It happens so often, it’s parodied in pop culture.

Perhaps the greatest leap forward in the history of humanity was the forging of groups. Over the past several millennia, coming together and relying upon one another has led to specialization, trade, and unprecedented technological progress. I will never make a microprocessor, much the same way that most (if not all) engineers at Intel will never call themselves “beef” and write satirical poems about food. But where would we be without microprocessors and food blogs?

My point is this: if we never developed a dependency upon the people around us, we would still be in the dark ages. So it may be a bit surprising when I say that this great social convergence is also a mass invasion of personal space and has led to categorically awkward moments. Even our eating (feeding, grazing, what have you…) habits have been negatively affected. To illustrate, here’s a scenario:

You’re at a business lunch meeting to negotiate a deal with a huge client. After a few formalities, you look over the menu just in time for the waiter to come by. The waiter asks if you’re ready to order. “I think we are,” your client exclaims, never having consulted you on this decision. But you don’t want to appear indecisive or slow, so you go along with it. For some reason, the waiter asks you for your order first, before he asks your trigger happy counterpart.

“I’ll have…” your eyes dart over the menu. That rib eye looks really good. Mmmmm. Wait — don’t pick something outrageous, you think. You look at your client quickly. What would make a good impression? If this deal goes through, you’ll be getting a lot of money from this guy. You don’t want to appear reckless. Cool and conservative. That’s it. Don’t overdo it. Stick with something reasonable. “…the oriental salad, please.”

The waiter scribbles down your order, then turns to your client, who says: “I’ll have the 22oz rib eye.” Well, crap. You’re really hungry, too. You probably could have eaten the whole thing if you had ordered it. But now you’re stuck with an oriental salad, whatever that is. The waiter leaves and the two of you talk about your business plans in general; all the while, your stomach keeps growling, calling you an idiot.

When finally the food arrives, you are starved. And the first thing you smell as the plates are set down on the table is your client’s steak. A shiver runs down your back, and beads of sweat are forming on your brow. Ignore it, you think, just enjoy your… what the hell is this? Your eyes survey the bleak organic mess in front of you: assorted greens, which you pick at while the man across the table scarfs down whole, wonderful pieces of cow. On top of the various foliage are little bits of ground up dry instant ramen, with over-salted peanuts, some random sesame seeds, and a strange concoction of (you guess) soy sauce and extra virgin olive oil.

The overbearing sense of unfairness becomes intolerable when your client puts down his fork, wipes his faces, and pushes his plate to the side… with 11oz of rib eye left uneaten! “Now, let’s talk business,” he says.

You whimper, then clear your throat. “Sure.” You keep catching yourself eyeing the meat he is wasting. Maybe, you think, maybe I can get away with taking some.

“You should know, since you’ll be handling my money, that the thing I despise the most is a mooch.”

Then again, maybe not.

“That’s why I want to be assured that if I go with your option, my assets will be safe.”

You nod. You can feel your face turning red. Your right leg is shaking uncontrollably under the table. “Uh huh,” you say in the strongest falsetto you can muster. Your stomach is telling you to go for it, telling you that you were wrong to be bound by silly social norms in the first place. It demands action! It demands meat! You catch a couple dry heaves and start breathing more heavily. Your client is saying something about a recent transaction — whatever, you don’t really care. You just want that steak. You can taste it. You can bear it no longer. You’ll lose the deal. You’ll lose all credibility. No one will ever want to invest in your company, but you couldn’t give a hoot now. The charade ends here, and you cut him off mid-sentence with the five most humbling words ever spoken.

5. Pi will never be awarded as a prize at the county fair.

4. Pi is the same no matter where you go.

3. You can’t fill pi with apples. Or even strawberries.

2. Rounding pie incorrectly never caused a satellite to burn up in the atmosphere.

1. Pi is irrational. Pie is irrationally delicious.

It doesn’t matter how well you know your new roommates when you all sign the lease — if your move-in is anything like ours was, you know all too much as you wrap up your first week together.

Who’s obsessively clean? Who chronically forgets to do their dishes or lock the doors? Who’s careless with money? Who’s a complete packrat? Who’s got a few deep-seated stringent ideas of just what has to be just how? (Answer, at least to the last question: everyone, of course.)

We settled down to cope with all our internal and external apartment problems, and naturally we did so with food: lasagna, good quality comfort food, rich and filling and hearty. We hit the grocery store and returned to our new kitchen, and our different quirks and upbringings promptly manifested here too. My New England heritage says you follow the cookbook and you’re careful to brown the meat beforehand and there’s nothing wrong with the precooked noodles and the layers have to be just right; my Southern-raised roommate does it like her mom always did, mixing the different cheeses and cooking everything together and flipping the whole pile upside down at the end of the process — all foreign concepts to me. Our token male made salad and (wisely?) stayed out of it.

We wound up with a pile of compromises, of course — choices ranging across the traditional and the modern, the spontaneous and the measured, the written and the remembered. Our final product wound up nothing like I was expecting, but it was certainly delicious.
It takes a village to bake a lasagna. People mercifully cropped from this photo, because we are all making stupid faces.