Great Cuisine Purity Debate
On the way home from work last night, I was beset by a pang of hunger that didn't seem to want to wait until I arrived at the apartment.
"Feed me now," it bellowed, so I started looking for ways I could comply.
When passing by the shopping area at Preston and Northwest Highway (I cut across town these days — I'm not sure if it's any quicker, but it's sure less frustrating than sitting stationary on the freeway for an equal amount of time) and felt the inexplicable urge to suddenly turn in there. As soon as I had, I noticed a whole spattering of new restaurants that had sneaked into that area since I'd been back in there before: another incarnation of my beloved Taco Diner, a second Tom Tom Noodle House (after the one in the West Village), and a MoMo's, among other things.
To make a long story short, I decided on MoMo's (which I'd wanted to try for a while, but never seemed in the right neighborhood — I do admit, though, that its increasing chain-ness was starting to put me off a little as well). I was not disappointed.
As embarrassingly geeky as it sounds, my two favorite things about the place were 1) a strict adherence to authentically Italian dishes and 2) description of that, along with various Italian regional differences, and verbose explanations of the preparation and history of each dish.
That's why, when reading the Guidelive.com profile for the place, I was particularly disturbed.
Food comments were fine, because even some of my very favorite restaurants have an "off" dish or two ("You ordered that? No, no, no, go back there and try the. . . .") But the comments about the menu format were immature at best:
and
If restaurant's menu should take heat about its book-like style, it's the Cheesecake Factory's, complete with full pages of pictures and magazine style advertisements for local businesses and attractions. Anyone who charges $20 a plate for often mediocre food should need no supplemental advertising income, I'd think. Or the problem is systemic. Or something. . . .
Anyway, I digress.
As someone who enjoys eating out enough to often find myself dining alone, I'm often appreciative of some of the little extras that help to pass the time while waiting for my food to arrive, and so on. It's particularly nice when those extras consist of something more intellectually engaging than a yard sale's worth of dusty trinkets hung from the rafters. I really enjoyed reading this menu, and nearly asked to be able to hang onto it after the waiter took my order as well, to continue perusing through the remainder of the meal.
Secondly, to anyone who has spent much time in Dallas (or especially in Texas in general, for that matter), "Why would an owner feel that such instruction was necessary?" is a really, really dumb question.
For those of you spared this Texan dining hell, let me give you an idea.
Texan Dining Offenses:
"If they don't have a buffet, their food ain't worth tryin', or you're not gonna get your money's worth anyway." Every place here seems to be moving toward an all-you-can-eat buffet. Even some of the more serious eating establishments have conceded and created a separate buffet room up front "for the masses." It's pathetic.
Texas is a state where Chinese restaurants regularly carry french fries and pizza, Mexican restaurants have hamburgers, and there are "Italian" restaurants which sell nothing but variants of spaghetti (spaghetti without meatballs, spaghetti with meatballs, spaghetti with sausage). In general, I think the french fry and hamburger examples are okay, because I'm perfectly understanding of the need to placate picky kids or conservative family members who had to be dragged along. However, the fact that Texans think various cuisines are these things is really sad.
Lastly, it's hard enough to find diverse and interesting restaurants around here as it is. Sure, Dallas has its lion's share of them, but non-mainstream restaurants of any sort (whether they be Eritrean, like I had for lunch the other day, or simply very niche-oriented Italian) fight a constant economic battle to stay afloat, without building said buffet, or disguising their food as something else (I can't count the number of Korean "Japanese" restaurants, Thai "Lao" restaurants, or in the example before, an Eritrean "Italian" restaurant), or otherwise succumbing to the status quo.
"Why would an owner feel that such instruction was necessary?" Because otherwise the waitstaff is going to have to put up with at least a half dozen screaming Texans a night asking what the hell kind of Eye-talyun restaurant they think they are without having spaghetti and meatballs or pepperoni pizza. I don't fault them in the least.
And I had a great evening's read while I was at it.
* * *
I discovered the dumbest word ever today. I was commenting to a friend about another friend whom we haven't heard from much lately, and I expressed "hope that he hasn't recluded from society entirely."
