Food porn

I'm beginning to wonder if food has gone the way of reality TV. Seems to me it's all about looks, lacks substance, and is hell bent for leather in its quest for the most outlandish production possible. No wonder one critic called haute cuisine "food porn".

What ever happened to dishes with simple names like "Beef Wellington"? Nowadays it takes wait staff half an hour to recite the specials - Organic, Alberta grain-fed, free-range adolescent beef, imported by bicycle via unpaved back roads, served with a pomegranate, Egyptian fig, lychee and ripe mango salsa, atop a bed of purple corn, Spanish arugala and baby spinach salad, all finished with a balsamic demi-glaze reduction by our ambidextrous chef Bernard.

I once asked, "Can you repeat that?" and the server quit.

But culinary stupidity can present itself without run-on descriptions. The it's-all-about-the-meat approach irks me too. At a recent banquet, my dinner consisted of an entire side of beef, fanned across the plate like a hand of rummy. The half a potato that accompanied it was scored with a fancy edge, as if the ripples would distract me from wondering where the other half of my potato went. This time-consuming and useless attempt at refinement likely cost the kitchen more than if they'd just tossed a whole spud on my plate uncarved. The dish was edged by ten, count 'em, ten overcooked snow peas. I'm not sure if they intended this to be a serving of veggies or an elaborate garnish. Either way, it failed.

While I'm sometimes impressed by how the chef has laid out a dish, I taste with my mouth, not my eyes. Don't set me up for disappointment. I'd rather be bowled over by an unassuming dish than to oooh and ahhh over some edible version of the Eiffel Tower that has all the taste of the original's steel rivets. Case in point: At a potluck last month, I dutifully took a spoonful of the most plebian bean salad imaginable. The beans cowered on my plate and the dressing ran apologetically into my sweet potatoes. Great, I thought, another dish to remind me why 60s cuisine isn't an era I care to revisit.

One bite in and I was begging for the recipe. It might have looked like a bowlful of pebbles, but it tasted better than the $50 a head banquet meal that left me hungry. (By the way, the beef was tough and flavourless.) This simple dish was perfectly composed -- for the tongue, not the eyes. Fresh basil and cilantro balanced the balsamic vinegar, which in turn, kept the onions in check. Best of all, I could ask for it by name. Hey Jenefer, if you get a chance, email the recipe for that three bean salad.