For the past week, I have been on a sort of gastronomic trip across several countries, thanks to the fact that my husband is an inveterate foodie — and a food writer, so he has good reason to traipse around the world trying out tasting menus.
Me, not so much. I love a good meal just as much as the next person, but I tend to get bored and restless half-way through a meal that extends to 20 courses. And my tolerance for exotic ingredients seems to have decreased by leaps and bounds in recent times.
But having eaten in some of the best restaurants in the world (if you go by lists such as Michelin and 50 Best) over the past couple of years, I thought it might be worthwhile to pen down my thoughts in my capacity as a food civilian in a business that is increasingly inhabited by food ‘professionals’.
So here they are, for what they are worth:
* Why has food in restaurants like these turned into some extreme sport? It is not enough to serve reindeer meat; you have to gnaw on its heart as well. Intestines and testicles are presented as some sort of delicacy. And some restaurants will serve the actual skull of an animal for you to scoop the brain out of. The idea seems to be to test your squeamishness as much as your taste buds. And god forbid, you should fail the test. You will be seen as a wuss who can’t be a ‘real foodie’. It reminds me of the days when people would compete with one another to eat the hottest chilli as a test of virility. Thank god those days are over but they have been replaced by an even gorier form of food as extreme sport.
* I don’t know if I have become more impatient as I age or whether servers have become chattier over the years. But whatever the cause, I find myself exhausted by the inexhaustible stream that emanates from them when they serve any dish. We are told about the provenance of every single ingredient; the cooking method is explained in tedious detail; and then we are given detailed instructions on how the dish is supposed to be eaten. By then the dish has probably gone cold but hey, at least you can revel in how hot on details the staff is. This process is repeated throughout the meal so that by the end of the evening you feel you have been on a date with the server rather than your actual date. That may be a delightful experience for some but, honestly, it’s not for me.
{{/usCountry}}* I don’t know if I have become more impatient as I age or whether servers have become chattier over the years. But whatever the cause, I find myself exhausted by the inexhaustible stream that emanates from them when they serve any dish. We are told about the provenance of every single ingredient; the cooking method is explained in tedious detail; and then we are given detailed instructions on how the dish is supposed to be eaten. By then the dish has probably gone cold but hey, at least you can revel in how hot on details the staff is. This process is repeated throughout the meal so that by the end of the evening you feel you have been on a date with the server rather than your actual date. That may be a delightful experience for some but, honestly, it’s not for me.
{{/usCountry}}* And don’t even get me started on the ‘food influencers’ who colonise these restaurants of the moment. There they are with their ring lights and advanced DSLR cameras, clambering on top of their chairs to get the perfect shots for their ‘gram’. Honestly, just watching their gymnastics is enough to put one off the food entirely.
I think you can tell where this is leading. Yes, you guessed right. The next time my husband books one of these restaurants, I am going to be heading for the nearest burger joint. And I am sure I will have the better and more fun meal!