Once upon a time we attended an awards banquet, held at a posh seaside resort. Having been to many catered banquets in my time, I had girded my loins for the dreaded rubber chicken dinner. A small part of me was hopeful, since we were in one of America's greatest food cities. Alas, 'twas not to be, cherie.
I am not a foodie exactly, other than I sure do like to eat. So I am not sure but I think they were going for Nouvelle Cuisine? You know, the fancy French stuff that is long on presentation and short on, well, food? At our table, everyone's plate for the salad course was identical, down to the number of carrot shavings (not pieces, not slices) and cherry tomato halves. I envisioned a crisply uniformed Food Nazi
standing at the kitchen entrance, complete with one of those drop-down barriers they use at toll booths and railroad crossings. No plate shall pass unless it contained the precisely calculated and arranged accoutrements of saladry (and yes, I just made that word up - 'saladry', not 'accoutrements'). Perhaps neatly labeled Tupperware containers sat lined up nearby, ready to receive any excess items the Food Nazi was fully authorized to pluck off the plate with his plastic-gloved fingers (which would of course be recycled onto any plates found wanting).
Our table was a combination of strangers and work acquaintances, not exactly the Fellowship of the Ring. So we kept our salad snarks to ourselves, cleaned our plates in record time, and held out hope for the next course. It's only a salad, after all. Our expectations were low. Next up: the entree.
The facility had graciously provided each attendee with a menu so that we knew what to look forward to with each course. The entree was promised as some kind of pork, with sweet potatoes, asparagus, and portabello mushrooms. Heck yeah! That's what I'm talking about! I don't like salad, anyway.
I will say the caterers must have felt some guilt about the stingy salad course because the pork item they served next was plenty big. I think it was a chop or a loin; not being particularly interested in animal flesh, I am not sure. It had a bone sticking out of it, if that is any help. I think I was the only one at my table who was satisfied with the quality. I like my animal flesh cooked in such a way that I am able to forget, however briefly, that I am indeed eating animal flesh. No juices running, no pink middle, and forget about it mooing or oinking. The thing on my plate was suitably disguised, putting me more in mind of the time I tried to make cornbread with water because I was out of milk: crumbly, chalky, set up quickly - excellent for concrete patch. Imagine my surprise to find my carnivorous table mates somewhat less satisfied. Go figure.
As for the promised side veg, yes there were potatoes-a-plenty. I think they used one of the settings on their blender that I am afraid to use at home - frappe, maybe? and used them a creamy but very un-potatolike underlayment to the pork. I did spot two pinkie knuckle-sized pieces of asparagus on my plate, but there was very little 'spear' to them - they looked more like dark green cigarette butts.
After the plates were cleared, I remembered we had been promised portabello mushrooms with that course. I am no mushroom expert, but those Frisbee-size babies are hard to overlook. When I asked the lady across from me if she had mushrooms served with her plate, she said 'yes, those three little black cubes were the mushrooms'. I did in fact recall three black squarish items on my plate, but I thought it was grated black pepper.
Well, at least we had the dessert to look forward to. The menu promised us cheesecake. Yay! It had been ages since I had any real cheesecake. I had a fond flashback of a piece of plain New York style cheesecake I had been served at a chain restaurant when we lived in Minnesota. It was beastly huge, like one of those ridiculously large portions where you get a free t-shirt if you finish it. Even if there had been a shirt offered, I would not have received one. It was one of the few times in my life I was unable to finish a dessert by myself. Let's just say it exceeded expectations. And also add that I love cheesecake (except blueberry cheesecake due to an unpleasant gastronomic memory from a long-ago summer vacation road trip).
So here comes our dessert course, and this is what they bring us. This is not a picture of my actual plate, but close enough that you get the idea. Loose graham cracker crumbs - check. Squirt of whitish substance excreted over top of crumbs - check. Our plates were missing whatever that orangey-yellow thing is in this picture, and we had exactly four frozen blueberries (blueberries! why did it have to be blueberries??!!) lined up to one side of the white stuff, but other than that, same deal. The whitish substance turned out to be the 'cheesecake'. At about this time my brain kicks into gear and dredges up the word 'deconstructed' from the menu. Ah. I was hoping that meant it was some fancy new flavor like Key Lime or pomegranate. But no, they meant it literally.
Of course we all cleaned our deconstructed plates. Didn't take long.
After chatting with some friends afterward and doing a little Googling, I guess this deconstructed food fad is a thing. Does this mean I am way ahead of the curve on this one every time I have a 'deconstructed' peanut butter sandwich by standing over the sink and eating the peanut butter straight out of the jar? I understand restaurants wanting to appear on the leading edge and offering the peeps what they want, no matter how weird, on the off chance that it will catch on (sushi, anyone?). But this deconstructed thing is a food manager's dream. You mean I can use half the ingredients, put out half the effort, and people will think they're getting something fancy? Love it!
What's next, a deconstructed hamburger - a quarter pound of ground beef served still in the plastic wrap with a package of hamburger buns? How about some deconstructed spaghetti: a bale of hay and a couple tomatoes?
I am definitely not a food expert. But I am an expert on cheap, so let me give all of you food managers out there a heads-up: by serving me anything 'deconstructed', you look cheap. And not in a 'hey, what a value!', Good Way cheap. More of a 'jeez what a waste of money', Bad Way cheap. People will pay to have their cheesecake constructed properly. If you don't believe me, just compare the two pictures of cheesecake I have provided. Which one would YOU rather eat?
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