Hello My Name Is


I’m 99.9% sure when I called in my carryout order to Sabor y Sol this evening, that the girl on the other end of the line knew exactly what I was going to order before anything came out of my mouth. As I drove there I started to question my feelings about this. Are we such creatures of habit that our favorite restaurant folks know exactly what we want before we do? Or is it possible that the caller ID says “Burrito Bravo, Extra Salsa!” instead of our actual names?

I know the second our call rings through to The Peanut they are preparing themselves for what is to come: “A dozen wings, extra crispy, extra red sauce, extra blue cheese and an order of fries, please.”

The guys behind the grill at Westport Flea Market probably see me walk in the door and throw a patty on knowing good and well that I’m going to ask for a Mini Market Burger, well done with pepper jack cheese, a side of jalapenos and a side of ranch. For my fries.

No need to see the menu at 75th Street Brewery. Good Hope IPA (uh, yes the big 20 oz) and a French Dip will be just right.

I know I should branch out and try other things. But its so hard when you know what you like and how good its going to taste. Maybe I need to create a challenge for myself and try something different at all our usual places for one month.

No. No. I can’t do it. I like my standard orders too much.


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