What would white people do?

Here's a nice picture of Dan and me in our natural environment.

Slightly less crazy than usual, though.

You might deduce from the background that we are in a Chinese restaurant, and you would be correct. This picture was taken at a dim sum place in New Jersey, I believe. Shortly after this picture was taken, I ate every crumb of a delicious sweet bun, including the paper wrapping. Oops.

Dan and I love to eat food, which is why we are both currently pleasingly plump. Dan used to love food even more than he does now, which is why I am not posting a pre-2007 photo of Dan and I eating food. One of the best things that came out of our otherwise terrifyingly awful marriage was the development of my palate. When I met Dan, my favorite thing to eat was McDonald's, and I did not order meat in restaurants because I worried it would make me sick. My favorite thing to eat is still McDonald's, but I'll throw in some Khmer blood sausage and tripe every now and then.

But while I've learned to appreciate great Chinese food (and most other great food, for that matter), Dan is still working on thinking about food like, well, like white people.

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"Dinner's ready!" said Dan enthusiastically. As the half of our partnership who enjoys cooking and is usually in a pretty even mood, Dan prepares the meals in our home. For now. I keep telling him that I'll start making some meals too, but Dan says I need some way stronger meds first before that happens.

I dragged myself morosely over to the table.

"Here's what we've got," continued Dan with an air of positive pride. "I grilled us some nice rare steaks, juicy and bloody. I also made a sausage and potato hash to go along with the steaks."

I shot Dan a murderous look. Again? This again?

The smile dropped from Dan's face. Almost as quickly as my appetite had dropped during his dinner description.

"What is it, honey? Don't you like it?" He knew what was coming.

"DEAR." I almost shouted. It was not a term of endearment at the moment. "YOU MADE TWO MEAT DISHES FOR DINNER."

Dan looked confused. I was confused too, since I knew we had gone over this before.

"Oh brother," I sighed, trying my best to stay the Hand O' Doom and work on simple resignation, no more. "Dear, you made two meat dishes for dinner. White people do not eat two meat dishes for dinner. White people eat a meat dish and a side dish, preferably a starch or a vegetable, but rarely, if ever, a SECOND meat dish."

Dan was still confused.

"But... really? I thought because there was potato it would be fine. My mom would always give me stuff like this, and it was fine!"

I raised a not-amused eyebrow. "Isn't your mother Chinese, Dan?"

Dawning comprehension glimmered. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry about that."

I sighed once more. "Think like a white person, Dan. What would white people eat?"

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I'm not really the expert in how to be white. To do that, I'd have to be a lot more hott, for one. Besides, I don't think there's actually a set-in-stone white people way to do things. But when you enter into the sacred bond of marriage with a guy who lives on tripe and steamed egg, you may become the family expert on white people by default.

It's become something of a joke in our interracial union. Basically, I learn how to be a good Chinese wife. I wow numerous relatives with my basic understanding of the language and my willingness to ask for seconds of stinky tofu. I also indoctrinate my husband in the ways of seventh-generation white people from Pennsylvania.

Thus far, I have taught Dan the following things about white people.

1. White people usually eat a starch, a vegetable, and a meat for dinner. Two starches are not acceptable. Two vegetables are not acceptable. Two meats are not acceptable.
2. White people don't always appreciate pig stomach prepared to accentuate the natural yumminess of the pig stomach. However, many white people will eat pig stomach if it is drowned in some kind of sauce.
3. When in the company of others, it is perfectly acceptable for white people to leave meat on chicken wings. White people don't necessarily eat the chicken meat down to the bone. White people definitely don't gnaw on the bones.
4. White people put pictures on their walls. White people don't encase their pictures in an extra plastic wrap to fight dust. White people have feather dusters for that.
5. White people buy furniture that they sit on and use. White people take the tags off their purchased furniture.

Dan's still learning how to act like a boring seventh-generation Pennsylvanian white person. I am still learning how to act like a boring second-generation Pennsylvanian Chinese person. But it's the trying that makes life entertaining.

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"Dan?" I looked up from my book about the genetics of tomato plants, secure in the knowledge that the tomatoes in our ketchup had been picked and processed in California, not in Florida. "How do normal people have fun, anyway?"

Dan chuckled.

"Dear, how do you think normal people have fun?"

I thought for a second. "Uh... they drink at bars? And then get hangovers the next day?"

"You're right on, dear, right on." 

"But that's so boring." Unless it involved fruity cocktails. I could go for a few of those. Minus the calories, of course.

"Well, that's just white people for you," shot back the Chinese half of our union.

"What do Chinese people do to have fun, then?" I asked.

"They drink at bars and get hangovers the next day. And in many cases, they repeat the formula the next day," said Dan, knowingly.

Once again I fought an inner battle to stay the Hand O' Doom. It twitched, and then rested in my lap, vanquished.

"Is that so?" A murderous glint flashed in my eye. The Hand O' Doom was struggling in its defeat.

Realizing his mistake, Dan went a little pale.

"Oh, why yes, that is indeed what white people do! Those white people, they're such drunkards!"

I rolled my eyes. Information on tomato hydroponics was calling my name. I would teach Dan about the righteous anger of white people wives at the end of the chapter.

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