Building a better mouse trap
If I had to pick one word to describe myself it would be "purist". Others may have varying opinions on the subject, and truth be told, I have been called alot of things in my time. I simply believe that there is a basic order to the world and that most things would be best left alone.
This is particularly true for me on the subject of food and wine. The fact of the matter is that people have been eating food as long as there hve been people and food. I can't certify this, but I'd be willing to bet that about ten minutes after something was found to be edible, someone else figured out how to make it taste good. In an effort to make the dish more easily recognizable for the masses, someone would give it a name. And so it has gone for at least 2000 years (depending on whose calender you're going by). Now those days are gone.
In my previous life, I was a bartender. To hear my patrons talk about it, I was the best bartender ever. While it certainly is flattering, I disagree. I was a bartender. This get's right to the crux of the issue. I tended a bar. I did not make drinks. A subtle distinction to many but a major one for me. And if you were to order a "Martini" from me or any of my bartenders, the response would have been "Tanqueray or Bombay Sapphire". Now some of you might already be thinking "Gee, neither one of those sounds like Belvedere or Kettle One". You're right. That's because the former are both gins and the latter are both vodkas. And a Martini is one single, solitary thing: A big glass of gin. There is no apple schnapps, Godiva chocolate, or Bailey's -- just gin. By the way, the glass that a Martini is served in is called a cocktail glass. This is very simple: A Martini is a cocktail in a cocktail glass but not everything served in a cocktail glass is a Martini. You see things have names and those names mean something. They may not be the words you know or like to use but a Manhattan is a Manhattan and a green olive should not be stuffed with anything other than a pimento. There are few things I can imagine more disgusting and rude than cheese in my gin. Oh yeah, I don't give a damn how they do it in New York.
The same holds true for food. I have almost the same argument every Saturday night when I go to meet my financial advisor for a drink after work. One of my best friends is a cook at the restaurant and a damned good one at that. After the obligatory greetings we start drinking proper. Cookie will then start talking about some dish somewhere and the preparation of it and next thng you know we have a tapenade of whatever or a (enter your favorite exotic fruit) chutney. This is when I order another beer and try to right his evil ways. This fails without exception. Again, words mean things. A tapenade is made with Kalamata olives, garlic, capers, olive oil, and anchovies. Short of that you don't have tapenade. I'm not sure what you want to call it, but find another name. Cookie's argument is that his life would be miserable if he weren't afforded some room for interpretation. I would agree and this is when he goes deaf. I have no problem with creativity in the food, just be equally creative with the nomenclature. If I order a slice of cheesecake, cookie better not have been "inspired" and gotten down with the Velveeta.
This is echoed in this article. Without standards, what is the point of anything? The argument could be made that Tesco and Kroger aren't fooling anybody but it is a slippery slope that one approaches. The French realized (along with most of the rest of Europe) that in fact standards are absolutely necessary and put practices in place to ensure them. I'll let you in a little secret. Olive Garden is not an Italian restaurant and the Chinese don't eat General Tso's chicken.
This quote nails it:
Since when was the British palate to be trusted on anything besides beer? This is the classic "inmates running the asylum" mentality that makes my head explode. Why is this permitted? The customer is always right until he's wrong and then he's wrong forever. Or at least 'till I meet him.
The problem is that the O.G has those tasty garlic rolls that distract John Q. Citizen from recognizing the endless train of poo that is the rest of the menu. And he washes it all down the "King of Beers". Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with cheap-ass American beer and I do my part in depleting the supply. Just call it what it is and leave it at that.
At the end of the day, it is a matter of respect. Respect for the original, the creator, the place it came from, and to me, respect for the one footing the bill.
Of course, this concept of respect holds true for many things like the left hand lane, the schoolbus that you call your car, walking into a restaurant without drying your hair so the entire joint smells like your crappy designer shampoo, and telling me how to make your drink.
This is particularly true for me on the subject of food and wine. The fact of the matter is that people have been eating food as long as there hve been people and food. I can't certify this, but I'd be willing to bet that about ten minutes after something was found to be edible, someone else figured out how to make it taste good. In an effort to make the dish more easily recognizable for the masses, someone would give it a name. And so it has gone for at least 2000 years (depending on whose calender you're going by). Now those days are gone.
In my previous life, I was a bartender. To hear my patrons talk about it, I was the best bartender ever. While it certainly is flattering, I disagree. I was a bartender. This get's right to the crux of the issue. I tended a bar. I did not make drinks. A subtle distinction to many but a major one for me. And if you were to order a "Martini" from me or any of my bartenders, the response would have been "Tanqueray or Bombay Sapphire". Now some of you might already be thinking "Gee, neither one of those sounds like Belvedere or Kettle One". You're right. That's because the former are both gins and the latter are both vodkas. And a Martini is one single, solitary thing: A big glass of gin. There is no apple schnapps, Godiva chocolate, or Bailey's -- just gin. By the way, the glass that a Martini is served in is called a cocktail glass. This is very simple: A Martini is a cocktail in a cocktail glass but not everything served in a cocktail glass is a Martini. You see things have names and those names mean something. They may not be the words you know or like to use but a Manhattan is a Manhattan and a green olive should not be stuffed with anything other than a pimento. There are few things I can imagine more disgusting and rude than cheese in my gin. Oh yeah, I don't give a damn how they do it in New York.
The same holds true for food. I have almost the same argument every Saturday night when I go to meet my financial advisor for a drink after work. One of my best friends is a cook at the restaurant and a damned good one at that. After the obligatory greetings we start drinking proper. Cookie will then start talking about some dish somewhere and the preparation of it and next thng you know we have a tapenade of whatever or a (enter your favorite exotic fruit) chutney. This is when I order another beer and try to right his evil ways. This fails without exception. Again, words mean things. A tapenade is made with Kalamata olives, garlic, capers, olive oil, and anchovies. Short of that you don't have tapenade. I'm not sure what you want to call it, but find another name. Cookie's argument is that his life would be miserable if he weren't afforded some room for interpretation. I would agree and this is when he goes deaf. I have no problem with creativity in the food, just be equally creative with the nomenclature. If I order a slice of cheesecake, cookie better not have been "inspired" and gotten down with the Velveeta.
This is echoed in this article. Without standards, what is the point of anything? The argument could be made that Tesco and Kroger aren't fooling anybody but it is a slippery slope that one approaches. The French realized (along with most of the rest of Europe) that in fact standards are absolutely necessary and put practices in place to ensure them. I'll let you in a little secret. Olive Garden is not an Italian restaurant and the Chinese don't eat General Tso's chicken.
This quote nails it:
For its part, Sainsburys says it does its best but has to cater for the British palate, which prefers sloppier sauces than the authentic recipes demand, for example.
Since when was the British palate to be trusted on anything besides beer? This is the classic "inmates running the asylum" mentality that makes my head explode. Why is this permitted? The customer is always right until he's wrong and then he's wrong forever. Or at least 'till I meet him.
The problem is that the O.G has those tasty garlic rolls that distract John Q. Citizen from recognizing the endless train of poo that is the rest of the menu. And he washes it all down the "King of Beers". Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with cheap-ass American beer and I do my part in depleting the supply. Just call it what it is and leave it at that.
At the end of the day, it is a matter of respect. Respect for the original, the creator, the place it came from, and to me, respect for the one footing the bill.
Of course, this concept of respect holds true for many things like the left hand lane, the schoolbus that you call your car, walking into a restaurant without drying your hair so the entire joint smells like your crappy designer shampoo, and telling me how to make your drink.
1 Comments:
Christian,
What do I call a Dr. Check mixed with Bicardi 151?
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