One friend I frequently dine with has a very strict rule: Nothing should ever be served in a martini glass, except a martini. I like this rule.
Julia Child used to say about garnishes that one should never put anything on a plate that isn’t edible. I like this rule, too.
My good friend Ellen Sweets, whom many folks remember as a longtime food writer at The Denver Post, has a rule that steakhouses should always have black napkins, never white. (Or at least, they should switch out white for black when the food is served.)
I have a few rules myself. Like, a sandwich should not be served unassembled. Blender drinks should not be served at parties larger than six people. “Decorative” cabbage is a waste of topsoil. Pastrami does not belong on a burger.
Cheese is not dessert. Brunch is to be avoided, as the lines are too long. Parties of more than two or three should never eat at the bar — because the rest of us need a place to enjoy our drink. There is no such thing as “cooked to perfection.” Beer is better when it’s cold.
Restaurants should be open at least six nights a week, not four. Salad bars and steam tables are to be avoided whenever possible. The suffix -tini, in reference to drinks, should be applied to martinis and nothing else — not chocotinis, berrytinis or skinnytinis.
Waiters and waitresses should not claim that everything on the menu is “amazing,” or ask, after our first few bites, whether “everything is still delicious.” Thin-crust pizza should be round. Ketchup should be served at room temperature, never cold. Fish for sushi or sashimi should always be cut to order.
A home-cooked dinner for four trumps a grandiose banquet for 40 every time. Skewered meats should not be eaten in the car. Honey tastes better when it is squeezed from a bear-shaped container. Tacos taste better from a truck.
Gorp is not gorp unless it has M&Ms, and plain M&Ms at that. If a pie doesn’t have a bottom crust, it’s not a proper pie. Cookie dough should be made, not bought. A meal is always improved by a pleasant view, and even more by a pleasant companion.
The point of these rules isn’t that they must be always be followed all of the time. These rules exist purely for self-reflection. They belong to the person who makes them. My rules are mine, and while I won’t really punish anyone for not following them (out loud, at least), they give me something individual to hold on to.
They give me touchpoints to remind me of and strengthen my own point of view. When I see “cooked to perfection” used on a menu to describe the duck, I’m not going to call out the manager. If I see someone buying a tube of cookie dough, I’m not going to point and gag. I’m just going to see it, have a private eye-roll, smile to myself for following my own rules (for better or for worse) and sally forth.
