“Mr. Chestnut will not be participating in next month’s Pork Rind Championship, as we are negotiating with a very popular seafood restaurant regarding their annual oyster contest.”
It’s just as well I couldn’t connect with anyone in this scene; things would have gone downhill after my first question:
“Do you realize that you could have fed several villages for a month with the amount of food you’ve forced into your pie hole during your ‘career’?”
I want to laugh at all of this, but I don’t know that this is the best time in our nation’s history to glorify pigging out. I don’t mean to be rude, but we, as a country, could stand to drop a few pounds.
I have to admit that, on some level, competitive eating is classic Americana. It combines the two most characteristic American traits—gluttony and competitiveness.
I also think that it’s the kind of activity that inspires other countries to hate us just a little bit more than they already do.
I’m Sensing a Theme Here
I suppose, if I were to make a ‘bucket list” of things I want to do before I check out, I would have to put ‘make bucket list’ near the top.
It’s not that I don’t make lists—mix my OCD with a little weed, and making lists becomes a necessity if I want to, say, accomplish anything.
And it’s not that there aren’t dozens of things I want to experience. The problem with lists of the bucket variety is that I don’t want the pressure.
If I make a grocery list and forget to pick up milk, I can go back to the store for milk. When I meet my Vaguely Defined And Essentially Metaphorical God, I’d rather not be confronted with an itemized list of Things I Meant To Do.
I thought of all this because I had a friend visiting who wanted to go to a theme restaurant, and I realized I had somehow avoided that experience my entire life. And I intend to keep avoiding it.
I always imagined the ‘experience’ at a theme restaurant to be a combination of overpriced food and bad theater, neither of which make me want to leave the house.
Here in the U.S., the most successful ‘concept’ is probably Medieval Times, or as it’s also known, “Where Kids Who Used To Play Dungeons And Dragons Work Between Renaissance Festivals.’
"Sorry folks. In the interest of historical accuracy,
the restaurant is closed due to plague
We also have Old West themed restaurants, pirate themes, 1920′s gangster themes…all of which I want to mock, but on the other hand, ordering from a college kid in a cheesy wench costume may be as close to studying history as most Americans ever get. We like our education to come with an appetizer.
It’s tragic how far we have fallen behind other nations in the bizarre-restaurant race. Beirut, Lebanon has a joint called Buns and Guns that serves pizzas named after landmines (imagine the excitement when they announce “Claymore at table 5″) and a sandwich called the ‘AK-47.’ Ah, the wacky Lebanese.
In Nanning, China there’s a place where the servers wear Mao-era Red Guard uniforms–I’m guessing they have a pretty strict ‘no substitutions’ policy there.
But no country can out-theme Japan. First time in Tokyo and want some local flavor? Bring the whole family to Nyotaimori, where you can eat sushi off a replica of a woman’s naked body made of dough!
Or, maybe you’re in Taipei—take your sweetheart to Modern Toilet, where, apparently, you sit on toilets while you eat out of toilets. And don’t forget to check out the several cafes with a French Maid / Giggling Concubine ‘theme.’
Look, my Japanese friends. You can stop pushing the envelope, weirdness-wise. We get it. You’re smarter than we are, and much more clever. And you kick our ass when it comes to kitsch.
From Hello Kitty! to bubblegum pop music, Japan wins the game of Ironic Embrace. Now stop it. We get that having that many smart, intensely driven people on a tiny island can drive you a little crazy, but you must stop opening restaurants based on the crazy.
Besides, having your servers dress as mildly pornographic archetypes isn’t exactly groundbreaking. We’re the culture responsible for Hooters – we get it. And skimpy costumes do not, in a technical sense, make it a theme.
Unless you’re saying the ‘theme’ is “Philandering Businessmen,” in which case you should throw in some other characters. Have the hostess play a disgruntled ‘wife,’ and hire children to unexpectedly show up asking in broken English, “Are you my daddy?”
