Faking It

Growing up, my mother used to refer to a certain green-stalked vegetable as "the dreaded celery," owing to my, um, outspoken opinions about celery's taste and utility (or lack thereof). "I have no idea how someone can have such strong feelings about celery," she said sometimes. "It barely tastes like anything."

"Doesn't taste like anything?!," I'd think. I could recognize the taste of celery in any dish, no matter how subtle or how small a percentage of the recipe was celery. My mother wasn't so sure about this until one night when she ran out of cream of mushroom soup for a casserole and replaced one can with cream of celery. I took one bite, made one of those "ick!" faces, and asked, "Does this have celery in it? This never has celery in it!" And I was, shall we say, less than tactful about my feelings on the matter. Mom never doubted my claim to be able to taste (and hate) celery again.

I've outgrown my celery aversion to a point -- you'll never see me scarfing down ants on a log, but I cook with celery occasionally (especially in soups, or in braised or long-simmered dishes) and can handle the occasional celery-containing dish at a friend's house or a nice restaurant. But I haven't forgotten what it's like to have a food aversion. And being gluten- and MSG-intolerant, I also know that sometimes getting restaurants to make substitutions is easier said than done.

So I'm sympathetic -- to a small degree -- to the diners profiled in this Washington City Paper article, who have decided for one reason or another that the way to get what they want at a restaurant is to say they're allergic. (Hat tip to Serious Eats and Allergic Girl). It's hard enough getting some restaurants to, say, leave flatbread off an appetizer plate when you've clearly told them what will happen if you eat a little; it makes sense that it would be that much harder to get what you want if you just told the waiter that you dislike (for example) peppers.

On the other hand, it's not as though faking allergies has no impact on the larger community. This is basically an example of the "free rider" problem in action. Because the food service industry as a whole does have some idea of how severe food allergies can be, and because there is a sufficiently large population of people with food allergies eating out, there's "cover" for those who choose to say "I'm allergic" or "I'm severely intolerant" when they really mean "I just don't like."

As long as the number of people lying about allergies remains far smaller than the number of people who are, in fact, telling the truth when they mention allergies to their waiter, this phenomenon probably (hopefully?) has little effect on allergic diners. Waitstaff and chefs will roll their eyes at people who claim to be deathly allergic to all tree nuts as they scarf down their dates' pesto, but will generally be responsive to people with real dietary needs. And hopefully as there's greater public awareness of food allergies, people will feel a bit more guilt over faking an actual deadly condition to avoid foods they hate.

One caveat, though: I'm coming at this from the perspective of someone with common dietary restrictions. A lot of people avoid the same things I do, and when I state my needs clearly, I generally have no problems getting decent accommodations, especially in nicer restaurants. Fairly often, I've come across waiters with celiac family members, or who get migraines from MSG. But I hear everyday from people with allergies that are less common -- some of the same ones that food industry folks might assume are fake, as in the City Paper story. What I'd like to know is, if you're allergic to meats or vegetables or fruits or spices, do you get an adequate level of concern and care when (if) you eat out? Do you perceive that waiters think you're faking?