When the news – and I use that word reluctantly – broke that the president and first lady of the United States of America had ordered the same main course at a Washington DC restaurant earlier this month, my first response was not outrage, but rather to Google the menu, so I could see what they’d missed out on. Those who, like the New York Post, complained that the Bidens were “painfully boring” for their identical tastes were wide of the mark. Even the leader of the free world deserves to eat what he fancies, but did neither of them want to try the squid ink linguine as well? Or find out what on earth a sunchoke cremosa is when it’s at home?
To be fair to the couple, this apparent lack of culinary curiosity probably leaves them more time to actually enjoy each other’s company, rather than horse trading side dishes. Conversely I’m afraid I’m the kind of horrible person who gets annoyed if my dining companions insist on continuing the conversation – telling me about their marriage problems, their exciting new job, their wonderful baby news – when the menu arrives. Naturally I’m happy or sad for them (as appropriate), but can’t they see that choosing food demands total focus?
