My friend Carlo Estagle the pastry chef recently gave a presentation at Borders, the home decor store. His topic was entertaining at home; he showed the audience how to prepare “simple” hors d’oeuvres such as spicy tuna salad puffs, and desserts such as mini-tarte tatins. In other words, food in bite-sized portions that you can consume while standing up and holding a glass of wine, without worrying that it’ll get wedged between your teeth or ruin your couture.
The audience was composed of elegant ladies with perfect coiffures, plus Noel and myself (who are neither elegant ladies nor perfectly coiffed). We had come to support our friend, and to give him a subtle reminder that he has so far neglected to invent desserts named after us. I don’t know how your conversations with your friends sound, but ours often lead to, “How come he gets the pinwheel cookies named after him but I, your loyal friend since college, have not had the honor of being called a tart?” Of course we had come for the food — we know we’re shallow. Noel, Carlo, and I share a philosophy of food: the entire meal should be composed of desserts.
At the start of his talk, Carlo told the story of a famed society hostess who had asked her couturier to make clothes for her husband’s mistress. “It was not right,” he said, “for her spouse to be seen in public with a woman so badly dressed.” Noel and I approved of this concept, having read plenty of Edith Wharton and biographies of Jacqueline Kennedy, but the audience reaction was mixed.
“I’ve got it,” I told Noel. We had planted ourselves in the back of the room, where we could talk without interrupting the proceedings. Noel and I have come to realize that we are characters in a 1930s screwball comedy who have escaped from our movie. (You’ve seen The Purple Rose of Cairo? Similar idea.) “I have an excellent idea for the cookbook Carlo will write. We’ll call it Cooking for Mistresses. It cannot help but be a bestseller!”
“I can see it!” Noel said. “You can’t cook? Not a problem! Serve the sashimi on your breasts!”
“And to make sure all demographics are covered, we should publish a companion volume: The Anti-Mistress Cookbook. Chapter 1: Defend your house from that gold-digging tramp. She’s probably planning to serve sashimi on her breasts! Here’s the counter-measure.”
Carlo demonstrated several recipes: the aforementioned tuna salad puffs, chicken salad in tortilla cups, and a tropical Four Seasons with mango, guyabano, calamansi and buko juice. We thought the presentation went well, but we figured that, like a magician’s act, it needed something to distract the audience with while the chef was mixing the ingredients. Yes, a cute assistant with a big smile and biceps.
The waiters served a chilled Riesling that complemented the hors d’oeuvres perfectly. Carlo taught the ladies how to prepare coconut pineapple meringue cups, and then mini-tarte tatins. “This is like apple pie,” he said. “If you want the apple pie to taste American, add cinnamon. If you want it to taste French, don’t.”
“If you want the apple pie to taste Japanese, add wasabi!” declared Noel.
“If you want it to taste Danish, add herring!” I said. Clearly, we had imbibed too much Riesling.
“If you want it to taste Irish, add Guinness!”
“If you want it to taste Hawaiian, add Spam!”
“If you want it to taste Saturnian, add ammonia!”
We agreed that Carlo should be on TV; he could do a Martha Stewart-type show, but with musical numbers. Towards the end of his presentation, Carlo told the ladies his brilliant idea for a restaurant. Well, I think it’s brilliant, although I must admit that I know nothing about cooking. Neither does Noel, but we and our friends always have fun meals, especially when we don’t like the food.
Carlo’s idea is to open a restaurant in which each dish appears in the menu with a hierarchy of prices. The same food is served every time, but the price varies according to the plates on which it is served. So if you want your rice and bistek served on plain white unbranded ceramic plates, it would cost this much. If you prefer that the rice and bistek be brought to you on, say, Villeroy and Boch crockery, it would cost more. And if you decide that you must eat off Limoges plates and quaff your Coke out of Baccarat crystal, then you must pay the price. It’s a very democratic arrangement because everyone eats the same food, but it acknowledges that diners’ attitudes towards presentation vary wildly.
Not only would I eat in that restaurant every day, but I would volunteer to be a waiter. I’ve noticed that many diners have no idea what they want to have for lunch or dinner. I have no such dilemma.
When I wait on your table, I tell you what you want to eat, thus ridding you of your indecision. True, this would scare all the customers away, but what a concept.
“So how did it go?” Carlo asked us when the demonstration was over.
“Amaaazing,” we chorused, like Meryl Streep as the psychiatrist in Prime. For your dessert orders (the chocolate truffle torte is incredible) text Carlo at 0920-955-CAKE.
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