It's Important to Keep the Chocolate Sauce on the Side

I do not want to be Sally Allbright. Remember Sally, from When Harry Met Sally? It took her forever to order a piece of pie, and if you didn't have the right kind of ice cream (on the side), she didn't even want the pie. Seriously, I don't want to turn into her. I don't want to say words like "on the side" and "special order." I don't want to hold up the rest of the line when I make an order at Wendy's. I don't want to go to a restaurant and ask to see the ingredients list of your refried beans. But, alas, here I go.

A few years back, I had a friend from a big city visit us. We were making Mexican, and she opened my fridge and said, "Where's your cilantro?" I was confused. Why would a person keep a "spice" in the fridge? I opened our spice cupboard and said, "Yeah, I don't think we have any. Will parsley do?" I pulled out the little glass container of dried parsley.

I was met with an eye roll, and asked if we had fresh cilantro at our market. Now, I live in a town with two stop lights. And, let's be honest, the one is really just perfunctory. So, my response was, "You mean Ken's Village Market?" (picture a small town grocery store)

What then transpired was a trip to Ken's (no cilantro-shocker!) where my friend harassed no fewer than four Ken's employees while attempting to scrounge up fresh cilantro. She finished with the manager, and I knew I could never step back inside our local grocery store again. That, my friends, is a Sally Allbright.

But, me? No. I refuse. If I ask for no pickles and you give me extra, I'll just pick 'em off. Or maybe I'll even eat them. Who knows, maybe I'll like it. I don't want to be a pain. I don't want to Big City my waitstaff. Sally said, "I want it how I want it." Me? Not really that big of a deal. When it comes to the choice between be kind or be picky, I choose kind every time. Well, I used to.

Now, I am lactose and gluten intolerant. I can have cheddar cheese (Thank you, Lord!), and I can eat our local Dairy Mart junior avalanche if I take FIVE Lactaids (no, you cannot just take one and go on your merry way like those insipid commercials you see on television). But, for the most part, I am screwed. The gluten intolerance is quite bad and even the tiniest bit of wheat in something will send me into agony. Basically, I can have lettuce. If it's washed. With organic water from viriginal unicorn horns.

For example, I went to a reading conference in Lansing last week and just about starved to death. Breakfast: bagels and cream cheese. Lunch: Chicken with creamy sauce, bow tie pasta, and cookies. Oh, and some rice. I did have a lot of rice. Then, as I sat in the afternoon sessions and dealt with stomach pain, I thought, "Oh, I bet that was a rice 'mix' where gluten loves to hide." I finally dredged up the nerve (and hunger) to ask for a piece of chicken without the creamy sauce. The poor waitstaff looked perplexed and said, "Um, it all comes in a big tray. You want me to scrape the sauce off for ya?" I was so mortified. No, absolutely not. If the sauce could be scraped off to my gut's satisfaction, I could do that myself. What's horrible is that the waitress most likely thought I was too finicky to do so.

This morning, Eric and I dropped our kids off at day care (oh, summer day care, you are the love of my life!) and went to the coffee shop in Cheboygan that actually has soy milk or almond milk that you have can added to your drink. This place is Eric's "Cheers." When he walks in, the barista of the day says, "Hey, Eric! Usual?" It is something he loves about teaching in a small town. Today, I Sally Allbrighted all over it.

When we walked in, the barista did say, "Hi, Eric! Bow tie?" and he nodded. As she began his drink, she asked me what I wanted. I said, in as unfussy a voice as I could muster, that I wanted a mocha with almond milk. Not too bad so far. But, then, it happened. She asked me if I wanted 2% like Eric. And, I am sorry to say, I got a little freaky. In my defense, she was pregnant, and I know all about how pregnancy brain can turn you into a goldfish (Hi, have we met? Oh, three seconds ago? Right. Hi! Have we met?). Also, in my defense, 2% milk would reallllllly hurt me, and mocha with almond milk is one of my few joys in life. I began to watch her like a hawk, trying to look like I was scanning various items on the counter. I read the contents of the caramel sauce (a definite no-no for me), of vanilla flavoring (good news--I could have that!), of the bag of gluten free scone mix (gross-seriously-gross).

The poor nice lady disappeared into the cooler and came back out with a carton of Half and Half. I went into frenzy mode. Yes, 2% milk would make me ill, but Half and Half... I'm not sure I'd make it out alive. I nudged Eric, but he didn't get the gesture. My eyes never leaving the barista's hands, I half mumbled to him, "Uh, you're having 2%, right?"

"Yes," he snapped in a hushing tone, trying to quiet his near-tantrum toddler.

"It's, um, the Half and..."

"Oh, I put 2% in his," the barista said, and I''m pretty sure she turned to spit into mine. I wouldn't blame her.

I just nodded, but I never stopped watching, praying that Half and Half never once even got within a drip distance of my cup.

As we left, my sweet Norm Peters and his picky wife (no wonder we never actually saw her in an episode), I knew I'd never be able to go back. Probably Eric can't go back. I've ruined his coffee oasis. I offered to go back in and apologize but, really, that would just make it worse. "You see, I'm lactose intolerant, and.." the words have become so overused, so trite, it just further pushes you into an "on the side" person. But, you know, sometimes it really is important to have the sauce on the side.