Code
We went to a new Szechuan restaurant this weekend that my in-laws had scouted out earlier that week. The second we sat down, the waiter, with eyes wide open in mock surprise, said to my parents-in-law, "Oh! Your daughter in law is so . . . beautiful! Very!" I couldn't help but be flattered even though I knew that "beautiful" was really code for "white." Very white. So white that I couldn't possibly eat with chopsticks and was given a fork soon after sitting down.
For those of you who haven't seen my picture, it's pretty evident that my coloring comes from the Norwegian end of my gene pool. People take one look at me and assume that I dine solely on mild flavored casseroles and jello laden "salads" straight from the church potluck. It is certainly my culinary heritage, I admit. Grandma didn't exactly have any recipes calling for chilis in the old recipe box.
Even my in-laws, who have known me for seven years and eaten with me countless times, forget that I like spicy foods. My mother in law serves an Indonesian dish that calls for ten sliced red chilis which is a favorite of mine. And still, every single time I say we should order something spicy they are genuinely surprised, "Oh? Do you like spicy food? Are you sure you can eat it? Really?" Seven years, people! The whiteness is still startling to them, I think.
I guess I didn't really have a point other than to remind you all that prejudice is very, very wrong. Don't prejudge Whitey, man. I have mad chopstick skillz.
For those of you who haven't seen my picture, it's pretty evident that my coloring comes from the Norwegian end of my gene pool. People take one look at me and assume that I dine solely on mild flavored casseroles and jello laden "salads" straight from the church potluck. It is certainly my culinary heritage, I admit. Grandma didn't exactly have any recipes calling for chilis in the old recipe box.
Even my in-laws, who have known me for seven years and eaten with me countless times, forget that I like spicy foods. My mother in law serves an Indonesian dish that calls for ten sliced red chilis which is a favorite of mine. And still, every single time I say we should order something spicy they are genuinely surprised, "Oh? Do you like spicy food? Are you sure you can eat it? Really?" Seven years, people! The whiteness is still startling to them, I think.
I guess I didn't really have a point other than to remind you all that prejudice is very, very wrong. Don't prejudge Whitey, man. I have mad chopstick skillz.
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