Photo credit: M. Ciavardini
Lately, I feel like I need a course in restaurant marketing just to help me understand what I order when I order it. My 92-year-old grandmother always chuckles when I mention eating polenta at a restaurant; it’s what she called mush during the Great Depression. What she was embarrassed to be having for dinner I am deliberately ordering not quite a century later.
I suspect marketing gimmicks on many fronts. Why do I need to know my oats were steel-cut? What would I care if they were cut with some other metal? Likewise, why am I drawn to twice-pressed coffee? Can I really taste the difference between a single press and a double?
Today, I marvel at the entries on any given menu. If I’m not correcting the spelling, I’m contemplating the nomenclature. Would I order baby food in the company of adults? No, but I’m certainly up for sweet potato puree. I probably wouldn’t go for rice and peas, but count me in for risotto.
Photo credit: M. Ciavardini
Most recently, I am intrigued by a dessert at the revamped Iron Horse in Pleasantville, N.Y. (Westchester County). The milk tofu, which resembles a block of actual tofu, is made from rice and cow’s milk, our server tells us. I’m game. It’s good. Would I have ordered ordinary rice pudding? Probably not.
—Lori Tripoli
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