Robyn, I completely and utterly disagree. In fact, I could not disagree more if you paid me--and I promise this is not about polarizing myself to you--I am trying to figure your comment out. Meanwhile, under no circumstances could I disagree more, all things being equal, and we're spending Jeff's money here for a singular experience. (Jeff, you don't mind, right?) I have not had Jeff's good fortune to have innumerable chef's tastings, but at those times a chef of such talent as David Kinch, Michael Anthony, Dan Barber, or Hemant Mathur have sent something to my table to taste, I opened my mouth to the experience. There are many things I quote "don't like," among them okra and olives and liver and lamb. (Feel free to comment on what I already know is a genetic deficiency, the professed dislike of olives. I apologize. Abjectly. Sincerely.) Hemant's okra is one of the first things I would order in his new restaurant (when he gets a new restaurant, and I hope I hear news on that soon). He made okra as I'd never had it before. Gone, the bane of phlegm. This okra was crisp and light and aromatic and a sensory experience that erased "okra" from the definition accumulated in my brain. David Kinch sent olives to my table, not having heard me decline the choice of olive bread because I cannot stand the rubbery feel of them in my mouth. Like saline tires. Only I was wrong. WRONG. I'd never had those olives. I was wrong. I don't dislike olives, I dislike BAD olives. The olives I love are apparently Kalamatas. Ordering what's safe and comfortable because you "know you like it"? What was it Alton Brown said? "Oh, and I'd never, ever put a show in front of a focus group....ever." A focus group is a group of people who prefer to watch things familiar to them. You know, because they don't have to think. They would probably prefer not to. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe it's enough just to enjoy life, without ever having to wonder if I'm missing something by not eating olives. I don't have an answer to that, not even to myself. I often say, of good food, "it makes your mouth think." What I truly treasure about Jeff's posts is that he lets his mouth think. He tries new things, openly and with abandon. He's not harsh: he's open-minded (hmmmm, maybe openness is the key here), and he's very good at describing why tastes do or don't work. He's analyzing the architecture. I might go so far as to posit a theory: open heart, open mind, open mouth. "Open mouth" as in "open your mouth and close your eyes, and I will give you a nice surprise." And Jeff's trusting enough to do that, because he's willing to trust these chefs who send out their art. Their art isn't safe. It's not like, "Oh, gee, can I cook another piece of salmon? I hope I don't blow it!" It's more like an intimate portrait: the whole thing is elaborate and a risk, and incredibly detailed. Far more detailed than I have either the education or imagination to comprehend. It's more like a gallery than a meal. Walk through this room. Taste. Now, follow into here. Taste. Wow. And for that reason, if a chef has a good buzz—not from the trendies in the sheeplike focus groups, whose collective patellas are poised for reaction from the rubber hammer of corporations—but from other chefs and cooks and people who aren't afraid to try something new, even if it's weird...well, that's art. It works or it doesn't work. I don't see Jeff, or the Iron Chef judges, deducting points because they dared to eat a dish because "I Don't Like It." Jeff is open. And he's even more open to go to the lengths he does to write all this stuff up. Elsethread, SKinCA (Stephanie from the Sur La Table, where I took David Kinch's cooking class) said she didn't want to take notes while she ate, which wouldn't be pleasant for her. I understand that. I also think that Jeff and I perhaps share a common value: I feel I am honoring the food and the chef and the journey more if I take the time to chronicle it. (For all I know, we shared a past life in a monastery, illuminating texts.) He's got the tools and the means to choose things he considers worthy of his time. He went to the Varsity, so he's clearly not someone who can't get his hands dirty on food. The bottom line is, "How do you know you don't like it until you try it?" I ask that to five-year-olds, and not one of them has been able to stop me from giving them a taste. I asked that question to my ex's little boy, who said, "I don't like 'skin chicken,' Tana." I told him I'd never fed him anything he didn't like, and that I knew a different way to make it. It tastes good to me, so try it. He did. And his most requested thing to cook with me when he comes over? He can't decide between "skin chicken" (roasted chicken with herb crust) or chicken marinated in lemons and olive oil. On the other hand, Robyn, I am trying to get inside your brain and wonder.... If I were on a really limited budget, I'd probably play it safe and order à la carte. On the other hand, I wouldn't go to a place where the chef is brave and gifted enough to offer a chef's tasting if I were that concerned with money. I did have to play it kind of tight recently at Manresa. I don't have the luxury, frankly, but considered it a good investment in every way. I did some ordering off the tapas (cheaper) menu, because I did have to think about money, and also because I wanted to experience the gamut from humble to luxe. I'm happy Jeff was game enough to experience the discomfort of accepting a chocolate dish, and to state that chocolate generally doesn't flip his skirt (so to speak). He still wrote about it well, and I (who have loved chocolate far too much and less well since I've discovered the rapture of fruit desserts, prepared by the artists it's been my good fortune to encounter at farm dinners) am thankful that he exhibited open heart, open eyes, open mind and open mouth. As we all know, "open wallet" is the price he paid. Even with his grading on the curve, Jeff got relentless bang for his buck, if only in good karma bonus points for taking the time to craft his experience so that we could watch his shoulder and wish we were there, even for the bad times.
