Women just don't eat right
Its the truth, and I feel like Captain Obvious for stating it here, but I feel like I must. I must because there is more than just the obvious here. Sure women are more likely than men to have an eating disorder like anorexia, or bulimia. It is also true that men don't play the calerie counting game, ie "There are no caleries in this double bannana split, because I didn't pay for it". And only women could get in a serious debate over which brand of bottled water is better for you.
But these things are as obviously true as the sun rising and setting. What many people fail to notice is that women actually eat different than men. I'm also not talking about choosing a green salad over a thick ribeye steak. Although this is generally true as well. What I speak of is none other than the actual method that the food gets from the plate to the mouth.
I noticed it a long time ago and it really had a great deal of influence on my dating life. The real crux of the matter is how one deals with finger food. The messier the food, the more obvious the differences. In college if I could get the girl to agree to a second date I would always suggest O'Brians Rip Roaring Ribs. I would tell them how great the food is, and make clear my excitement at what a treat it is to eat there and how much more special it would be with the girl in question. Once we got there, I usually had to lay on some serious peer pressure to get them to order the ribs. My argument always started with "Mark's rule of restaurants": If the place where you are eating has a food product in its name, then do not be disappointed if their other items leave something to be desired. Example: Don't get pancakes at Burger World, and don't get Waffles at Taco Shack, or at least if you do, don't complain when they suck. Once they are brow beat into submission and the order for beef ribs is away the great and many fold social experiment begins.
Step one is I eat like I eat. Step two is to watch how they eat. Beef ribs are by their very nature both a finger food and a visceral activity. I find it relaxing to grasp a dripping bone and rip the sweat flesh away savering every precious moment of meaty bliss until the bone is clean and dry. Meat + Bone = Bliss This is true for all mammal and avian meats that I have tasted and has lead to a personal preference of foods served on the bone like ribs, fried chicken, chicken wings, pork chops, etc. While enjoying, I watch the expression of the one I am dining with. If they turn white, which was often the case, there would be no third date. My consolation prize was they always had plenty of left overs I could eat later. In these situations a typical woman's only concern is to eat as little of it as possible, not get any on them and keep up appearances in case someone at another table is watching.
Some occasionally got into it, and gave it an old school try. None ever mastered the man-art of cleaning the bone before moving on to the next one. Come to think of it some men aren't very good at that either. And I suppose, I am not as good as my father, and his father before him. When they finished with a bone not even the dog wanted it. This was mainly because they would chew up the bones and spit out course bone meal (they were eating the marrow). I choose not to do this for two reasons, one is the effort involved for so little reward, and two is I like my teeth and don't want to wear them all out before I die.
The ways my dates handled the eating of their own ribs was important and often fun to watch as well. The unworthies would go at it gently with a fork and a knife. They would get less than half of the meat and complain that there was nothing but fat on their plate. Those worthy of a possible second look would at least use their fingers (often with their pinkies up?). The one who grasped the bone in two hands and seemed to enjoy herself I ended up marrying. Though I admit, somtimes I have to give in and finish her discarded bones myself.
Through my observations I have the following to reveal.
a. When men eat out, they are eating. Same as anywhere else.
When women eat, it is a social occasion. See and be seen.
b. There is no "b". My grand unified theory of gender dining is all wrapped in a pretty meat bow in "a".
Need proof? You should, we're all amature social scientist here. Go out to eat and watch what everyone else around you is doing. Who has the greese or sauce stain on their shirt? Who needs to wipe their mouth? Who is actually wiping their mouth? Who is doing most of the talking while they have food left on their plates?
Thank you, and good eating.
