, I have a good sense of what people call “manners” and “chivalry”. And being a huge Lord of the Rings fan, I hope you can understand why the idea of being a knight in shining armor (flat black is more my jam) appeals to me.

Yet, with all this prior knowledge and even attending cotillion courses as child, there was one particular act that never resonated well; the etiquette of being “respectful” and waiting until all meals had arrived at the table. It just didn’t make sense. How is it fair, that if my food comes out first, I basically have to wait until it gets cold to eat it, even though I didn’t do anything wrong? It’s like original sin! Meanwhile, the person whose food came out last, gets it all nice and hot.


In learning how to cope with those repetitive experiences, I found it effective to make some ridiculous edits on my order, in hopes that it would take them longer to make and I, would receive my food hot.

It didn’t take long before I thought it more tedious to endure that interaction with the server, than to just actually consume my food in a luke-warm state.


And while my experiences in the 12 years since then have molded my thoughts and expectations, I nonetheless, seem unable to let go of this naive, ignorant, and selfish act as nothing more but a nuisance for everyone involved.



Here’s my opinon:

I consider food an art. I respect the food. I respect the Chef. Consequently, out of resepect for all parties involved, I eat my food when it comes. Because that’s what both would have wanted.

And my opinion doesn’t change when I look at it from the perspective of the Chef. If I had just spent 25 minutes of cooking time and 45 minutes of prep., you’re damn right in thinking that I want you to eat my food-baby as soon as possible. And as a cook, I like to think that my creativity is being expressed through my meals – I put passion, heart, and flavor into what you’re about to experience and I want you to fully witness the true potential of the taste.


I mean, food is truly one of the only art forms that you can physically digest. Think about it – you get to see the food, you get to smell the food, you get to touch the food, and then you get to mother-f*cking EAT the food. It’s honestly some of the coolest shit when I think about it.

My creation, my art, my burger, literally, is inside of you. 

And then you, get to transfer my art, into literal shit.

But it’s about the process! The creation, the living, the battling, and the exit.

Anyway, I think I’m going to leave you with this:

For the love of [insert b.s. you care about], let’s kill this act of etiquette, and allow everyone at the table to enjoy their meal the way they should.

One Comment

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  1. So FYI, my gramps was injured during WWII and spent like 6 months recovering in a hospital in Italy where the only English language book was Emily Post’s Etiquette in which it states you only have to wait for cold food, for hot food you can eat when it arrives. In case this ever comes up again for you.

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