Come and BYOF

Come and BYOF. We’re having a party.
F?
BYOB, I understand. If I’m going to drink, you’re not going to be responsible for my behaviour.
OK by me. I’m not addicted to spirits and Ginger ale without artificial sweeteners is what I prefer. I can do that.
But, what’s this BYOF deal?
Food? Bring my own food? This is a party and I bring my own food?
Yes, it’s a party. I can’t eat gluten.
I can’t eat eggs or dairy.
I can’t deal with salt.
Spices are my problem.
I don’t eat meat.
I don’t do shell fish.
I can’t have nuts.
I can’t have vinegar.
I was going to do potluck but we might all wind up in emerge so this is a new version of potluck…a plate party. We all bring our own plate of food. That way we can have a safe party where we enjoy each other instead grilling everybody about the contents of every food in every bowl and then obsessing about every mouthful of food we take.
All that international and creative cuisine was wonderful while it lasted.
And maybe the plant engineering went well in the lab, although it’s really compromising the canary people who may just be the tip of the iceberg where food intolerances and allergies are concerned.
Next Friday there is another potluck, but will I opt to bring my own plate?
And maybe some goodies for the brave and insensitive, so I can augment my plate if I see something I think will not compromise my comfort and fun.