To Dine t

The NY Times ran a piece today that caught my attention. A captain at a three star restaurant gave a well written essay about his experiences serving dinner to the rich and supper rich. Here is an excerpt:

I have nothing against fancy restaurants making a great production of dinner, but I have long ago grown weary of waiter shows and the accompanying noise of such places. Also, food that looks as if it has been fondled by many hands looses its appeal, no matter how fou fou. Once in a fancy restaurant in St Louis after we were seated by the maître d'hôtel the waiter approached with an air of distant professionalism bordering on rudeness and asked if we would like a cocktail or a glass of wine, I replied, "Yes, but first remove that roach," and I pointed to the thing waving its antenna and hanging on the wall adjoining our table. The illusion vanished, we were moved to another table, and after that the waiter just acted like a normal person doing a job.*

A $355 tasting menu with a $100 supplement for bite of Miyazaki Wagyu is either gross or just plain silly.

On the other hand, the TV chef wearing bling and a open necked Hawaiian shirt who visits joints, stuffs his mouth with greasy BBQ and talks at the same time I find revolting. Good food and manners are found somewhere between these two extremes, but where? From my experience finding excellent food is mostly serendipity.

On the food scale between gross and silly, this dish from a New York restaurant seems to combine both extremes on one plate.

1. We were in Cefalù, Sicily (I don't remember when) looking for a place to eat dinner and I employed my usual tactics for finding the right place to eat without resorting to advertisements or asking the hotel clerk.

The place, somewhere around the Piazza del Duomo, we finally choose to eat was simple, off the beaten path, and appeared to be family run and the family may have lived in the back of the place. They spoke no English (another good sign). We sat at a vintage wooden table with no table cloth and the smiling nonna eventually presented us with the best gnocchi di patate I have ever tasted. After I finished off the last one, she came out of the kitchen and poured a few more dumplings into my bowl.

2. On another trip we were in San Sebastián on our way to catch a bus to Bilbao when we passed, or nearly passed, a cafe with a full glass front - as though the place had once been a shoe store or some such. We noticed the place was almost full with blue collar workers (a good sign in Europe but not in the US) and most seemed to be eating large grilled sardines. We found a table and ordered sardines. They were delicious. Fifteen years later and I still pine for those sardines.

3. Once we were staying in a hotel on the Rue de Lyon near the Opera Bastille and walked by a spiffy restaurant. Not fancy at all, but very neat with positive energy emanating from the place. There was not a customer in the place, as it was early for a French lunch and they did seat us after checking with someone at the back. Soon the place was packed with well dressed serious eaters - all were regulars or had reservations. The lunch was excellent and later we learned the place was very highly sought after by in-the-know Parisians business dudes. That reminds me of another point, lunch at expensive restaurants is usually the same food served at night but less expensive. Moreover, there is no waiter show; they get the food quickly on the table.

4. Of course most of best meals are served in private homes. A dinner of vegetables fresh from the garden prepared by a good cook is almost impossible to beat. On one such occasion all of the diners said not a word, but moaned with pleasure with each bite. Butter beans, yellow squash, sweet onions, and tomatoes served with ice tea and cornbread cooked in a cast iron skillet that had never been washed. I might add that some southerners are particular about cornmeal. I prefer white meal made from dent corn grown in my back yard garden; no bugs and no trash in the meal. Also, use lard when making cornbread

5. Often when traveling in Europe we will visit the open air markets and purchase the fixings for dinner in the hotel room. The fare typically consist of prosciutto, cheese, fruit, olives, baguette and a bottle of wine.

Once we were staying in an "L" shaped hotel in Autun, France that was originally a 17^th century abbey and our second story room offered a great view of the dining room and the kitchen through several large windows. About 6 PM we pulled a table and two chairs close to our large window as the show began. There were four or five waiters (dressed in white shirts, black bow ties, black vests and trousers, and white aprons) polishing silver ware and glasses, arranging flowers, and gliding about the dining room. Back in the kitchen the cooks (dressed in black trousers, white jackets and aprons, and, of course, toques) were slicing, dicing, stirring, and scurrying about). By 7 the same activities were going on in the kitchen and steam was rising from the pots and cooks were checking things in the ovens, but there were no guest. At 8 two women arrive and were quickly seated near the center window (great for us), the maître d' with a great flourish presented them with enormous menus and eventually an order was passed to the kitchen where the cooks who had slowed to snail speed sprang into action. By 9 PM the two guest departed and no other quest had arrived. The waiters made heroic attempts to find something to do, but in the kitchen the cooks were leaning over the work tables engaged in conversations. About half past 9 the moment of truth arrived and the kitchen staff began placing all the food in the pantry or the walk-in refrigerator. The cleaned cooking utensils were returned to storage. At 10 PM the kitchen and dining room lights dimmed and the staff departed. The show was over. We placed our left over prosciutto and cheese on the window sill, our refrigeration, and turned on the tv.

6. In Arles, France between the old Roman Arena and the Rhone river is the old section of the city, the Centre-ville, with narrow winding street and interesting shops. One winter day in 1988 we were, yet again, wondering around searching for a place to have dinner. We found an interesting place, but the door was locked although it was well into the dinner hours. We walked around for a while and returned to find the door still locked, so I knocked. A large man with white hair and dressed as a cook opened the door and stared at us, then let us in. He then stuck his head outside and looked up and down the street before closing and locking the door. This routine was repeated several times as other guest knocked and were let in. It seemed to be another mom and pop operation, but with a mystery. We could only guess at the reason for his caution; perhaps some gang was shaking him down for money. Anyway, he prepared an excellent meal for us, served by a lady we assumed to be his wife. I don't remember what was served, but we were so impressed that before we departed I opened the door to the kitchen to offer kudos and a German Shepherd lying at the chef's feet sprang up snarling, barking, and heading straight for me. I slammed the kitchen door and made a fast retreat to a neutral corner of the restaurant. The chef came out and gave a lengthy explanation, which I think was an apology.

*Which reminds me of a meal in Seaside, Florida when Victoria found a green caterpillar in her salad. Of course the waiter whisked the salad away, but not before I secured the evidence in an empty glass. The manager, a surprisingly young woman, approached, eyed the bug, and with clasped hands apologized and offered to comp a beer. I said, "If that is the best you can do, then we will keep the caterpillar and watch it turn to a butterfly." The manager retreated, but a free beer was all we got, besides a half eaten salad. We deposited the caterpillar on a bush outside the café.


Le Meurice, Paris	Somewhere, USA