There are a lot of things that I like and enjoy fully aware that they are mediocre. Quite frankly, I think I am one of those mediocre things. And I am afraid that if I experience the best of things, I will no longer be able to enjoy the things that are so readily available, forced to snootily eschew the available, pining for the hard-to-reach best.
Having lived in California and Texas, I feel confident that I’ve had some of the best tacos and burritos available to humanity. It’s my favorite food. The problem is, I moved to the rural south of the US and have a hard time finding adequate Mexican food. That mindset is only because I have experienced the pinnacle of Mexican cuisine (and if I have not, do NOT tell me) as targeted to gringos. If I was okay with eating tacos at restaurants where they use tortillas that anyone can buy in a store, I’d be okay with my cuisine situation. Yet, alas, I am not. I am vexed because I know better Mexican food exists and I cannot get it. If I didn’t know, I’d be okay with Tex Mex or Taco Bell.
There are so many things that I enjoy that I’m now afraid that people will ruin for me by turning me on to something better. Please, don’t tell me about the best artisanal ice cream or donuts. I like sushi from supermarkets. Yes, I know that there’s multiple sushi options vastly superior to my easily satiated desires for raw fish, but if exposed to the superior taste, that reduces my options. There is a massive swath of barbecue that I enjoy because I don’t know the difference between St. Louis and Carolina ribs and I don’t want to know. Just gimme the goods!
People who like mediocre have a distinct advantage over those who know and insist on the finest things in life. On a road trip, I can stop at a gas station (translation for our European readers: petrol barn) and eat a shrink wrapped sandwich of murky origin. My options are wide. Why are people trying to narrow other people’s options by inflating expectations?
There is probably, as I said earlier, a way better version of me, but I don’t want to know it or meet it or I might have to try to achieve it. Yuck. Just let me stay at my general level of contentment. I’m cool with the me that is me. I don’t want to have to achieve more. Gross. Let me be okay with me.
Strangely Naked 
I agree. When Boyfriend’s not around, I watch mediocre television/movies (I watched Aloha during the blizzard. No joke. Aloha.) It’s always a shame when someone introduces me to good quality coffee/gin/whatever. Don’t ruin cheap for me! I like cheap!
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As always, there is perverse truth in what you say, Pickleope.
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It’s true, all of it. I’m a foodie, which really just means that I ruined myself with the good stuff so now I’m a spoiled snob and I can’t eat anything out of a can or a box because my taste buds have mutated into an insatiable monster (that may be a slight exaggeration).
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Once I’ve tasted the good stuff it is hard to go back, BUT sometimes wolfing down a bag of chips can get me by for a while. Good Mexican food always spoils me.
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I am with you, I like and often enjoy stuff that people would consider mediocre,I don’t have time for those who tell me that there is better options, better in who’s opinion, just saying shut up and let me enjoy my mediocre stuff already
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We have an artisinal sandwich shop in our neighborhood now. I don’t even know what an artisinal sandwich is.
Love,
Janie
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Oi, the embarrassment. I misspelled artisanal. That’s how mediocre I am. When we lived in Manhattan, Kansas, for X to attend Kansas State, we shopped at the school’s dairy to buy ice cream and cheese. I’ve never found ice cream as good as that of the Kansas State dairy, and we left there in 1981. When the wind blew a certain direction, the cows were a bit stinky, though.
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Keep the “anal” in artisanal, I always say.
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Why shoot for the moon when you can just burn a print out of the moon instead?
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“Oh, yeah, great, let’s go to the ‘Grand’ Canyon. I’m sure it’ll be just as amazing as GOING TO THE FRIGGIN MOON!” ~Every conversation with Neil Armstrong about traveling.
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Your struggle is real, PVP. I went to an artisan cheese shop a few weekends ago. Oh my, that cheese was heavenly – like nothing I’d ever tasted. Now I scoff at Velveta. I also scoff at all the options at Safeway. It’s gross in comparison. That real stuff ruined cheese for me.
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How can Taco Bell not be the pinnacle of your existence? Thanks for ruining my life.
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Check yourself out. Yes, you know where. Then pour me a drink.
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