Which leads me to a few of my ideas for theme restaurants. Admittedly, I haven’t fully fleshed out these ideas, and granted, I don’t even have the capital to eat at most restaurants, let alone own one.
But if there are any bored venture capitalists out there reading this, here are some chances to get in on the next big thing . . .
Like regional cuisine? Come to Club DMZ, a North Korean-styled eatery, where you’ll dine on rice. Just rice. Call ahead to make sure they’re not out of rice.
While waiting in an orderly line for your rice, take the opportunity to pledge loyalty to The Great Leader Who Makes Rice Possible.
Make sure to plan to arrive in time for the daily parade, when the entire wait staff combines with the kitchen staff for choreographed mass gymnastics displays.
* * *
Your dining experience seems to never end at Quagmire, an authentic Afghani bistro.Place your order, then watch in amazement as competing factions in the kitchen battle for control over your meal!
And tell Grandpa to bring his reading glasses, because the menu is in twenty different languages!
* * *
Feeling blue? Nurture your depression at Wallow. Miserable, hung over servers begrudgingly will wait on you and your friends, while the state-of-the-art sound system plays Nick Drake and My Chemical Romance.
During their nightly Crappy Hour, all the drink specials are named after celebrity suicides– “Another round of ‘Sylvias’?” The lighting in the dining room is an exact recreation of a Norwegian winter.
* * *
Conservatives will be lined up around the block to get into the Grand Old Pub, the only restaurant dedicated to traditional American family values.
You may have to be patient waiting for your meal, as the Republican Party’s anti-gay stance and removal of undocumented workers has left the restaurant woefully under-staffed.
* * *
History buffs will shout “Huzzah!” at the grand opening of The K Man, a restaurant devoted to the legacy of our eleventh president, James K. Polk.
Gleefully relive the years 1845-1849, and explore waistline expansionism as you try their signature omelette, the ‘Manifest Destiny,’ featuring a side of Texas Toast.
* * *
At (Law and) Order Up!, you’ll be greeted by a pair of servers—one a sarcastic, jaded veteran, and the other a headstrong rookie who won’t play by the rules.
Both of them will come back about twenty minutes after you order to “verify some details and ask you a few questions.”
A Word From Our Sponsor
Most food advertising seems pointless to me. I don’t think I’ve ever watched an ad and then felt compelled to amend the grocery list for that week. Like most of us, in my foraging, I look for what’s on sale.
That’s why I think the only food ads on TV should be for places that deliver. Otherwise, we can all figure out what foods to buy on our own. Why advertise something like mayonnaise when anybody who wants mayonnaise can probably find mayonnaise when they go to the store.
And I don’t imagine many people are swayed by an ad to switch brands of mayo just because of an ad— “Hey, darling. Did you notice this other brand when you were at the market? Why the hell are we eating Best Foods? Why didn’t you tell me there were other options?”
The first food ads were no doubt cave drawings that probably used the same approach we see today:
Og kill extra big bear.
Many pieces available.
Will Put on fire for you. Act now.
If glowing orb in sky t
hree times, meat gone.
Later, in the Middle Ages, you might have seen hand written flyers saying things like “Get thine mutton here! Our mutton has beene worm-free for a fortnight!”
Even as recently as the past century, food advertising was at least honest, by virtue of its simplicity:Ads told you where to get something, how much of it you get, and how much it costs.
The main difference in ads today is the emphasis on what isn’t in the package—“No Transfats!” “Zero cholesterol!” “Fifty percent less enzyme-modified hyperpolyunsaturated thiamine mononitrate than other brands!” I just think that, in the past, there was a little more emphasis on what was inside the box.
The worst part of most food ads is the slogan, a particularly insidious species of earworm that can stick to your brain worse than the hook from a Hall and Oates song.
So many of these are stuck in my mind that I can’t walk through the grocery store without one of them bubbling up from the depths (incidentally, the Bubble-Up slogan was “A Kiss of Lemon, A Kiss of Lime.” Seriously, I wish I didn’t know these things).
