Food envy

My name's Jackie. I have a problem.

Food envy.

I just had this epiphany as the aroma of a co-worker's frozen meal wafted in from the kitchen. Now, I know that this tiny little frozen concoction, about the size of an ashtray and full of floppy chicken, runny sauce and mediocre veggies, would not satisfy me. I've had many a frozen meal and they are never enough, nor are they high cuisine. However, just the fact that someone else had food and I didn't made me green with envy.

Granted, I have my own lunch. It is heating as we type. But it won't be good enough, because everyone around me will have something more appealing, just by virtue of the fact that it is not something that I brought in.

This happened all throughout my childhood, mostly with my brother as he and my parents were my most constant dining companions. No matter what he ordered, when it arrived at the table, I would be kicking myself that I didn't think of it as well. I would push my food around on my plate and mope in my appetizer of discontent (who am I kidding? I wolfed down whatever was in front of me, but I was still jealous). I would question by ability to order off a menu, my creativity at combining elements of the meal. Even my beverage choice fell to the inquisition.

It happens at still, at home. If we have food leftover from a meal that I love (especially pizza) I can't let it sit for more than 12 hours. I have to be the one to revel in enjoying the last morsel of whatever it is. No one else will have the pleasure of the last slice, toasted to perfection in the oven with a shake of garlic salt on top. No one.

It happened last night, as Kevin and I went out to dinner at our local joint, Anthony's. We hadn't been there in a while. They'd changed the menu from a laminated cardstock to a beautiful glossy 4-color with photos and reinforced metal edges. The food is always good here, but this new menu promised a rebirth of their offerings. I was excited. I ordered a chicken parm dinner, which comes with a salad (they have the best creamy Italian dressing, so I always get a salad) and a side of pasta (I picked rigatoni; I usually get lazy and order spaghetti, but I put the extra effort into my pasta choice.) I thought I'd done well.

Until Kevin's dinner came.

Folks, he got a chicken parm sandwich and fries, the casual cousin of my traditional dinner. It wasn't that far of a cry from what was sitting it front of me. Sure, there was a different starch, and sure, that toasted hoagie roll crunched divinely as he bit into the savory breaded chicken, but what was wrong with my meal?

That is just it. It was my meal, and not his. Food envy just for food envy's sake.

I just ate the rest of my chicken parm for lunch, as a leftover. It was pretty darn good, the chicken still tender and tasty even after a microwave reheat. I should just be contented with that in my belly.






I think I'll go see if there's anything good in the vending machine.