Eleven times you take the boat out here, where we introduce every dish, every single time. We tell you exactly what we are feeding you. We create elaborate stories. We make it fun. We even give you a copy of the menu to take home. Please tell me one dish you ate the last time you were here. Or the time before. One. Please.At this section of watching The Menu, I was stumped for a minute. I had previously dined in Ichigo Ichie twice[1], back when it ran a thirteen-course menu and carried a prestigious Michelin star. And in this moment, I could only think of a single dish I fully remembered.
No disrespect to the restaurant of course. Both times I waddled out of there very pleased with myself. But the egg dashi broth, dish twelve out of thirteen, was the only one that's survived in the mind. The rest is a collection of accessories - crisp interior design, beautiful plates to compliment the foods, slick staff that operated to the highest degree. And a hefty price tag.
To twist the knife some more, I also have a framed copy of the menu from one of the visits. It's entirely in Hiragana and Kanji, and I still can't read half of it. Stunning.
Chef Miyazaki repurposed Ichigo Ichie almost two years ago, into a bistro restaurant that carried almost none of the ostentation, a clean and simple menu that still delivered, and the financial barriers to entry torn down. I imagine he's quite happier with this setup.
The level of artistic faff in The Menu is stupendous. Chef Slowik presents the first few courses with the camera framing him as some sort of religious prophet, even as the proceeding courses aim to push the clientele into seeing through the bullshit. His soft voice delivers the most venomous of lines with absolute beauty. He convinces you the viewer with ease that this is all beyond your comprehension, an act of culinary brilliance even as the counter-evidence sits directly in front of you: a pitiful shard of fish sitting atop some jaunty rocks. Or some broken emulsion.
It's put me on notice. Whatever about occasional restaurant visits, my own cooking was going to lean down this path if I didn't stop myself. Not to the same extent maybe, but definitely losing that touch of love that carries everything.
I cooked Lu Ruo Fan for some friends that evening. Partly because it was a hearty-ish meal and I love doing that shit in big batches. Partially because it was from one of the cuisines I think I most enjoy[2]. And partially cos I thought it would impress people.
Maybe it did, but that should be a secondary thought at best. There's a vague gap between doing something new and cool to have fun exploring cuisines, and doing it to fuel the ego. The latter doesn't last, and it's hard to figure out when you're in the middle of this dance.
I'm certainly not too far gone yet. I think I can cook better than Tyler's Bullshit, and haven't said anything to put myself on Chef Slowik's execution list[3]. But maybe I should ease off on watching videos on Michelin-starred New York chefs preparing Korean barbeque.
I had more thoughts on The Menu, but they've slid from the mind since I started typing. Much like the clients, it doesn't entirely hold up to intense scrutiny. But the message is clear: cook for love.
Movie nights are going to be a regular thing at my place now. I'm thinking cheeseburgers next week.