Here’s some food for thought: A jus is just a sauce

Over the past couple of days I have been away from home and had the opportunity to dine out a couple of times. Normally I am quite happy with Maccas, the local pub bistro or the food court at a shopping plaza. Seldom do I dine at a more ‘up-market’ establishment. The couple I was with had booked a table at a restaurant that was part of their regular lifestyle. Once again I was about to experience that ‘duck out of water’ feeling.

Don’t get me wrong; I love good food and as an amateur home chef love to experiment and create new recipes of my own. I believe that eating should be pleasurable, and food preparation kept simple and easy. I do not like food that has been stuffed about and turned into something that it isn’t. I like my food tastefully presented on a plate not an arty arrangement on a bit of wood. I like to apply my own salt and pepper and place my own napkin on my lap or, better still, leave the bloody thing on the table. I like to pour my own drinks and drink like I am enjoying it – not sip at it as if it is poison. I like to be at ease when I eat and not feel like I am committing a crime if I eat chips with my fingers, or use a spoon to savour the froth on my cappuccino.

As soon as we entered the establishment chosen I knew I was on shaky ground. We were greeted by a bloke who fussed around us like a mother hen as he ushered us to our table and presented menu cards the size of a flight deck on an aircraft carrier. As I perused the long list of entrees, mains and deserts I realised I would need assistance to decipher all that confronted me. Fortunately my dining companions were well versed in the art of dining out and happily explained that “Delicate slivers of lightly crumbed coral trout, gently fried and served with a fresh salad of specially prepared greens and cubed beetroot, accompanied by fries and a creamy tartare jus” was in fact fish and chips. Not wanting to be a burden I decided on fish and chips for my main course. For entrée I selected what I hoped was a prawn cocktail and for desert the vast description of what I would call apple pie. After much deliberation my companions ordered. My host had previously selected a bottle of wine that was delivered to our table by another fussy waiter who with much ceremony dribbled not much more than a thimble-full into my glass. Okay, I thought. Now what? Following my hosts’ lead I had a sniff, a sip, then swirled the wine around my mouth and gave a knowledgeable nod to the waiter. In actual fact I thought the wine was horse piss, but at $80 a bottle I blamed my palate for a misread.

Our first course arrived at the table. My prawn cocktail had morphed into something akin to lettuce hiding two yabbies under water. Showing appropriate approval I began my meal. The two lonely prawns were in fact quite tasty and, having glimpsed the price on the menu card, I made appreciative comment to my host.

Two bottles of $80 wine later our main courses arrived. Something completely foreign happened. The waiter who delivered the food summoned another similarly clad bloke who hurried to our table with an enormous pepper mill and asked if I required a grind. Now I can place another meaning on the word grind so it was with much trepidation that I accepted his offer. With grinding completed and napkins as big as bed sheets carefully placed on our laps the two waiters finally left us to enjoy our meals.

A very small arrangement of chips confronted me. Arranged atop were the ‘delicate slivers of coral trout’, resplendent in their coats of bread crumbs. At the base of this construction lay a meagre-looking garden salad and cubed beetroot all shiny with the ‘creamy tartare jus’. I glanced across the table at the meals confronting my hosts. They had both chosen pasta dishes and, whilst my meal was tiny, theirs were huge – bowls like bath tubs filled with steaming pasta and sauce. Maybe I should have ordered a pasta dish instead of slivers of fish.

We had all ordered apple pie for desert, and when this finally arrived we were into the third bottle of wine. I was grateful that my host was insisting on paying for drinks. My meal alone was going to lay a considerable amount on the credit card, despite the meagre amount of food. At least the apple pie was good. Coffees all round to end the meal and I thought it best to resist the temptation to eat the froth of my cappuccino with a spoon or to use the finger bowl to wash my face.

Back at the motel I reflected on the evening and came to the conclusion that there is very good reason why I do not make a habit of dining at establishments that are above my station in life. I had just spent $76 on two prawns, half a lettuce leaf, two slivers of coral trout, the equivalent of one potato, a small handful of salad, less than half a beetroot, half a teaspoon of tartare sauce, a tiny apple pie and a tiny cup of coffee. Thank goodness I didn’t have to pay for the wine.

How do you feel about gourmet food? When you dine out do you go for quantity or quality? Share your dining thoughts with us in the comments below…