Cooks Eating Out

The other day I went out to eat with a friend who is also a cook by trade. When cooks go out to eat, it can be a very different experience. I used to have a favorite dish at one or two places that I visited often. Now, it is not only a way to fuel the body and delight the palette, it is research. An egotistical journey. Perspective.

I read every word on menus now. I notice if they seem to be missing fin fish courses (which is odd because I rarely crave fish). A comment is made on the price and presentation of oysters, or on how they describe their house specialty of poutine. I am not looking for flaws here, I am strictly trying to make my dream menu better. (Okay, perhaps this is where the egotistical journey comes into play a little).

There is always the decision of how we want the meal to go. Do we want to order pork belly? I cook it every day at work and believe that ours is among the best. Ordering pork belly at another restaurant could provide the following results:
1. an education on another amazing way to prepare it
2. an education on how to never prepare it
3. somewhere in between
4. the realization that I taste pork belly every day and don’t feel like eating it now, on my day off

Will going out to eat ever simply be dinner again? My mind never stops working. I think, “we could serve sardines like this, but perhaps stuff them with a farce instead of wrap them with bacon. Then the sardine skin can get crispy!” And then I am two things:
1. excited to get back to the kitchen to try this
2. a bit smug because I think my hypothetical sardine might be better than theirs (seriously?)

So what is it with this whole competitive cooking thing anyway? I was never really like this, except with Scrabble. How did competition become such an integral part of cooking? Do I walk into the kitchen each day believing that I am about to film Top Chef? Padma and Tom are not coming for dinner. (And for this I am happy, actually. Cooking for pregnant women can be terrifying and traumatizing! No raw milk cheeses or raw fish, meats must be cooked through... some of the best things about food become a liability. Totally off subject, perhaps another time). Chances are, whether I brine or dry rub my pork belly would probably be beyond most diners, and perhaps even myself if I sat down to my own plate in a restaurant. Yet there is this underlying feeling of wanting to be the best.

It makes sense, the constant research and competitive slant to dining out. Who decides to cook food that is simply good enough? If a cook can make something taste better and has the means and palette to carry it out, they do. This is where the research and perspective come into play. I am not going to learn as much from a cookbook about flavors as I am from eating food. I might look across the table, head cocked to one side and an eye closed while I rub the last dregs of sauce around in my mouth, questioning, “cardamom? Do you taste that? Or is it coriander mixed with a bit of anise? I can only taste it at the end....”. Other diners might think I am drunk, and chances are, I am. But I haven’t gotten my moneys worth until I am inspired or taught something.

The best meals are where days or weeks later I am pulling celery root from the walk-in, determined to crack a code. Was the puree finished with brown butter? Or were the marcona almonds for garnish messing with me? I am determined to figure it out, and the cycle begins again: research, an egotistical journey, perspective.