Is recluded even a word? It is. I looked it up afterward to make sure. However, it doesn't at all mean what I thought. Observe:
inclusive – in- "in", -claudere "to close" (perfect passive participle -clausus): Closed in.
include – in- "in", -claudere "to close": To close in.
exclusive – ex- "out", -claudere "to close": Closed out.
exclude – ex- "out", -claudere "to close": To close out.
reclusive – re- "back", -claudere "to close": Closed back.
reclude – re- "NOT???", -claudere "to close": To OPEN???.
What a dumb word. Semantic inconsistencies like that drive me crazy.
"Feed me now," it bellowed, so I started looking for ways I could comply.
When passing by the shopping area at Preston and Northwest Highway (I cut across town these days — I'm not sure if it's any quicker, but it's sure less frustrating than sitting stationary on the freeway for an equal amount of time) and felt the inexplicable urge to suddenly turn in there. As soon as I had, I noticed a whole spattering of new restaurants that had sneaked into that area since I'd been back in there before: another incarnation of my beloved Taco Diner, a second Tom Tom Noodle House (after the one in the West Village), and a MoMo's, among other things.
To make a long story short, I decided on MoMo's (which I'd wanted to try for a while, but never seemed in the right neighborhood — I do admit, though, that its increasing chain-ness was starting to put me off a little as well). I was not disappointed.
As embarrassingly geeky as it sounds, my two favorite things about the place were 1) a strict adherence to authentically Italian dishes and 2) description of that, along with various Italian regional differences, and verbose explanations of the preparation and history of each dish.
That's why, when reading the Guidelive.com profile for the place, I was particularly disturbed.
Food comments were fine, because even some of my very favorite restaurants have an "off" dish or two ("You ordered that? No, no, no, go back there and try the. . . .") But the comments about the menu format were immature at best:
. . . spending 30 minutes reading the menu dissertation. Although what owner Antonio "MoMo'' Gattini has scribed in his menu is interesting, it can be a distraction. Why would an owner feel that such instruction was necessary?
and
We were left alone with our books — oops, menus — but they kept an eye on us and were on the spot when we were ready to order. Timing is a little slow between courses, but if conversation lags, you can always read, read, read.
If restaurant's menu should take heat about its book-like style, it's the Cheesecake Factory's, complete with full pages of pictures and magazine style advertisements for local businesses and attractions. Anyone who charges $20 a plate for often mediocre food should need no supplemental advertising income, I'd think. Or the problem is systemic. Or something. . . .
Anyway, I digress.
As someone who enjoys eating out enough to often find myself dining alone, I'm often appreciative of some of the little extras that help to pass the time while waiting for my food to arrive, and so on. It's particularly nice when those extras consist of something more intellectually engaging than a yard sale's worth of dusty trinkets hung from the rafters. I really enjoyed reading this menu, and nearly asked to be able to hang onto it after the waiter took my order as well, to continue perusing through the remainder of the meal.
Secondly, to anyone who has spent much time in Dallas (or especially in Texas in general, for that matter), "Why would an owner feel that such instruction was necessary?" is a really, really dumb question.
For those of you spared this Texan dining hell, let me give you an idea.
Texan Dining Offenses:
"Why would an owner feel that such instruction was necessary?" Because otherwise the waitstaff is going to have to put up with at least a half dozen screaming Texans a night asking what the hell kind of Eye-talyun restaurant they think they are without having spaghetti and meatballs or pepperoni pizza. I don't fault them in the least.
And I had a great evening's read while I was at it.
* * *
I discovered the dumbest word ever today. I was commenting to a friend about another friend whom we haven't heard from much lately, and I expressed "hope that he hasn't recluded from society entirely."
Is recluded even a word? It is. I looked it up afterward to make sure. However, it doesn't at all mean what I thought. Observe:
inclusive – in- "in", -claudere "to close" (perfect passive participle -clausus): Closed in.
include – in- "in", -claudere "to close": To close in.
exclusive – ex- "out", -claudere "to close": Closed out.
exclude – ex- "out", -claudere "to close": To close out.
reclusive – re- "back", -claudere "to close": Closed back.
reclude – re- "NOT???", -claudere "to close": To OPEN???.
What a dumb word. Semantic inconsistencies like that drive me crazy.