With all of the craziness in the world, especially in our country, I thought I’d make us some food that might help you laugh before the next existential crisis hits.
So… imagine this: You take your significant other out for a nice meal. Not your boss, not your kid’s school principal, not that cousin who thinks therapy is a scam, but your favorite person. The one with whom you can sit in silence and still feel seen. You’re both trying to replace one kind of existential dread with another, preferably one involving bread, wine, and a little distraction. Something to take your collective minds off the chaos, even if just for a few courses.
You spend the week preparing for this “date.” Your date decides it best to meet you at the venue. Your mind races. Why? You start to wonder, then stop yourself. Just enjoy this, you think.
You pick the perfect outfit. Not too stiff, not too try-hard. You want to impress, sure, but also keep things casual. Maybe even romantic. Because really, what’s better than romance to help you forget today’s woes? The news, the inbox, the climate report… it can all wait. Tonight, you’re choosing a tablecloth and a drink menu over despair.
You hold the door for your date as you walk into a fine‑dining restaurant. White tablecloths. Candlelight. The server speaks in hushed tones. Instead of foie gras and duck confit, here’s your DSM Prix Fixe Menu…
Aperitif: Social Media Spritzer
A fizzy blend of dopamine hits and crushing inadequacy.
Wine pairing: Sparkling Rosé with a shot of Aperol and self-loathing. Effervescent, pretty, and just bitter enough to remind you that your screen time report is up 27%. Pairs beautifully with scrolling through your ex’s vacation photos and wondering why everyone has a podcast now.
Starter: Generalized Anxiety Gazpacho
Served cold, like all unresolved childhood tension. Hints of financial insecurity, climate dread, and the vague suspicion that you left the stove on. Garnished with half a Xanax and a text you forgot to reply to.
Wine pairing: Sauvignon Blanc. Crisp, acidic, and nervy—the wine equivalent of second‑guessing everything you’ve ever said in a group chat.
Salad Course: Organic ADHD Baby Green Salad
Locally foraged attention span, lightly tossed with forgotten to‑do lists, missed appointments, and three tabs of Amazon carts you’ll never check out. Drizzled in stimulant vinaigrette—if you remembered to refill it.
Wine pairing: Pinot Grigio. Mild, forgettable, and drinkable by accident when you were supposed to be focusing. Bonus points if you forget you already poured a glass.
Main: Bipolar Beef Wellington
Baked to unpredictable perfection. One side manic, flambéed in grandiosity and sleepless ambition. The other side depressive, undercooked, slumped, and wrapped almost cloyingly in decorated existential pastry.
Warning: may be served all at once, or not at all.
Wine pairing: Shiraz. Bold, peppery, and erratic. Swings from brilliant to brooding without notice. May suddenly demand you build a birdhouse at 3 a.m.
Dessert: Dissociative Identity Soufflé
Rises dramatically, collapses without warning. Layered with forgotten hours, uncanny déjà vu, and a sprinkle of “wait, who said that?”
Wine pairing: Sauternes. Sweet and golden but weirdly haunting. Tastes like honey over static. Best consumed while watching your own life from the ceiling.
Digestif: American Exceptionalism Espresso Shot
Overly bold. Bitter. Leaves a lingering aftertaste of denial. Served with an optional side of bootstraps and an NRA‑branded biscotti.
Wine pairing: Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley. Aggressively confident with undertones of freedom, delusion, and a hint of boot polish. Often insists it’s the best, even when it’s not.
…And as your spoon scrapes the bottom of the Dissociative Identity Soufflé, you realize something:
You’re full, but not just from the food. You’re full of the absurdity of being human in a time like this, where everything feels like too much and not enough, all at once. And yet, somehow, you’re still here. Still laughing. Still sharing a meal with someone who makes the world feel slightly less doomed.
Maybe that’s the point of this whole bizarre, clinical, calorie‑laden menu. Not to pathologize your pain or joke away your burnout, but to remind you that even in the most diagnosis‑heavy of times, you’re not just a patient. You’re a person, with taste buds, cravings, and the right to romantic distraction.
So go ahead, have the wine, flirt with dessert, and tip your server well with emotional intelligence. Because surviving the madness isn’t just about understanding it. Sometimes, it’s about making a reservation, holding hands across the table, and laughing at the DSM until the candle burns out.
Bon appétit—and hang in there.
