My friend Alan and I got a chance to catch up this morning, during which we discussed the interesting post from Chowhound that his wife Erin sent him. Alan suspects the forward was her attempt to piss him off, but it ended up inflaming me more.
In short, the thread was regarding a self proclaimed ‘foodie’ couple’s excursion to a famous New Orleans restaurant, where they proceeded to order an item off of the menu which contained a key ingredient that the husband disliked, and thusly asked the Chef to change it. The Chef, in turn, said he would not alter his plate, and recommended another choice. The couple pressed for a change, and when the Chef refused to acquiescent they were offended and felt that the Chef was out of line. Several of the posts that followed this one chimed in with agreement.
Stop right there. There are so many things wrong with this couple’s argument, I hardly know where to begin. First of all, what is the whole point to going to a fine restaurant? I don’t know about you, but for me and most of the people I know, it’s the experience. I am choosing to put my taste buds in the hands of the Chef. I want to experience his point of view, what his vision is, and a taste of what he thinks marrys well together. Most of the time, it’s pretty genius. You go in with an open mind and stomach, you exit thrilled, tantalized and satiated. The issue I see with this person’s story is that they don’t seem to have that same open minded experience. They think they are some kind of experts to tell a Chef what to serve with what? And you accuse him of leaving you with a bad taste? Please, the only kind of taste these fucks have are in their mouth, and like their asshole, is just as shitty. Not to mention, you deliberately ordered an item with a food you didn’t like (and the fact the guy doesn’t like Stilton? What the fuck?), and expected a substitution. Were you deliberately picking a fight with the chef? I bet you take candy from children too and cough as you walk by a smoker out of doors.
Unless you have a severe allergy to a food item, substitution of an item in a dish is not acceptable. This goes back to the flavor profile the Chef has set out to create to maximize his guest’s experience at the restaurant. The Chef in this story sent the waiter back out and clearly stated that he would not make a substitution in the dish, and suggested a different one. It’s a salad, folks, pick another one! But yet the man demanded the original dish with the alteration. At this point, had I been the Chef, I would have emerged from the kitchen, politely stated to the couple change in that dish was not an option, and either select another dish or have a lovely evening and depart.
It galls me that these people (and evidently, other Chowhound posters) feel that they are the patrons, and in effect have every right to tell the Chef what and when. Um, no, you do not. At fine restaurants and the like, what the chef has created is what the chef is making. Going back to what I said, it’s about letting your control issues go and giving yourself up to the experience. If you don’t like a food, don’t eat it. Don’t even order it. But to ask it to be special made, and then get up in arms about it? If you want it your way, then go to fucking Burger King. Better yet, go home and make it yourself. How would you feel to have someone come into your place of business and dictate, without knowledge and experience of what you do, how it’s done or why it’s done that way, how to do YOUR job? Let’s up it here for a moment: you have a dinner party, and you’re serving chicken. I am not allergic to chicken, but I sit there and say, “I knew you were having a dinner party and this was the menu, but now that we are all sitting, I want shrimp instead. And now.” You’d tell me to piss off. You’d probably tell me to leave and rightly so. Well, you are doing the same thing in THE CHEFS HOUSE. You are all acting like little bitches, and you need to shut up, eat up, and quit your fucking complaining.
So, on behalf of the Chef(s) being targeted in this instance and everywhere, I say to all you picky eater ‘foodie’ pretentious folk, PISS OFF. And don’t come back, the kitchen is closed.
Rants of The Misanthrope and other musings 