The understated slogans work best for me, like Campbell’s “Soup is good food.” That’s perfect! No made-up words, no miraculous claims, no CGI. What is it? Food. Is it good? Yeah. It’s safe to say that soup is, in a general sense, good food. And that’s all I need to know.
Or the classic, yet informative Velveeta slogan: “Colby, Swiss and Cheddar, blended all together.” Of course, listing ingredients doesn’t work for a lot of processed foods, because it’s hard to come up with clever rhymes for ‘pyridoxene hydrochloride.’
If you have a good product, you should be able to come up with a catchy slogan pretty easily. Instead, I’d like to be the guy who comes up with slogans for the kinds of foods I’ve had to buy when I’ve been broke.
“Exactly What You’d Expect For A Dollar!”
“It Sure Looks Like Salmon!”
“Better Than Not Eating At All!”
I hope that someday I get the chance to be a spokesman for something cooking-related. I could do a spot for my little mini-blender:
“How many times have you been baffled by food-processors that have just too many functions? That’s why I’m proud to endorse the KitchenAid One-Button Mixer.
No manual to read, no dials or attachments to decipher, just one big button! The patented ‘blade’ cuts vegetables really small, for all the times I need really small pieces of vegetables!”
I’ve also decided that for the next thing I write, I want sponsors. Why shouldn’t writers be like NASCAR drivers? Most writers could use the money! We could wear patches on our blazers with sponsors’ logos!
I’m gonna sell ad space right there in my book. If Frito-Lay wants to underwrite my next book with a few half-page ads for Ruffles, why not?
Or better yet, Nutella. They could even pay me in jars of Nutella.
Who am I kidding? For the right amount of money, I’d wear a giant hazelnut costume and sing their slogan. Which, if you’re curious, is "Che mondo sarebbe senza Nutella?,” or “What would the world be without Nutella?” What, indeed?
A Splendid Conversation
Sometimes I wonder, with the number of people writing about food these days, if anyone just eats food anymore. You might think that trying to appreciate food by reading about it is like trying to appreciate Mozart by looking at a painting of an orchestra.
Of course, at least if you’re reading about food, you get the occasional picture to help you connect with the subject. But what could you possibly get from just listening to someone talk about food on the radio?
Turns out, a lot. ‘The Splendid Table’ is a weekly show on public radio, but you probably could have guessed the ‘public part,’ since I don’t think the word ‘splendid’ gets used very often on commercial radio.
And calm down, right-wingers—I know you started salivating when you saw the words ‘public radio,’ but there’s no scary liberal agenda here.
The host of ‘The Splendid Table’ is Lynne Rosetto Kasper, author of an award winning book on Northern Italian cooking called, oddly enough, ‘The Splendid Table.’
Her show mixes interviews with food questions from listeners. They call it ‘”radio for people who love to eat.” I call it . . . comfort radio.
When I set up our chat, I had two fears. The first was that somehow she would know that, though I’ve listened to public radio for years . . . I’ve never been a ‘paid member.’
That’s right—I’ve been stealing great music and conversation! I’ve been enjoying insightful political analysis and Tibetan throat singing without paying for either!
So I was afraid we might get to a really interesting part of the interview, and then someone from my local station would interrupt the phone call for twenty minutes asking me to make a pledge.
My second fear was that I would accidentally refer to her as Lynne RISOTTO Kasper, and then she’d get pissed, thinking I was mocking either her or the classic Italian creamy rice dish.
Thankfully, my fears were unfounded. She was very warm and down-to-earth, with none of the stuffiness you might think of when you hear ‘public radio.’
I figured that she must get tired of answering questions, and I asked her whether she gets constantly bombarded with food questions wherever she goes. She was refreshingly honest:
“I do, and quite frankly, I really don’t mind it at all—I rather like it. If people weren’t interested, I’d be a bit surprised.
