These are the hardest things about cooking dinner at home.
One: Deciding what to cook.
Two: Shopping.
Three: Cooking.
Four: Doing dishes.
Of these four things, the hardest, for me, is the first. Often, I have no idea what I want. No clue at all. And I succumb to the easiest solution: Forget cooking and go out.
So I shift my brain to another kind of decision: where to eat out. This can be a painful process too, although not nearly as painful as deciding what to cook. I carefully consider my options and narrow down my choices by price, location and my cravings, until I settle on a destination.
Now, I’m happy: I’ve made a decision about how the rest of my evening will be. Smooth sailing from here till bedtime. My decision-
making for the day is over. I can relax. All that’s left is the eating.
Blissful, I toss on a jacket, hop in the car, and drive to the appointed restaurant. I’m eager to release all responsibility for the evening to someone, or more likely a team of some-
ones, with more kitchen skills and better access to good ingredients than I have.
Then I am presented with the menu.
All blissful feelings suddenly dissipate as I’m doused with a shower of words. Tilapia, chicken, elk medallion, pork chop, beef tenderloin. Linguini, tortellini, tagliatelli. Beets, goat cheese, pignoli nuts. Crispy this. Roasted that. Filet of the other. Appetizers, salads, entrees, burgers, desserts. Specials, specialties and sides. No substitutions. Sauces, emulsions, caponatas, salsas, compotes, broths, dressings and aiolis. Glazes, reductions, coulis.
And numbers! Prices: $3.50. $8. $19.95. $35.75 (serves two). This costs that much. That costs this. Which is the better deal?
Suddenly, I’m right back where I started. Once again, I have a profound decision to make. What should I have for dinner?
Overcrowded menus can be dizzying. Besides having to read a thorough description for each of 10 or 15 entrees (usually in dim light), you have to carefully weigh the probability of each individual dish. Each holds promise, but each represents a potential pitfall: The more things there are on the menu, the more chances your meal has to go South.
It seems like there’s just too much on the menu lately. Too many restaurants try to please everyone. In one way, it’s a safety net: There are plenty of picky eaters out there who’ll always order the chicken breast no matter what restaurant they’re in. Restaurants keep it on the menu, because it makes up for more experimental dishes that those same people avoid.
As a restaurant grows and ages, favorites become staples, and staples become must-haves. And the list of choices grows.
Here’s the problem: As the menu swells, the message from the kitchen gets clouded. Like the way a software program has an overloaded interface with too many options. Or the way a dress will have too many bows and flowers, obscuring rather than highlighting the woman who’s wearing it.
I want the person cooking my dinner to be not just a crackerjack cook, but a crackerjack editor. Don’t make yourself responsible for 40 different dishes every night. Sacrifice some quantity for quality and attention. Tell me what you want to cook. Tell me what you’re good at, what’s in season, what’s inspiring you. Tell me what I should have for dinner.
How about a restaurant with only three entrées on the menu: a perfect piece of meat, a glorious piece of fish and a fabulous vegetarian stew or composed plate. Maybe a dessert or two. Wine, naturally, and coffee. (And, as long as we’re in fantasy-restaurant-land, cheese.)
The kind of place that answers the eternal question: “What should I have for dinner?”
Most times, that’d be good enough for me.
Dining critic Tucker Shaw can be reached at 303-820-1958 or at dining@denverpost.com.
