In like a lamb. . .

When I started this enterprise, I made a pledge to myself to avoid “woe is me” prose and I sought to eschew ranting. I believe I can still remain innocent of the former, but am about to become state’s evidence for the latter.

I have little or no patience for crude table manners and overall boorish behavior.

Oh, I am far from being Emily Post’s ideal, but I’m fairly certain I could eat with the Queen without becoming a page three scandal. Credit my parents with imbuing my brother and me with a solid foundation and general respect for civility.

I invited a fellow who has been very generous with invitations to various events at his home - typically gatherings that feature kegs, bands, roasted swine, and shots of Jack Daniels – to come to dinner with his date. The menu featured simply roasted lamb and fresh garden vegetables tossed with whole wheat pasta. I had planned a reasonable Cabernet to pour as well. Drinks set for 6; dinner at 7.

A 4 pm call revealed that his date became unavailable and that he would be headed over around 5:30 – perhaps then driving to pick-up a replacement date some 30 minutes away. . .could dinner be as late as 7:30? Sure.

I guess it was the beer cans falling out of his truck upon his arrival that forebode the evening. Bubba (not his name, but seems apropos) alit from the truck, flicked his ciggie butt into the driveway and proceeded to “take a leak” next to the garage all while downing a long neck (actually, I kind of wondered how he managed all with such aplomb!).

The next hour was a train wreck of cussing, misogynistic remarks, belches, and texting each of the two women he was dating. He clearly didn’t need to drive some 60 minutes round trip to pick up his replacement date – and to his credit, he accepted that advice.

Oh, during that hour, he invited a friend of his to come over and join us for dinner. The fellow was nice enough, but I hadn’t known I’d be hosting a new friend.

Throughout this, I really tried to keep my inner snob in check, and told myself to relax and remember that these fellows were hard working and good guys who take care of their friends and families and would be there in any emergency.

It was during dinner that I had my biggest challenge. As I was sautéing the vegetable mix, Bubba asked “what is that sh*t?” and wanted to know “where’s the f*ckin’ Jack?” I pretty much decided not to decant the Cabernet at this point.

Dinner was served style de la famille around the island in the kitchen (I decided that the dining room would invite too much stress). Watching my guest use his fork to spear the chops to his plate and scrape additional pasta was really a good incentive for my diet. I did, however, earn the compliment, “this sh*t doesn’t suck.”

I do need to note that each did carry his plate to the sink and punctuated their pleasure with the meal with a hearty belch. I guess I need to take positives as they come.

I feel as though I’m whining a bit. One of my favorite things is having people to the farm and enjoying conversation over a meal. While I’m not crazy about repeating this evening, I do know that Bubba is a quality person in so many ways. I do, however, have that debate going on inside of my head as to what is the higher road to take: being true to my values or accepting people as they are.

Values are currently leading.


(Image reported to be in the public domain - acknowledgement to website:  http://elainefindlay.suite101.com/how-to-make-horseradish-sauce-vinegar-and-gravy-to-go-with-game-a226994 for the lamb chop image)