Twice in the past two days I’ve encountered examples of dining-induced tears by proxy. I’m not sure if this counts toward my ongoing Crybaby Compendium. I’m pretty sure Judge Judy would consider this hearsay and bust a gasket over it.
Someone just told me their girlfriend cried after watching my story on Momo Dressing. It’s really that sweet.
— Liza de Guia (@SkeeterNYC) July 12, 2014
I haven’t watched the video responsible for these tears, so it’s possible that simply hearing about salad dressing could make a woman cry. Could someone less cynical go watch it and report back?
* * *
Because I’m a crybaby about dining alone but not getting a nice birthday dinner because I’m too self-conscious to dine alone would be more tear-provoking, I have been toying with the idea of sushi, the solitude-averse’s compromise. In my reading up, I came across Eric Asimov’s 2011 review of Sushi Yasuda, which opens with an anecdote about a friend who enjoyed dining at the French Laundry alone.
“Wouldn’t she miss out on the communal relishing of shared flavors, delights and memories?” he wonders.
Sure, but she wanted the freedom “to laugh or to weep as the mood dictated, without the sort of inhibitions companions might pose” as we all might want.
Asimov gets it, but wants to make it clear that he’s a guy so this has not been a problem for him. “Being a somewhat stolid male, I have rarely found crying at the table to be an issue,” he reassures.
You and me both. I still haven’t made a birthday reservation. And I’m still not clear whether or not it’s ok to cry during Yasuda’s omakase or not.