The menu
Not THAT movie. A completely different one. One where we may find more interesting information, beside a poetic description of a plate and a less poetic figure (aka the price)
Like every respectable writer, I am a big-time reader.
Just to give you an idea, at some point in my life, I ended up studying Screenwriting at UCLA with the stellar mentoring of the late John Sweet and the Director of the UCLA School of Theater, Film and Television's Professional Programs Brian Fagan some years ago because I prefer to digest a movie via its screenplay.
It is quite infuriating for my better half because I am a very annoying moviegoer that has read many first drafts of the movies and is eager to point out the discrepancies in the final, screen version. He limits himself to rolling his eyes and ignoring my remarks, thankfully.
But back to the menus.
I find menus a very unsatisfactory read.
Some of them, are destined for obsolescence: the menu in a ladies’ version that lacks the price.
Terrible idea, right? But just a couple of decades ago, it was a thoughtful sign of respect towards pocketless ladies. Not that nowadays we are generally given pockets either, but we make our own money (and as Shakira sings, we bill).
Menus even today are scarcely populated by words and explanations, and in some cases, they are so concise they read more like Haiku: “mint, cucumber, yoghurt”.
You read it and it could be anything at all… or the (sort of) tzatziki that was in the end served when I ordered it.
Poetic, but not very intelligible.
Ultimately useful only knowing very well the work of the kitchen and of whoever put the menu together. And I understand that some people might even feel intimidated by such menus, feeling that they are not enough to understand them, and ultimately feeling a disconnection for this perceive snobbish way of interpreting a combination of ingredients.
But my pernicious inquisition this time is focused on what is NOT there.
The menus I happen to have in my hands are lacking not only in terms of traceability of the ingredients but also in calories, macro and micronutrients.
I hereby want and demand facts, numbers, and names.
Who raised the meat I am eating? Who planted and tended to the orchard giving the delicious fruits for dessert? Who’s caring for the beautiful zucchini? I want names, I crave stories, and I desire connection.
Ultimately, I want the menu to tell me a story: from the kitchen team who pieced it together (or, more realistically, from the highly-priced gastronomy consultant they are making use of), to the ingredients.
All foods have a story to tell. So why aren’t we told that story?
Everyone is obsessed with VISUAL cues - be it Instagram pictures or, god forbid, TikTok videos. And in all this turbulence of the eyes, what gets lost is the magic of words.
I do not go out (only) to consume an amount of energy to fuel my soul. I go out and eat to delight my soul and nourish my body. I want figures, that manage to help me keep on track in my busy day-to-day.
I also want to know how much, in terms of money as well as in terms of calories, this meal will cost me. Throughout my life, I’ve become quite good at weighting and measuring with my eyes, but I’d rather let the maths to who prepared the plate, as there are hidden calories I can’t see in many cases.
Why can I have all the necessary information displayed at McDonald’s, but not at a starred restaurant?
From the fishmonger who caught the fish, to the species of the fish and their danger level: would you feel good eating an endangered species? From the provenance of the eggs and the flour: would you feel good eating caged chicken eggs and industrially made flour that is perhaps a couple of years old?
And more: what is the nutrition score of a plate on the menu? Will my 50, 75, or 112 or even more Euro main course give me how many proteins, fats, and carbs? I would absolutely love to be aware of these things.
For that or any price, actually.
Then, the choice would really be mine.
At home, as a consumer, I am extremely conscious of what I put in my pantry and fridge, and what oils and fats I use (and how much) for my dishes.
But when I go out I can choose McDonald’s where this information is explained, or enter a Michelin-starred restaurant and hope for the best.
But who guarantees me that the chef isn’t a bit on the heavy side with butter and salt? I for once know one whose dishes are inedible to me, due to the enormous quantities of
And why is he just following up on these very rich preparations, in a time and age where we could think out of the box and perhaps indulge less in salt, and maybe more in salaries for the workers in the food and hospitality industry?
Frankly, I would.
As I try to balance carefully my diet and can ballpark the weight of food quite easily, it is very stressful sometimes to have to guess ingredients and preparations, hidden fats and tricks. It would all be way easier if, next to the price, we could have a calorie breakdown with macronutrients.
The byproduct of such a menu would be infusing more nutritional knowledge in the kitchen.
Recently, I had the chance to eat at two functional kitchen eateries.
Both have menus that have been designed by experts in functional nutrition, and both have appealing menus with appetizing offers.
But despite touting the consultancy of nutritionists and functional nutrition experts, even here there is no sign whatsoever of the calories and macros for each plate.
I am all fine with having experts design plates, alongside the chefs. But the result should be visible to my eyes too, and possibly quantifiable by exact numbers: calories, macro percentages, price.
Very unpoetic, I know.
It is all very nice that a functional salad is on offer, but it matters a lot if the quantity of, imagine, avocado is one or two halves. A nice functional snack is all good and jolly until I need to ballpark the macros and calories I am about to consume.
Because I tell you how it goes in the kitchen: the functional cuisine consultant will not be there chopping your avocado and beating the egg you will consume for breakfast, nor weigh the amounts that will go on your plate. If we are lucky, there will be very strict technical sheets in the kitchen and they will be closely followed up by the kitchen staff.
But as a customer, you will be left blind, thus unable to make choices in line with the idea of using functional nutrition for our health. I really struggle with the fact that ingredients are hidden in restaurants and eateries, alongside their quantities, and that we have to blindly trust our senses and the good sense of who prepares the plate.
But who guarantees me that the olive oil used to delicately lathe my salad is a quantity my current diet can handle, if it has been prepared in a kitchen I do not have access to, and of which I do not receive any information?
I strongly believe that a proper consultancy in this area should be provided to all kinds of restaurants. Starting with starred restaurants, functional restaurants, and all the rest would follow.
There should be a consultant to ensure that the kitchen manages properly the food costs and that the pricing of the plates is proper. The chef should be accompanied by this consultant throughout, and by a food scout that can help them not only find the best and most appropriate ingredients for each plate, but that can also help in negotiating the prices.
There should be a nutritionist, of course, working with the chef in the creative phase and ensuring that every plate is balanced, healthy, and useful from a nutrition point of view.
There should be a gastronomer, helping the chef refine his ideas with an eye on history, future, past, present, tendencies, fashions and so on. The dish coming out should have a literary value and be future-proof, striving to withstand the passing of time.
Finally, there should be a food designer, able to help the chef in harnessing his ideas and focusing them on the most creative and visually oriented aspects of a plate.
Sound complicated, right?
I never said gastronomy was easier.
On the contrary, I think gastronomy is a very serious issue: we, the gastronomers on the receiving end of the plate will evaluate it with all those thoughts in mind. And with gastronomers, I don’t mean food enthusiasts with little to nothing relevant to say.
Leaving a chef alone in this ordeal of needs is the recipe for burnout.
Gastronomers, nutritionists, food designers and food-cost managers have to lead a discussion that for the moment is being driven by gluttony-driven hedonists, greedy journalists chasing news, and clueless foodies in search of “experience”.
There is a need to bring back refined professionalism in the sector. And at the same time, stop giving screen time or relevance to “communication” (un)professionals, “foodies” and other humans that do not make any difference (in the long run).
We need, in short, to cut out the background noise.
"Why can I have all the necessary information displayed at McDonald’s, but not at a starred restaurant?" Yes. That. Exactly.
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Especially, for me, the poetry of the story behind my dish. The magic of the conception of the concept, the execution. All scream out for food writers to bring their own brilliance to the meal. Can you imagine what Jeffrey Steingarten would do? I would go just to read the menu.