Consider for a moment a menu. Each time we eat out, we are confronted with a menu> It masquerades as a simple declarative - here is the food we offer and the prices. But really it is a puzzle, presenting a series of riddles to answer and the hope of a delightful meal as a reward. Some may say there is only one question of any import and it is obvious - what do I want to eat. But for me, and I suspect for many here, the real question is - what is the best thing on this menu. It is a rare place where each item will be great, and while hunger and gluttonous lust for a particular dish or set of flavors can provide enjoyment despite mediocre ingredients and indifferent preparation, I like to think that I, and my fellow LTH'ers, are in search of something more than satiation of desire. Each meal cannot be a transformative experience, but I hope for a delightful one, and not just because I am satisfying the desire I brought to the table.
So the menu is a puzzle, and hidden within its often silly prose is a secret - the best meal to be had. How to tease out the answer? For me, it is a process that starts with a cold appraisal of the location, and the other diners if there are any to be seen. What would these people know and like? Admittedly I am working with stereotypes and generalizations at this point, but an understanding of the context of a restaurant's market is helpful.
At the same time, I try to figure out the place - how slick is it, how clean and fancy, who is in the kitchen, what is on the menu, what is the price point? Lots of educated guesses to help me find that sweet spot.
Next, I match that against the menu. Often I am trying to push the envelope and find the most exotic (to me anyway) dish that would be popular and done well in the place. At a recent meal just off the highway near Youngstown I found myself on a frigid Friday evening in a half full "Family Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria." Most, but not all, tables had pizza. It looked uninteresting to me. The menu offered an interesting selection of dishes and appetizers, too, but would these be like the often awful pasta and salad offered at many pizzerias, just so people that did not want pizza would have options? The price point was low, and there was the faint whiff of cheap food sold in volume, so I had doubts about the place.
In some cases I will just ask the waitperson what is popular (probably the best question), what is their favorite, or some variation on that. But then I am captive to that person's taste or, much worse, to their cold, commercial assessment of what I should be sold. And if I get the common reply, "what do you like?" I know it is a waste.
A better approach seems to be to pick one or more items off the menu and simply ask if they sell a lot of each. If the answer is no, move on.
As it happened on that cold night in Ohio, I did okay. There was roasted cod in a tomato and olive sauce with angel hair pasta (a bad sign?) in the House Specialties section of the menu that seemed almost out of place (for $10.95 with pizza bread and soup!), so I asked about it and was assured it was one of their most popular dishes. And it was definitely good, along with a bowl of wedding soup that can best be described as heavy handed, in a good way.
I do not keep track, but my feeling is that I am successful more often that not. Still, I miss quite a bit. Sometime, I am a victim of my own gluttony. My mind tells me that the rib eye will be gray, loaded with msg and a violation of my palate, but I am hungry, a rib eye (if not this rib eye) sounds good, and maybe my assessment is wrong, so I go ahead to my ultimate dismay, discovering that a quarter pounder would have been a better choice in every respect. Other times, the situation may be hopeless. By stepping into that place, I entered into a world without delight, or maybe one where my definition of delightful is not shared by anyone else.
How do you find the diamonds?
The other related question I often muse about, is when does a good meal make a restaurant a good restaurant? It is easy when a place only makes one thing and does it very well, or when everything on the menu is excellent, but that is fairly unusual (though not among LTH favorites of course).
All restaurants, like all people, have their strong points and their not so strong ones. How do you find the delight and avoid the disappointment, and when does that delight become enough to consider the place delightful and not just the dish?
Or maybe I am the only one who ponders these things. Naw, I am sure that is not the case here.
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Feeling (south) loopy