Chinese food makes me happy. I was brought up – like most Jewish boys – regularly eating it on Sunday nights. Every time I moved to a new apartment, I’d order Chinese for the inaugural dinner. There was no rhyme or reason for the tradition, except that my people have been doing it for more than 5,000 years. Except for people with arthritis. We have a harder time navigating those chopsticks and this weekend I reached my wit’s end.
I lack the dexterity to manipulate them in any effective manner, and sure I could just use a fork, but really? That might upset the long tradition my people have had with the Chinese people. And we wouldn’t want that.
Instead I’ll complain about not being able to use chopsticks, and stick to the spareribs and soup.