Since I’m not so good at appoximating Hallmark-worthy sentiments, I’m going to keep this one short and to the point:

Whatever your holiday is, have a good one!

MPA for 12AMB

The current restaurant trend is tapas. For those of you who don’t dine out much at “nice” places, American-style tapas involves a bunch of small dishes of mostly quasi-Mediterranean “fusion” food ordered a la carte, which are sampled by everyone at the table “family style.”

Pah.

I don’t pay good money to have to pass a bunch of stupid little dishes filled with pretentious food I don’t understand around a table. Tapas can return to whatever culinary fad hole it crawled out of as far as I am concerned.

This rant is inspired by two recent events, my reading of this Dec. 5, New York Times article and my going to a Japanese “japas” restaurant with some relatives on roughly the same day. (I name no names to protect the innocent and guilty both.) I’d been to the restaurant a few years ago and liked it quite a bit, but the menu had changed from being more traditional Japanese restaurant, which always had a fair bit of a la carte on the sushi menu, of course, to “japas.” There were no entrees at all, just a long list of small dishes mostly priced between $3 and $8, with a few over that. No clue as to what they were, no clue as to what goes with what, how big anything is, and so on. The waiter was a useless ‘tard (both kinds). Now I’m not especially fond of Japanese food but can usually find something decent on the menu, for instance one of the Japanese adaptations to please the Western palate, shrimp tempura. There was a shrimp dish (“sweet shrimp”) which I ordered hoping that it was shrimp tempura… when the plate showed up with small shrimp in the shell with heads still on I realized the answer was a resounding no. Sure they were breaded and fried but definitely not shrimp tempura and definitely not satisfying either. I ended up ordering something else which was OK… but of course added to the bill, which added to my dissatisfaction. More on that below.

Basically, the whole phenomenon is just an upscale reinvention of an old American classic: the buffet. The big difference is that at a buffet, all your choices (as incoherent they may be) are laid out in front of you and are usually pretty simple stuff like mac ‘n’ cheese, steamed vegetables, overcooked roast beef, etc. With tapas, you’re sitting down at your table facing a menu with a blizzard of dishes. Some are straightforward, such as mixed olives or bread and olive oil, but most suffer with vague, pretentious fusion cuisine titles like:

  • “Roasted beets with goat cheese vinaigrette”
  • “Hazelnut-crusted wilted arugula with maple goat cheese vinaigrette”
  • “Rabbit with wilted arugula, goat cheese and nuts”
  • “Watermelon goat cheese salad with citrus vinagrette”
  • “Wild bighorn sheep sausage with blueberry mustard goat cheese vinaigrette.”

Goat cheese and vinagrette for EVERYONE! The standard tapas menu is the culinary equivalent of “feature vomit.” Given the questionable edibility of most fusion cuisine, it’s none too far from being the actual, honest-to-goodness kind, too, especially after one’s third Grey Goose appletini in two hours, coupled with those cigarettes “smoked only on weekends.” Unsurprisingly, the Spanish—inventors of tapas—practice it more sensibly. Basically, it’s bar food, something Americans aren’t exactly ignorant of. That’s right, tapas is just the Spanish version of buffalo wings, peanuts, fries, etc., except it’s olives, bread with toppings, etc., which restaurateurs in the US have convinced the public should cost a bundle. And who ever thought bar food was a good deal? 😉

Diners are, as the New York Times article linked above, supposed to like this because of Americans’ desire for more choice, whether we need it or not. As far as I’m concerned, tapas is just another way to fleece me out of my hard-earned money while making me agonize over picking a meal, but I’m one of those seemingly relatively rare people who hates shopping, and tapas brings all the joy of accessorizing to the dinner table. Behavioral economics tells us that, from the standpoint of the retailer, tapas makes sense: Many small transactions are more easily overlooked than larger ones and it’s easier to get diners to spend more thereby. Of course my discontent is also understandable—too many choices and too many transactions can be disconcerting. If you want a nice short introduction, look at Swarthmore psychologist Barry Schwartz‘s little book The Paradox of Choice, which explains quite nicely why more choice isn’t always better for our own well-being. (Read this review for a short course.) In a nutshell, each choice we have to make involves cognitive effort on our part, and a comparison with all the other choices we could have made but ended up rejecting. All this comparison is tiring and opportunity cost is a stone-cold bee-otch, if you’re aware of it. Schwartz characterizes two basic ideal-type cognitive styles: maximizers and satisficers. Maximizers carefully compare their options. Satisficers, by constrast, are willing to settle for “good enough” and move on. Evidently I am a “maximizer” when it comes to meals at good restaurants… and, at least according to Schwartz, maximizers are unlikely to be happy about what they get because they spend more time comparing their options, paying attention to opportunity costs, and so on. Tapas is, therefore, pretty much guaranteed to piss me off. (I’m better at satisficing in other choices, fortunately.) I admit a lot of this is my descent to fogey-ism. I don’t like the “mix tape on steroids” that is the modern Ipod playlist and I never play albums on shuffle either. I hate surprise parties. I have a decidedly unfashionable desire for a coherent whole, be it an album or a meal, and tapas (of whatever variety) doesn’t deliver it for me. The fact that it’s a way to run up the tab just nails it.

