And Another Thing, Chefs…

Dear Chefs,

I know you work very hard and your reputation goes out on every plate you serve.  I can’t imagine being in a hot, steamy kitchen (see many previous whines posts about humidity and me) bending over all the time and getting what I’m sure is a walloping backache, and having to do the same dish over and over until you want to use a fork to pluck out your own eyeballs.  (Maybe a little too dramatic?)

What I don’t understand is why you need to sabotage food.  If you offer lobster, and I want to eat it, wouldn’t you think I’d want to taste the lobster?  Lobster is damn tasty food, and I don’t even need the melted butter, so why on earth would you present me with a blanket of brown stuff that looked like it should have been stuffing (which is normally reserved for bland food like turkey, not my beautiful lobster) and tasted like a salt repository?  It literally made my dinner inedible, and I couldn’t really taste anything after that, either.  Why?  Did you have a fight with your spouse?  Did you shuffle this dish off to an underling?  Are you unsure of the labels in your spice cabinet?

There’s another habit that I don’t understand.  You present a beautiful ribeye steak, perfectly done and practically a work of art.  On my first heavenly morsel, I bite down on cracked peppercorn so thick it literally made my eyes water and my breath stop in my throat.  After emergency applications of bread and water, I ask for the menu.  Scanning it, I see no description of “peppercorn encrusted” or “spice-rubbed” or anything remotely hinting at the fire in my throat.  Why, Chef?  Why you gotta sabotage me like that?  I scrape off the stuff as completely as I can, but my mouth is still burning from the pepper, and I really can’t taste anything else.  I love ribeye steak almost as much as lobster, and I am sad at this latest turn of events.

One last thing, and I promise I’m done.  I’m a fan of onions when they are fried, frizzled, or sauteed, but not when they’re raw.  Again, if I don’t see anything on the menu warning me of the impending danger, and you serve me a dish where you’ve cleverly hidden the raw onions underneath something else, I’m not going to be happy.  You have rendered my palate temporarily disabled and I won’t be able to taste anything else.  Unless, of course, that’s your master plan, that you don’t want me to taste the food for whatever nefarious reason you have in which case may I suggest you apply for a job with a local spy company?  I hear the NSA is looking for a few good folks.

A tip, if I may: STOP SMOKING.  Your mouths are coated in tar and nicotine so you are salting a peppering and hotting up your food so you can get past all those barriers you’ve put in there, and taking it out on us poor unsuspecting souls who just want to eat your glorious food even at the overinflated prices you charge.  It wasn’t until all those cooking reality shows came on that I realize every damn one of you smokes and you’re killing me with first hand heat instead of second hand smoke.

Hugs and kisses,

Your frustrated diner

OUCH MY MOUTH!

OUCH MY MOUTH!

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