“Never eat at a restaurant where the waiters wear spoons around their necks.”
That was the cost-conscious advice my rabbi proffered as I was trying to decide where to celebrate the first day of my girlfriend’s Rumspringa. I met Abhilasha Maddox online through Hotamishsingles.com and wanted to mask my stinginess by treating her to an upscale dinner at Reynaldo’s. My hope was that she would abandon her religious way of life to come live with me in the room I rented from my parents.
As it turns out, my rabbi wasn’t referring to a waiter – the correct term is sommelier – and Reynaldo’s was crawling with them. Plus, those weren’t spoons around their necks – they were “tastevins” – shallow, engraved cups designed to help embrace the appearance, aroma, finish, complexity, character, romance, potential or faults of a wine when determining what pairs best with Beluga, agar-agar or fachaud-froid. I had no idea that an alcoholic beverage could have character or romance. What I did know was this dinner was going to vaporize the down payment I’d saved for my house, so I’d better enjoy it.
The sommeliers notwithstanding, I began to suspect I was in trouble when the hostess asked, “Would you care to see the appetizer menu?” Gold embossed and bound in leather, they sat prominently displayed along the top of her station like a set of World Book Encyclopedias. Most eateries I frequent have the appetizers printed on paper placemats and usually include such delicacies as buffalo wings, fried mozzarella sticks, loaded potato skins and cheddar smothered nachos. All you can eat for $5.95.
I sensed I was in over my head as I scanned a series of unintelligible items followed by the weather on Maui – it had to be a temperature. It was too high to be a price:
Haggis canapé giardiniera on brioche toast – 84.00
I had no idea what Haggis canapé giardiniera on brioche toast was, so I told Abhilasha Maddox that I was going to the restroom to wash my hands. Crouched inside a handicap stall, I Googled the expression on my iPhone and nearly gagged when I learned it was crushed sheep’s windpipe, heart and lungs mixed with vegetables served on fancy dry bread. No wonder they hid the ingredients under a continental shroud. Who, in their right mind, would start off their evening by eating $84 worth of crushed windpipe?
This continued with Gorgonzola, Oysters Bienville, au fromage, caciocavallo cheese, beurre, foie gras and Plugra butter. Sensing another impending panic attack, I snuck a valium and pulled our waiter aside to translate the rest of the menu before we sat down. I slipped him a $20 bill and confessed that the only things I recognized were toast, fries and beans. We were seated before I had a chance to run.
We opted for a booth toward the back of the dining room. Twenty more bucks got us a table away from the kitchen doors but close enough to the rear exit to sprint for it if the bill got too high. Over the years, fleeing expensive restaurants has become a way of life for me – especially if they don’t take Olive Garden gift cards.
Gaston, our waiter, seated us at a linen-covered table for two that was set with more china, cutlery and glassware than I’d seen at Crate ‘N Barrel. Orbiting around my service plate was a salad fork, fish fork, dinner fork, dinner knife, fish knife, salad knife, spoon, oyster fork and five types of glassware: a water goblet, champagne flute, red wine glass, white wine glass and a cordial/sherry glass. Our table had more glasses than a Lenscrafters.
Above my service plate was a dessert spoon, dessert fork and butter knife. Since neither of us drank alcohol, I knew that we wouldn’t need four out of the five flutes and goblets. Maybe they’d give us a discount. But it also raised the question, does having a fish fork mean that you’re required to order fish? What if you’re not going to have a salad? Or oysters? Do they still charge you for all those unused utensils? It reminded me of the time I had my appendix out. The insurance adjuster showed me a copy of the bill from the surgeon and anesthesiologist. Apparently, they charged me for a bone chisel, Doyen intestinal forceps and dozens of other instruments that had nothing to with my appendix, so I guessed it would be the same at Reynaldo’s. I just wish I could have taken the oyster fork home. My mother has never seen one.
Gaston returned and officially welcomed us to Reynaldo’s and reminded us that if we wanted to order the Limoncello Souffle, we should do so now – it takes 13 chefs and three days to make each one. Then, it was time for the specials.
“Tonight’s specials include an extraordinary jamon iberico de belotta imported from the Albacete hinterlands of Spain,” boasted Gaston. “As a special treat, we also have Wild Fijian sashimi on a bed of tendril salad, sprinkled with toasted Kurrajong and drizzled with melon cilantro vinaigrette.” To offset the blank glaze that was slowly washing over my face, I ordered one of each. Abhilasha Maddox settled on the Parsnip Mousselin in Apricot Agri-doux with Ginger Infused Cobia Puree. Fortunately, it was in season or she might have had her entire evening ruined by having to settle for the Hommard a L’amoricaine in a demi-glace caponate suspended on maquechoux and flageolet beans.
After we placed our order, we were visited by the Executive Chef, the Sous Chef, the Chef d Partie, the Saucier, the Boulanger, Confiseur, Poissonier, Griturier, the Patissier, Potager, the Tournant, both valets, the entire kitchen staff, the maintenance man and the janitor. All welcomed us to Reynaldo’s and hoped that our experience would be memorable while they held out their hands for a $20 tip.
It wasn’t until dining at Renaldo’s that I learned the first of a series of valuable gastronomic theorems. The first was Archimedes’ Law of Squared Parabolas. In layman’s terms, there is an inverse relationship between the price of the entree and how much of it comes in physical contact with your plate. A Double Whopper Sandwich Meal and all its accoutrements costs $3.49 and covers the entire table. Conversely, my Cuitlacoche in copha asafetida with accompanying haricot vert and thrice baked papillote potatoes was precariously balanced on an eight inch-high tower supported by three baby scallions, highlighted by six delicate miso smears along the left border of the plate. Three dots of puttanesca insured that the price competed with the Gross Domestic Product.
The second theorem I learned was Eratosthenes’ Order of Polyhedrons. The theorem states that the total price of your dining experience is the price of the entrees, multiplied by the cost of your appetizer, divided by desert. Halfway through my Liederkrantz and arugula salad, I estimated my portion alone, would be somewhere around $525.
As we were finishing our main courses, Gaston cleared the table, setting the scene for dessert. “Along with your Limoncello soufflé, may I suggest a light Whippleberry akutaq?” Akutaq is a nice way of describing Eskimo ice cream made from reindeer fat, seal oil, freshly fallen snow and a hint of ground fish. It’s anyone’s guess where Reynaldo’s found freshly fallen snow in Los Angeles during the summer. Maybe they had it flown in from Sitka. The price certainly justified it.
Despite being stuffed to the gills, emotionally and financially bankrupt, Gaston still had room for one more jab. “May I offer you an after dinner beverage to cleanse your palate? We have an excellent variety of ratafias with morello cherry kernels, infused with spices from the Bhairahawa region of Nepal. Or, perhaps I could interest you in a Caramel Macchiato with freshly steamed milk and vanilla, hand-pollenated by the natives of Papua New Guinea.” What an asshole.
As I anticipated, the final bill dispelled any illusion of realizing the American Dream – at least in this lifetime. Tips for the valet sealed the deal. But, at least Abhilasha Maddox was impressed. I dropped her off at her aunt Stolzfus’ where she was staying for the week. “How was dinner?” she asked. “What did you have?” For the life of me, I couldn’t remember. I’d spent the entire evening anguishing over the cost of our crushed windpipe, reindeer fat, seaweed and diseased duck liver. I’ll have to go back and order it again.
Written for and excerpted from Armchair Reader The Gigantic Reader – West Side Publishing (September 7, 2009)
