Recently, I came across a picture of Food Network’s darling, Bobby Flay. Above his oft-glimpsed pearly whites, the words “Bobby Flay Cooks America” were printed This statement is more true than I am sure the marketing drones who came up with it realized. Bobby Flay does indeed cook America; sadly it is the cross section of America that is easily taken in by cheap food tricks.
What is a cheap food trick, you ask?
Most food prepared tableside. For example, Bananas Foster. Bananas Foster is probably one of the easiest things in the world to make. It is basically just fruit in carmalized sugar. The punch comes from the fact that the waiter lights it on fire in front of you. The pyrotechnics convince most people that the dish is much more difficult to control than it is, and they feel special because they are purchasing the right to be the center of attention for just a moment. That’s just one example.
These sleights of hand are just fine by me. At a nice restaurant these food tricks are just, well, icing on the cake. At least they are for a certain dining out personality type. And really, that’s what dining out should be, an enjoyable experience. If your idea of enjoyment is to be wowed by leaping flames and decorated plates, please, I have no desire to get in your way.
What gets me about Flay is that his whole career is a cheap food trick. He counts on his personality and his gimmicky shtick to distract people from the fact that he’s not really innovating. Hell, he isn’t making anything Mexican mothers haven’t made for generations. He’s just doing it without the slow cooking, without the attention to detail, and without a real feel for spiciing his dishes. He does what will appeal. Bobby Flay is the dimestore romance novel of modern cooking. Comforting, familiar, but different enough that one gets a little thrill from participating. One feels as though they are drawn into his orbit for a time, which feels glamourous, much as the reader of the aforementioned romance novel frequently has a vicarious and somewhat naughty experience as they read.
This ability to talk a good game is the only trait I can think of that can explain his success. (That, and the sad state of the average American’s palette) I have yet to see the man make anything that really distingushes him as a chef. Mostly I see lazy regurgitations of tex mex favorites, which are really secondary to him flirting with all the women in a given shot and standing on the counter.
Now, instead of the miserably mediocre, what about the transcendent? You know, soul food, soul food in the sense that it satisfies some deep, gnawing emotional need. The food that you would ask for if it were your last meal on earth.
This seems to be a favorite question among food lovers. This time I didn’t even have to think. Swedish meatballs with noodles (and not just a few noodles, I want mountains.), warm brownies, a bottle of Pinot Noir, warm biscuits with strawberry jam, and a vanilla latte made with the finest Sumatran espresso. Of course since the list of things I don’t like to eat only has about four items on it, this answer is wont to change.
What about you? What’s your last meal on earth, before you go to the chair?