It’s very flattering that people pay attention and have some idea what you do for a living.”
She was understandably diplomatic when I wanted her to name a favorite guest (“It’s hard to name names—it’s like being asked to name your favorite restaurant”), but she did single out quirky writer Amy Sedaris, saying “she’s just a hoot.”
The more interesting answer, if only for how extraordinarily carefully it was worded, came when I asked for her least favorite guest. Someone, let’s say, whose cooking is more interesting than they are…
“I’m gonna put it this way . . . I’m not gonna name names—(Again with the not naming names? C’mon, lady, I’m trying to write a story here! I want to expose the dark side of public broadcasting!)
There are some people that . . . lamentably, do not sparkle with life and do not generate an immense amount of . . . enthusiasm in others (Got it—sort of the interview equivalent of powdered mashed potatoes).
I found it encouraging that she admits to having been stumped—
“Oh, let me count the number of times! Oh my goodness, yes! Absolutely—I’m an expert at backpedalling. If you listen closely, a lot of what you’re hearing is just logic, not knowledge.”
“If you spend time involved in something you get a tremendous amount of pleasure doing, or being challenged by, you learn enough that, when people ask you questions, you can extrapolate.”
I’ll have to remember, the next time I’m entirely guessing at something, to tell people that I’m just ‘extrapolating.’
I thought it was time to make the questions a bit less ordinary, so I asked her: If a New York deli wanted to name a sandwich after her, what would you need to make the LRK?
”First of all, it would be made with a really, really chewy ciabatta bread.
It would be—oh god, I haven’t had this in ages—really, really, REALLY good New York deli liverwurst . . .
With thin-sliced onion that has been marinated in a little vinegar to get rid of the heat of the onion.”
“Those onions are shaved, they’re piled on the sandwich, there’s mayo on the bread, and mustard . . .”
“Now this is not a traditional liverwurst sandwich. This is MY liverwurst sandwich. This is the sandwich I ate growing up.
And you have this really chewy, fabulous bread — or, if you’re on the east coast, you have a hard roll, which, unfortunately, nobody here knows what that is…It’s cultural (Nobody can make decent egg salad in Minnesota, either).
The thing
you have to have with that sandwich, and this is where deli traditionalists will raise their eyebrows and say ‘She’s a heathen,’ is a great sweet gherkin—NOT a kosher pickle—I know, ‘She’s a barbarian’…”
She’s right. That is crazy talk.But while she was on a roll (no doubt an east coast hard roll), I asked her to deal with a hypothetical dilemma:
Let’s say I have to make a romantic dinner for someone, but I’m broke and I don’t want to work too hard. Now . . . extrapolate!
“First thing you’re gonna do is buy a potato. You’re gonna buy an onion, and a carrot. And we’re gonna get one can of tomatoes . . . and I’m gonna assume you have some herbs in the cupboard.”
Initially, I thought she was asking if I had any herb, and then I thought of how cool it would be if Lynne Rosetto Kasper hosted “A Splendid Table” stoned. But back to my romantic dinner.
She asked if I had some wine around the house (of course—hypothetically, that’s how I would cope with being hypothetically broke), and whether I had any stale bread (what is this, ‘Let’s Make A Deal’?). Oh, and I would need some garlic and some oil or butter . . .
“You are gonna make her the best peasant soup in the whole world, and it’s gonna warm her right to her toes.”
“You’re gonna take a nice pot, put some butter in that pot. You’re gonna slice up a lot of onion, and some of the carrots and put it in that pot, over medium to medium-low heat, and cover.”
“Let it cook until the onions are soft, uncover it and let it brown. Stir occasionally, a little salt and pepper, if you have some allspice (or) dried basil that goes in.
Dice the potato and put it in, add some canned tomato to that, add some wine and enough water to cover just about everything. You’re gonna let that simmer, and when everything’s nice and soft, you can season it more.
Does This Taste Funny? A Half-Baked Look at Food and Foodies Page 10
