Can someone please explain the logic of leaving on shrimp tails when cooking a meal that is not to be eaten with ones hands?
ME and I go out to eat quite often, most recently being last Friday, when she had to wait two extra hours for me to arrive home from a field trip, but that’s something else entirely.
We went to dinner at the Olive Garden seeing as how we both love calamari, and they have the best in town (or, more precisely, the best we’ve had of anywhere we’ve eaten), where she had the Tour of Italy for the great leftovers it makes, and I had the Shrimp and Asparagus Risotto, because I felt like something a little different.
The shrimp, of course, still had the tails attached. Which is just strange, because the dish was not intended for me to pick them up out of the risotto and eaten by hand. I can’t conceive of a reason to why I would have ever needed the shrimp tails to remain on throughout my meal. Instead, I was forced to do surgery on the shrimp with my fork and knife, while trying to not get wayward tail shell into the risotto.
This isn’t the first time this has occurred. In fact, I can think of two other dishes alone at the Olive Garden that requires shrimp surgery. They arn’t the only restaurant in on the action either. Anyplace I have ever eaten shrimp in a pasta dish, I have had this pesky problem.
Since so many restaurants choose to present their meals this way, I can only assume there is a good reason for it. Unfortunately, the only reason I can come up with is to force me to choose between picking whether or not to get my hands messy by using my hands, or attempting shrimp de-tailing surgery.
I beg you, if you cook for people, and you’re serving shrimp, take the tail off unless you want people to eat with their hands.
And I’m seriously thinking about eating the entire dish with just my hands the next time I encounter this. So if you see a girl eating Fettuccine Alfredo with Shrimp with her hands, it’s me. Stop by the table and say hi.
– “If You Can’t Leave It Be, Might As Well Make It Bleed,” A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar: Dashboard Confessional
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