Honey No. 11
Feat. seafood as litmus test for love, california musings, and a springtime playlist
I have always been something of a picky eater. First by choice (white pasta and grilled cheese only, please!) and then by decree (allergic to gluten and dairy in an absolutely-no-cheating-fat-chance kind of way). But even in these allergy-informed years, my palate has expanded enormously; I’m eating every veggie now, every color, every texture. Everything that is, except for seafood. Now don’t get me wrong, I love some treasures from the sea- big sushi gal over here, for instance!- but if I can identify how a creature survived or thrived in the ocean (glassy eyes, spooky legs, literal innards), I have to leave the room or at the very least avert my eyes. This feels dramatic, even to moi, but the physical sensation that overwhelms me when I see a shrimp is a force so strong I have no choice but to obey. My stomach turns, my eyes well, my alarm bells start ringing and one thing is clear: either that shrimp goes, or I do. A cool, normal ultimatum that has turned up a surprising number of times in my dating life.
In my first big relationship, my boyfriend and I decided to take a trip to Mexico together to celebrate both of our birthdays, which happen in the 9 days after Christmas. In other words, after spending the holidays on an eating and drinking spree (traditional), we decided to spend an additional week or so traveling internationally and trying foods we’d never tried before. For a stomach of steel? No problem! For a stomach of lace- what was I THINKING?! But I was young, I was in love, and those were the only days he had off, so on December 28th off to Mexico we went. I got food poisoning almost immediately, which earned me nothing but the disappointed silence of my boyfriend at the time. What I can see now that was foggy to me at 25: 1. He was, in general, an absolute grouch, and 2. He was going to break up with me less than two months after this trip. Would this information have saved me so much confusion and heartbreak? Oh, certainly. But I was due for the painful rite of passage of having your heart broken by a moron, so I dragged my leaky butt across Mexico City, forcing myself to take tiny bites of tacos so he wouldn’t be mad at me for putting a damper on his experience.
As you may have calculated, the timing of our trip meant that we were in Mexico City for New Years. While you probably didn’t know that New Years Eve was his birthday, you probably could have guessed that he hates his birthday, and there was a moratorium on discussing the occasion. I love birthdays and New Years and Life in general, so this was not hard for me in the slightest. The only reservations we could get for that night were quite early, since other diners probably wanted to be out closer to the midnight event, so we rolled up to a highly-recommended seafood place (his choice) when the sun was still up, on a birthday we couldn’t discuss, with my stomach still disgracefully roiling. I tried my best to rally and chatter and make the most of this night- his birthday! my new years! our big trip!-and chose some sort of fish tacos for my main course. My Spanish was rusty but I figured I was fine. I like fish! I could do this! All was well.
But when our server came back with our food, he set a plate down in front of me covered in dozens of tiny. little. fish. Heads, tails, the whole shebang. Embarrassingly, my eyes immediately filled with tears- I had been so sick and so alone all week, and now here was my number one trigger brought to me in a language I couldn’t fully understand. I turned to my boyfriend, silently begging him to save me from the humiliating shock of being brought to tears by sardines, but he just sat there silent and, once again, disappointed. ¡Lo siento!, I squeaked to the server, who was the sweetest man on earth and my only ally in the place. I told him that there had been a terrible emergency of a mistake and could I please have another dish, my eyes brimming with tears as I tried to draw on my most polite high school Spanish. I pointed to the vegetarian option for the same meal even though I happily eat meat. That one? That one is sort of just…beans? he offered. THAT’S FINE, I replied. I finished the beans, my boyfriend and I finished our trip, he broke up with me that February, and if you can believe it? I was shocked.
Many dates and meals and learning experiences later, I went on my first official date with Jesse. The first time we met, we practically spent a full 24 hours together after meeting at our friends’ wedding in Chicago when he was living in New York and I was living in LA. For our second hang, I decided to play it nice and cool and went straight from JFK to his apartment with all my luggage. It’s called CASUAL!! It’s called knowing. It had been 5 weeks since the first, and only, time we had seen each other, so we spent a few minutes politely catching up while I shoved my suitcases into a corner of his apartment, assuring him that I would be sleeping at a “friend’s house” “later.”
We eventually wandered off to grab a late dinner at a Mediterranean restaurant near his apartment and set into designing our shared meal- always a vulnerable and challenging task when you want to appear *chill* but are also *very allergic and also particular*. We settled on some salad, some hummus, some bites, and a whole branzino to round out the meal. Over courses and courses of delicious food we regaled each other with stories of our families, our upbringings, and everything we’d been up to before the moment that we met. By the time our main course finally arrived I was fully smitten, which helped temper my shock at the sight of a head-on branzino, its eyes uncomfortably close to mine on our tiny Brooklyn table. Having already sheepishly explained to my new crush that I was allergic to both gluten and dairy, aka throwing any chance of being hot by way of being mysterious right out of the window, I was loath to explain to Jesse that I also got squeamish when I could see a fish with all of its living accessories. But to my surprise when I mustered up the courage to tell him, the night didn’t stop, the punishment never came. He just turned the plate around, as simple as that, and we got right back into the business of falling in love.
Beth Hyland is a genius playwright, a hilarious person, and a darling friend. She famously set me and Jesse up at her own wedding, which is a very powerful Leo move that more of us should be working towards. Follow her on instagram to find out where you can see her next incredible play!
I moved from Chicago to San Diego for grad school in fall 2023, and since then, my really nice friends and family have given me endless opportunities to hold forth on the effects of living somewhere with “no seasons.” I try to resist—both because there actually ARE seasons, they’re just subtler (yes I can hear how annoying I sound, kill me!!!!) AND because that line of conversation instantly makes you sound like the characters at the beginning of an I Think You Should Leave sketch (“She’s been getting into ART lately!”). But after spending my entire life living in some of the Rust Belt’s most brutal climate zones, it IS very weird to live somewhere where the temperature generally stays within a 20 degree range. (Fun fact: the terrible little dining hall near the building where all of my classes are held is called 64 Degrees because that’s San Diego’s average daily temperature!!!!!! Sorry sorry sorry I’m sorry).
We’ve been firmly in San Diego’s version of winter for what feels like forever, but in the past week there have been two days where I’ve worn a light sweater with no jacket and felt too hot!!! March is quickly approaching, the days are finally noticeably longer, and the Promotions tab of my email inbox is filling up with linen and/or linen blend short sleeve button downs. It’s spring, motherfuckers!!! And since playlists are my primary love language (or perhaps secondary, but only behind Words of Affirmation, which is obviously the best one), I was inspired by Olivia’s beautiful Winter in Los Angeles playlist to make this Spring in Southern California mix for me AND for u. No matter where you’re living, I hope you’re feeling all the stretchy springy light green hopeful spring vibes that you can handle!
Have a wonderful Sunday, pals! I’m writing this on Saturday afternoon before heading to a friends’ wedding tonight. Can’t wait to dance the night away with my buds, but please keep me in your prayers today 🙏
xx Olivia