Presentation

I worked (and ate) my way through a good portion of college by waiting tables at the campus faculty club. It was a pretty fancy place, considering most of the waiters were students. Of course, there was no tipping--just as well, since academics are notoriously cheap--instead, we got an annual bonus that depended on seniority and how many times you were late and whether or not the head waiter liked you. Which is part of the reason why the "inside waiter" position was arguably the best spot to work during dinner. Since you couldn't hustle for tips, there was no point in hoping for a prime spot on the floor with tables full of boozy, free-spending bonhomie, so why not the kitchen? (Although you did get the odd bone from a table of former-waiter alumuni... I once manage to wrangle all of a $14 out of a party of TEN that kept me there until 11 freakin' o'clock... give me the kitchen any day!).

It was the duty of the Inside Waiter to prepare the outgoing trays of entrees for the other waiters: stack the plates, prepare the carts for the table-side-prepared Signature Dishes, coordinate timing with the chefs, and--most importantly--mop up errant bits of sauce to make the food "pop" against the white china. The payoff for the gruntwork:

1. You didn't have to wear the ridiculous Love-Boat-Style waiter jacket and accompanying burgundy clip-on bowtie
2. First crack at the leftovers!

And #2 was by far the bigger bonus. I'm not talking about something rude like picking over half-eaten entrees, these were the prime scraps from the Signature Dishes: Caesar salad (the real kind, tossed fresh with a coddled egg and actual chopped anchovies--it's probably illegal in these days of "food safety" and "Caesar dressing," although I can't recall any diners dying of salmonella... I drank more back then, but I'm pretty sure I would remember that) and Chateaubriand (a big ol' hunk of rarish beef tenderloin with duchesse potatoes and roast veggies). Both of these went out on little carts, and the Maitre d' would toss, slice, plate and serve them table side, as appropriate. And there would usually be a little bit left when the cart came back to the kitchen--too much food on the plate didn't present well, and the place was too chi-chi to leave the extra sitting out next to the table like the bonus container that came with the Silver Goblet Milkshake at Bob's Big Boy.

(Although how cool would that be? "Your tenderloin sir... and I'll just leave the... extra tenderloin... right here.")

Anyhow, the Inside Waiter got first crack at the cart when it came back (although it was uncool not to share with the waiter who had the table). You'd tear open a fresh roll, tuck in the leftover Chateau scraps and spend some time in the Happy Meat Place. Even if there were no scraps, you could always use the roll to scavenge up the fresh drippings that had collected in the little bowl molded into the carving dish (again, the Maitre d' would drizzle the jus over the sliced meat when he served it, but if he put too much it wouldn't present well... there was always some left!). Yeah, I actually lost weight when I went off to grad school and started having days where all I'd eat would be 4 Big Macs and a plate of donuts. Good times, good times.

My point in all this? Presentation has benefits beyond the mere aesthetics of the plate.

But achieving good aesthetics on the plate isn't as easy as it looks. There's a reason the chi-chi restaurants go for small food on a big plate: it highlights the food, like a good mat on a framed print. I've been coming to grips with this in my attempts to find a good presentation for a seared Ahi dish that I've been working on. It's tuna steaks on a bed of sliced avocado, with grilled bell peppers and/or pineapple and/or tomato on the sides. Lots of color, with green from the avocado, yellow/red/orange from the veggies, plus the zillion shades of Fiestaware we eat off of, not to mention the strong lines of the grill marks on the tuna playing against the curve of the avocado slices. The problem? Size. Take a look:



Okay, so the Ahi's a little overseared, but the color is a wonderful, energetic tangle. A tangle that's too crowded on the plate! It's not a large dish, so I used a lunch-sized plate, not wanting the food to look lonely. Instead, it looks cramped, and the color is leaning toward busy rather than lively. Next time I try this, it'll be with a dinner-sized plate. I'll tell you how it goes.

Sandwich crimes

It's no secret that I'm a fan of the sandwiches. I'll eat a PBJ for lunch every day during the week. On days that I don't have a PBJ, I'll be having a sandwich from the deli next to my office.

"It makes me sad that you just have PBJ," Fraulein M will say. "Don't you get tired of it?"

"I like PBJ," I inevitably reply.

And interestingly enough, it's not some grasping at comforts from childhood. I didn't really like peanut butter when I was a kid. Didn't get much of a taste for it until I was in my twenties. Perhaps my culinary preferences are evolving in reverse.

At any rate, I've noted that a lot of people have a particular unusual sandwich combination they like that involves peanut butter. For instance, Elvis supposedly liked peanut butter and banana, and I had a friend in grad school who would wax rhapsodic about peanut butter and honey. When you think about it, that makes sense--honey isn't that much of a stretch from jelly or jam, just a bit sweeter and runnier. Fraulein M is a fan of the fluffernutter: an open-faced sandwich with peanut butter and mini-marshamallows, broiled in a toaster oven until the marshmallows just start to brown and get melty.

Me? I like peanut butter and avocado on toast: slice up half an avocado, then mash the slices into the peanut-buttered toast. DEEEEE-lish! I suppose this combination is a nothing more than a California-ized version of peanut butter and banana. What else will people put in a PBJ other than J? Drop me a comment with your own, personal Sandwich of Shame.

(Full disclosure: I have assembled and eaten a peanut butter and bacon sandwich--on purpose, and on more than one occasion. What? It's a tasty sandwich!)

Summer Food II: God save the Queen (of pizza)!

The fraulien and I spent a couple of days wandering around Boston after we visited Block Island and had our transformative Del's Lemonade experience. We followed the Freedom Trail, which led us past many sights described as, "here's where a bunch of rabble-rousers met to whip up public sentiment prior to the revolution," or "this stoplight is where the Boston Massacre took place," etc. The bonus part is that the Freedom Trail (for us) ended up in the North End, the "little Italy" of Boston. Every other storefront is an Italian restaurant, but I have to say the real selling point is the pastry. Fraulein M's already put up a post of dessert porn, so I won't add to the rant (except to note that the canollis did, in fact, kick ass).

Anyhow, we got there around lunchtime on our last day in town, and figured we'd check out the pizza place that the nice lady at the shoe store recommended (yes, the fraulein's "M" stood for "Manolo" on our little outing). The place was Pizzeria Regina, and it was several blocks off the main drag. It didn't open until noon; we were 15 minutes early, and there was already a pretty good line of people waiting to get in--always a good sign. The initial rush filled the place entirely, so we were lucky to have arrived early. And the pizza!

Oh, my, the pizza. I admit I generally gravitate toward very thin, crispy crusts. Regina's pizza is a bit doughier, pleasantly yeasty and perfectly cooked--firm, just below crispy, chewy and tender. The toppings were first-rate, the sauce flavorful without being overwhelming. The balance of flavors and textures was just about perfect. How much did I like the pizza? I have two desktop pictures on my PDA--one's Fraulein M, and the other one is this: