I didn’t grow up with decadence. McDonald’s was “eating out,” and to this day, I get excited about getting takeout, even though technically I could do it every single day if I wanted to (which I don’t; I’ve always been one of the few people at work who bring in their lunches of meager sandwiches or leftover pasta instead of spending at least $50 a week on restaurant meals from the plentiful NYC options).
So when viewing a menu consisting entirely of dishes over $20, I want to be sure I’m getting my money’s worth. Even if I’m not paying, I want to choose the dish I know I could never make myself, or at least one that comes with a lot of food to make it worth the price. Because of the way I was raised, I’m pretty sure even if I were rich I would do this.
I ended up choosing the Chocolate Decadence French Toast, because 1.) there’s no way I’d have the patience or know-how to make it, and 2.) it had “decadence” in the name. How could I resist?
It was delicious. But the problem was that I, not being used to decadence, couldn’t finish the meal (and if you know me, you know that’s a rarity), yet I didn’t want to bring home the leftovers because I knew they would be soggy, and soggy bread is my least favorite texture in the world. So I just had to force in as much of the chocolate and strawberries and cream as I could. It almost became a battle–on the one side, this $25 piece of French toast, and on the other, my stubborn refusal to let any of it go to waste. In the end, the food won, and I reluctantly let the waiter take away my unfinished meal.
I thought that was the end of it, but Chocolate Decadence French Toast wasn’t ready to let me surrender so easily. On the way back to my building, it was intent on reminding me that my body isn’t accustomed to decadence. It wasn’t a friendly reminder either. In fact, it was downright rude. So as soon as I stepped into my apartment, we decided to part ways, and decadence came shooting out of me in a highly unrefined manner.
But it was good while it lasted.