This is the eleventh installment of "Eat This List" - a regularly recurring list of things chefs, farmers, writers and other food experts think you ought to know about. Today's contributor is John Winterman, maitre d' at Daniel restaurant in New York City.
I can be as casual as the next guy. I'm from Indiana, so I don't have much choice. The only known Hoosier engaged in high snobbery was Bill Blass, otherwise no one ever got beyond “local boy done good” status – even James Dean.
I have ripped this joint and raised some hell. I've been to enduros and hydroplane races and at least one tractor pull. I drank my first PBR at age five and I still have a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.
But I also know the tragedy that is a grown-up wearing shorts in public. I know the difference between the ballpark and the opera house, between a dive bar and The French Laundry.
As the maitre d' at Daniel I get to work in one of the finest fine dining establishments in the world. The restaurant exudes charm and flair, a hybrid of modern French-American style be it on the plate or in the service, a place that requires jackets and frowns on jeans.
That being said, it is a balancing act. We defend a standard of dining in a time where a chef can earn three Michelin stars while eschewing silver, crystal and a jacket policy. Upholding a standard is ever more critical as you try to justify separating people from their money on a nightly basis.
Herein, a dollop of wisdom on why fine dining still matters.
You say broo-sheh-tah. I say broo-ske-tah. Should we just call the whole meal off?
Dining out gives people a night off from cooking and clean-up duty, but it can also serve up a buffet of pronunciation pitfalls.
The Wall Street Journal recently revealed that, after years of testing, Olive Garden’s gnocchi sales finally took off after the dish was further described on the menu as “traditional Italian dumplings.”
In the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, a study titled “The name-pronunciation effect: Why people like Mr. Smith more than Mr. Colquhoun” further proved people are more likely to favor easy-to-pronounce names than difficult-to-pronounce ones. In the case of Olive Garden, traditional Italian dumplings (Mr. Smith) won the popularity contest against gnocchi (Mr. Colquhoun), and added an extra comfort level for diners.
5@5 is a daily, food-related list from chefs, writers, political pundits, musicians, actors, and all manner of opinionated people from around the globe.
Yesterday, we learned if the restaurant is already out of the snapper special during the first seating and the waiter wants to know your family tree, chances are Sean Elder, editor in chief of the digital food magazine Real Eats, isn't going to be returning to said eating establishment anytime soon.
More than 400 of you weighed in to agree, disagree and agree to disagree on Elder's restaurant red flags - and now he's back, counterpoint style, to identify the clues that your meal ahead is in capable hands.
Five Signs You Are In A Good Restaurant: Sean Elder
Linda Petty is an editor at CNN Living. She likes boxed mixes, tarted-up vegetables, letting produce rot in her crisper, eating breakfast at her desk, raiding your pantry, ice cream cones and other frozen delights.
Some people love to cook. I do not happen to be among their number. I cook so that I won’t starve, consume only processed foods or eat from take out menus too much.
I don’t cook for fun. However, many of my friends and family do cook for fun. And I am among their biggest fans. I love to get invited to a great home cooked meal.
My friend Carol makes a meatloaf that has made grown men weep with gratitude when they get to take the leftovers home– if there are any. Becky makes a simple salad of romaine, fresh veggies and homemade dressing that is almost a meal of its own. Tom’s gatherings always include pork loin and beer-can chicken. He seems to always invite women to bring all the labor intensive side dishes and desserts.
The intern with the shaved head was on her phone in the bathroom again. She seemed to regard the third floor ladies room at our office as her personal rec room which was...fine, if somewhat unnervingly intimate on occasion. I realized, though, that I'd severely, thoroughly, grossly underestimated her level of one-ness with these particular environment on the day several years ago when I saw her emerge from a stall, eating cereal. From a bowl. With milk.
I get it - we're all busy people, caught up in this topsy-turvy, whiz-bang work world where news breaks in 140 character bites and we can gulp down songs, books, TV shows and films the second they burble to mind. It's a miracle that any of us can find a spare five minutes to brush our teeth, apply footwear and haul our info-riddled carcasses to our desks, but still, one should always find time to eat somewhere other than a public toilet. That's my wide, solid stance and I'm sticking to it.