What we eat says a lot about who we are. What does your penchant for Olive Garden’s breadsticks or Outback’s Bloomin’ Onion say about you?
1. Olive Garden
You overpronounce words like orecchiette and risotto and call pants “slacks.” You clip lots of coupons, but especially coupons for free appetizers at Olive Garden, which you use in combination with the endless salad and breadsticks lunch special after you bum a ride to the OG from Sharon in accounting.
2. Waffle House
You took all-state honors in 4-H when you showed your Hereford calf, Redford, back in 2002. You drink coffee black even though you don’t like it, and you preface a lot of sentences with “I’m not trying to be rude, but…” Alternatively, “The Bad Touch” comes on the radio, and you’ve got a craving for covered, smothered hash browns.
Image: GIF Soup
You call your spouse whatever your kids call them. You have a real stake in the Miracle Whip versus mayonnaise debate and are in at least one recreational league. Probably bowling. You either have a bedazzled jean jacket or a phone case that you rhinestoned yourself. You don’t really like red wine.
You were extremely excited when ’90s fashion started coming back around. Your favorite movie is probably Underworld, and you really miss college. You have tried — and failed — to make a Bloomin’ Onion at home, and keep forgetting to “curb alert” your FryDaddy on Craigslist. You do unsolicited celebrity impressions and drive a Ford Fiesta. It’s green.
You say that Ruth Bader Ginsburg is your hero, but your heart belongs to Gwyneth Paltrow. You’ve named your future daughter Persephone, and you plan on baby-wearing. While you don’t really understand Damien Hirst, if anyone asks, you tell them he’s your favorite artist, and The One Thing You Will Never Tell Anyone is that your dream car is a Honda Pilot.
6. Red Lobster
The rest of the year is really just a ceaseless churning of banality as you wait for Endless Shrimp to come around again, and you will death stare anyone who dares mock the sacred occasion. You love Robert Frost and would rather drink tepid Sanka than go to Starbucks if there’s no Dunkin’ Donuts around. You wish there was an app that helped you keep you track of what teeth your kids have lost, and call your parents by their first names.
You are either a person who has been trapped in an underground bunker for the past six years, a ghost reading this from beyond the grave or a resident of Borger, Texas.