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All those scribblings about the edibles on a menu can be confusing,
annoying or just plain dumb.
Consider Sauted Shrimps. I always think of three unfortunate little
guys in a huge iron pan, clamoring to get free. Or how about that
related perfect oxymoron, Jumbo Shrimp?
Then there’s creamless soup. In this age of broth and essence, do I
really need a list of what isn’t in my food? Potato-less Pizza.
Yak-less ice cream. It’s so left-over puritan American to consider
the not.
And I wonder about vegetarian lasagna. I ponder that poor
statistical woman having a baby every three minutes somewhere in the
world, and begin to compare her to some jinxed veggie guy who gets
regularly ground and stuffed between pasta sheets and smothered by
melted cheese. Who is this poor vegetarian? Nobody ever orders the
poultry platter. They order the chicken. So why don’t we call our
green things by name?
Speaking of chicken, I admit I acquiesce to the use of the term Free
Range Chicken, but it still makes me think of errant birds, leaping
over creeks, somewhere out in the wild, wild West.
Oh, and why, prey tell, would anyone find the term Lump Crab
appealing? And do those newly popular Peaky Toe Crab have (or make)
toe jam?
Then there are “quotes” around “special” “words.” Geeze. Aren’t
quotes supposed to be used to give other sources credit for origin, as
opposed to being a wink and a nudge by way of punctuation?
Truth is, the words describing dishes should offer as much protection
as seduction. These days the fashion in menu writing has moved
towards simplicity, which is a welcome relief from the days of
pedigreed foods stuffs. It got pretty exhausting knowing where every
leaf and beery grew and exactly which farm raised every fatted
critter. But then things got a lot more complicated. |
