December 2nd 2016
Today I ate out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I got a dirty, filthy bacon, egg and hash brown sandwich for breakfast, and whilst I was there picked up a slightly less dirty piri piri chicken baguette for lunch. I got home after work looking forward to a steak and ale pie, but Alice suggested we go out for dinner – we haven’t had date night in a while. I wasn’t gonna say no.
We headed out for steak.
Isn’t that a saying? ‘Why have streak and ale pie at home when you can go out for steak instead?’ It’s definitely something like that.
As we tend to do, we got two full courses each and split a dessert.
It’s a good thing I ran five miles in my lunch break. A particularly quick five miles, at that.
For someone as adverse to spending money as I am, I really like going out for dinner. I ate out for dinner last night as well. Money spent on food doesn’t feel like a waste, because – you know – human’s need food to live. One might argue that humans don’t particularly need steak Diane and Matchmaker Sundaes specifically to survive, but… well, nothing.
It feels like money spent on food is different money. Filed under ‘accepted spending’. The thing is, I’m not even a massive foody. I never particularly care about the quality of the food we have, I just like the occasion.
The conversations we have are more free when we’re out dinner. That sounds, and is, poncey, but it’s true. Alice cares about quality perhaps more than I do, but it was her suggestion to go to the Beefeater down the road.
There’s this unquantifiable difference about being out for dinner. At home, we inhale our food and then go sit on the sofa. In a restaurant, you drag out the experience a bit because of the occasion. Right?
Until tomorrow, starter, main, dessert.