Have you ever noticed how menu items are described
in those fancy restaurants found all over the city? These restaurant owners
must be out of their minds. Who do they think we are, the royal family
of Sweden? I mean, how are normal people like us (who are used to calling
meat from a cow simply a "steak") supposed to understand the following
phrase that all these places use: "a prime cut, half-aged in a wooden barrel,
mustique-roasted and braised with sauce of mandarin and served on a bed
of samolanoa fungus." Why can't they just use the word steak? Or is that
too boring a word for such an expensive place?
It always amuses me to listen to a waiter at one of these places
describe to a confused customer exactly what a particular menu item is.
"What exactly is the canard de duck-Severances?" a confused man asks the
waiter after squinting at the menu for about 20 minutes, trying to read
the twenty-letter words printed on it. "You see, sir," the waiter replies
in his best haughty British/ French accent (depending on the restaurant),
" The canard is an aqua-bird, marinated in the best vin de Normandy for
exactly 3.9 hours. Then it is slowly roasted over a fire made by burning
a combination of oak and maple wood together for seven hours. We then add
a warm citrus concoction and bake for two minutes. We never overdo it.
The acidic citrus sauce reacts with the canard to give it a tender texture."
And he pauses while the poor guy gapes at him. Then the guy's wife (who
almost always invariably understands the mystical menu better than he)
says, "He's talking about roast duck,dDear."
"No," says the man as soon as he understands what he's dealing
with, "I don't wanna eat duck, for crying out loud. Don't you have something
more... simple?" "Well," the waiter says with slight contempt, "I
myself recommend the fungus a la Roma. It is quite delightful, especially
when served with our very own pastaliolli avec sauce cheeso-tomateherba."
"I see," the now very confused man says, thoughtfully scratching
his chin. "Can you by any chance tell me exactly what that means?"
The waiter gives him a look. "My dear sir," he says, as if he is speaking
to a three-year old child, " Our pastaliolli is obtained fresh from the
hills of Tuscany and boiled in water salted with Dead Sea salt for exactly
eight minutes. Then it is served under a fruity herb sauce with reggiano
parmesan (from dairy cows not older than two years and three months) skillfully
melted into it." The man looks at him, aghast, then finally asks "Are you
talking about spaghetti and tomato sauce with cheese?"
The waiter sniffs with disdain. "We prefer our description, sir.
The other one sounds so ... mundane." Meanwhile, the guy is becoming really
annoyed, and his wife is beginning to get hungry.
"So?" the waiter asks. "What will it be?" The wife likes the
sound of the pasta, but the man has a better idea. "I will take," he says
in his best pompous accent, "the prime cut, half-aged in a wooden barrel,
mustique-roasted and braised with sauce of mandarin. Oh, and don't forget
the carbonated fermentation of barley." The waiter beams with delight at
the man's mastery of the restaurant jargon. He nods and disappears with
a flourish. But the wife looks at her husband, "What the heck did
you just order?" she hisses. With a grin, he states, "A steak and
a beer."
|
