The Weight of Taste

This weekend, for dinner at an NYC hotel, I ordered the "chicken cooked under a brick". I didn’t really order it because I thought it would be the best item on the menu. I ordered it because it was a piece of chicken cooked under a brick. I had never seen an instance where the culinary and masonry worlds combined for succulent poultry. It was the novelty that compelled me to try it, but I left the restaurant knowing that if you put a brick on a chicken and cook it, it tastes pretty good. I didn't know that before this weekend.

My palate is not usually a discerning one; when I am hungry, I want to eat as soon as possible--and I’m not picky as to what I end up eating. The truth is that I have a short food fuse, and my id walks all over my better epicurean judgment when it gets to be dinnertime. If a well-balanced, delicious meal will take an hour to prepare, and the can of veggie chili is right there, my dinner decision is made quickly if not practically. Immediacy takes precedence over perfection.

For instance, I have an unnatural love for macaroni and cheese-- most vehemently for the boxed kind on the grocer's shelf. It is simple, and it is delicious. If given a bottomless bowl of mac and cheese, I can’t be entirely sure I wouldn't eat myself comatose, blind or confused. I have enjoyed this staple countless times, and each time I have it is like the first. My appreciation for powdered cheeses might eclipse my appreciation of fine art or Evangeline Lilly.*

But a few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to eat at Nobu and was reminded what separates really good food from everything else. Each bite was an epiphany, with flavors hopping from taste bud to taste bud like a Tasmanian Devil. Miso black cod, seared jalapeno tuna, sushi of all colors and kinds -- with every bite I stifled a guttural mmmmmm. When I wasn't savoring the food, I sipped Japanese whiskey-- which was smooth as sour-mash silk. There's a reason that place is famous.

I will say that I think it's a blessing to be easily pleased. I am a culinary dullard, unencumbered with weighty requirements and the high price tag that can sometimes go along with that. And even though I've tasted the peak, I'm pretty happy dining down in the valley. I think I might invest in a brick to keep things interesting, though.


* Ev, if you are reading this -- I didn't mean that. You are better than any cheese... you are the brick on top of my cooking heart, and I don't know why you won't at LEAST be my myspace friend.