I’m in one of those moods again, but have added some of my random photos to decorate the page.
I go out to dinner for two reasons; 1) to eat, and 2) to eat. Pleasant company is also acceptable, as is ‘couldn’t be bothered to make a sandwich when I get home.’ What I don’t want to go out to dinner for is stuff like this:
Long-line caught lumpsucker nestled on a sumptuous bed of foraged mushroom essence enhanced kinmemai premium rice topped with young coconut powder and the sperm of a bewildered sea snail.
I mean, please… Or, how about this one?
First year iberico sheep child delicately turned over larvanous grill coals, served with precious ground growth, scented bulbs, and teased goat’s milk juice hinted with garlic.
I’ll translate: It’s a grilled lamb souvlaki with cucumber, onions and tzatziki.
There are plenty out there if you care to take a look, or if you are of the sort who really wastes hundreds of Euros on pretentious food just so you can say, ‘Oh, have you not been to Rick Ramsay’s latest eatery? We have attended twice, and both times, the smacker fish and truffle ice cream was delightfully toothsome. You simply must try the seal snot risotto. It’s only ninety Euros, and the chef will sign it for you too.’
Actually, ‘Toothsome’ did turn up on a review in CityPaper. The reviewer wrote of a dish … salty cubes of farm-fresh bacon overshadowed the crispy, toothsome fish. Toothsome? Get a thesaurus, mate.
Back to our order, what shall we have next? How about something deconstructed? To me, that means they’ve not been bothered to bung it together. Anyone can fry up some mince, pour some Smash in a jug, add water, mix, slop on, chuck some baked beans with it, and call it a deconstructed cottage pie. If it’s lamb mince it should be called a shepherd’s pie, because all shepherds eat their flock, right? Whatever, it needs to be constructed. Imagine if you bought a deconstructed Barratt Home. ‘Right, mate, here’s your mortar. Your bricks are over there, but you’ll want to get your foundations in before the rain starts.’
There are some other totally pointless and pretentious terminologies employed by restaurants throughout the world. In no particular order, here’s a glossary of but a few:
Hand-glazed. Wiped with a pasty brush.
Reduction. Been left on the heat too long.
Nestling. Fighting to be noticed among the other bits and pieces.
Succulent Wet.
Tripple-cooked. ‘You done the spuds, Ted?’ ‘Can’t remember.’
Snuggled up with… See ‘Nestling.’
Seared. Burnt.
Beer-battered. Chef was pissed.
Soft-boiled. Could do with another minute.
The supremely superfluousness extends to sentences too. For example, I read this on a menu: ‘Hand in hand with a delightful English courgette.’
Sounds like a review of Lady Marshall’s debutante Ball, where, and I quote, Viscount Bugger-Chop-Manic was seen hand in hand with a delightful English Courgette, the latter being Lady Edith Courgette of the Henley Squash-Courgettes.
And what accompanies your farm-fresh bacon chunks (I can still hear the squealing, it’s that fresh), your Soupçon d’un crapaud gris, or your Chose gluante à peine cuite qui est venue dans une coquille? *
Why, a whacking great bill, of course! Who in their right mind would pay £2,500 for a steak? Some people do, and you can do it while you’re on holiday on certain Greek islands. Maybe not the $2.5k shank, but we’ve all read of people being ripped off by unscrupulous restaurant owners overcharging, and that’s one thing. What gets me is people willingly paying stupid amounts of money for something that looks like a dog’s sneezed on someone else’s leftovers. Worse, it’s then dragged up in grandiose menu-speak, which only does one thing for me, and that’s to give me indigestion.
Sorry, it gives me a delightfully fluffy taste of hand-reared bile nestling on a seductively burbling pool of vinaigrette du estomac, followed by ambrosious delectations of comprimés de Maalox, with a barely constructed Renie and Gaviscon reduction.
Whatever you think of this trend for nuttiness, let me wish you Kali orexi. Or, as we say in English, Bon appetit.
This is what dining is all about; good company.
* Soupçon d’un crapaud gris. Suspicion of a grey toad.
Chose gluante à peine cuite qui est venue dans une coquille. Hardly cooked slimy thing that came in a shell.
