Deciding what to do with a meal can be fraught. Usually in a good way. What’s our risk appetite? How can I persuade the group to indulge my food craving? What mood am I in? Will I abide those terribles seats for that great food?
Having some principles makes life easy: I don’t queue for tables; I don’t pay restaurant prices for sit-down street food; when I’m tired, I take greater comfort in good service than good food.
The fraughtness that makes these choices exciting is offset by the occasional fumble. With the best intentions and firmest convictions, I can find myself exposed to an experience at once on brief and wide of the mark. I walk myself into something diametrically opposed to what I wanted. Exquisitely wrong, with only myself to blame.