The only good tapas experience I’ve ever had was a few years back in Minneapolis. The restaurant was not my choice, but I was with friends…. The waitress had the sense to suggest that we “course” the meal and let the kitchen take over. She asked us for a basic list of our preferences and went back to the kitchen. So “choice”—if you want to have a good experience, anyway—is an illusion, too.

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Aside: You may notice the “fascism” tag. I have decided—out of deference to Angry Midwesterner—to tag all my rants with “fascism” from here on out. I give it a fig leaf of justification with Spain’s experience under the dictator Generalissimo Francisco Franco, the man about whom Adolf Hitler said “I would rather spend two hours in the dentist’s chair than have another meeting with him.” Franco would have enjoyed tapas. So there. 😛

So on this day when Angry (and not-so-Angry) Americans of all sorts gather together to share food, family, and thanks, we Angry Men here wish everyone a Happy, Healthy, and Thankful Thanksgiving!

But, never content to simply wish you well, we also want to ask you: What do you give thanks for this year?

Answer however you wish: be partisan or pluralistic, secular or sectarian, serious or frivolous as you choose. Only share with us your thoughts and thanks this season.

To start things out, I’ll share my thanks this year:

  • For living in the greatest nation on earth, where we can all celebrate Thanksgiving in whatever way feels best to us, even if it’s no way at all!
  • For a 2008 Election season which promises to be fun and bloody, if not terribly edifying about the character of many of our leaders.
  • For our troops, especially those in peril abroad, who give us a loyalty and service we frequently don’t deserve as a culture.
  • For all those, throughout the world, who risk life, health, family, and property to oppose injustice, oppression, ignorance, and poverty: from Iraqis trying to rebuild their country in the face of terror and barbarism to Pakistanis trying to find a middle way between military dictatorship and rule by gangs, and everyone in between. May God bless them and their work.
  • For all of you who read our words, whether you agree with them or not, and especially for you who take the time to leave words of your own. Thanks for caring enough to read what we think and share what you think!

A nation is bound together by many things, but perhaps most of all by its common culture. And a key part of culture is cuisine. Food has always been something that binds human beings together as families, communities, and nations.

So, then, what is the quintessentially American food? Most would say the hamburger, I suppose, and I sympathize with them. Others say the hot dog, and I can understand that too. But for my sake, I have to say: pizza.

“Crazy!” you might reply, “Pizza is hardly American, it wasn’t even invented here!” True enough, but it was—I argue—perfected here. And more than just being perfected in America, it was perfected in true American style: not as a single “perfect type” but as a whole host of totally different types! You don’t really have “American pizza”, you have a host of American pizzas:

And of course, leaving the best for last, the pie de resistance (as it were):

  • Chicago Style, pan, deep-dish, or stuffed, layered with toppings, cheese, and tomatoes, and baked to perfection, as presented by Pizzeria Uno (the inventor), Gino’s East, Edwardo’s, Giordano’s and so many, many more. (A heart-attack on a plate, perhaps, but that would be the Chicago equivalent of a martyr’s death.)

Many Americans, perusing the list above, will probably pick one or two examples, exalt them, and damn the rest. In my case, as with pets and women, so with pizza: quality is king and excellence comes in many forms: I’ve liked examples of every type I’ve tried (and also found atrociously bad examples of each). But whether you view just one kind as the One True Pizza, or are a shameless pizza whore like myself, you can’t deny that they’re all American classics.

Now, if America was Europe, each of these regional favorites would stay confined to its tiny niche and pride itself on its unchanging tradition. But, thank God, this ain’t Europe. So you can get New York style pizza in Melbourne Beach, Florida, and Champaign-Urbana, Illinois. You can get Chicago style pizza sent by Express Mail all over the place. And you can get the better or worse knock-offs of nearly every style from the major chains like Domino’s and Pizza Hut. Sure, some of these suck, but that’s fine, they’ll die. And others claim to be “X-style” while really being innovations. That’s fine too, because if the innovations are worth a damn, they deserve to kick butt and take over. And if they aren’t, then they too will simply fade away.

This is America, where innovation and success beat slavish tradition and protectionism any day! And so I claim pizza as the most American of foods, because it embodies the American Dream:

  • it came from a foreign land to make its way in the New World
  • it was forced to adapt to new challenges and cultures but still kept hold of its roots
  • it followed the lure of a quick buck to many crazy ventures and bizarre schemes, most of which went down in flames…
  • …but some latched on to greatness, endured, prospered, and dominated entire cities and regions…
  • …only to spawn off a new generation of upstarts devoted to surpass their parents

And so, as with America, so with American Pizza: there are many American pizzas, and they are a fractious, competitive, quarrelsome bunch who don’t always get along, but they are all, truly, American.