To give you a little context about this post, please scroll down to the previous post. I make a confession about food.

So I was getting ready to talk about eating at a high falutin restaurant before I felt it necessary to explain a little something about my taste buds, so, I assume everyone is on board with my undiscriminating taste so I will continue with my story.

Friends wanted to go to a Michelin star French restaurant for the experience. Bob likes food and I like alcohol. The restaurant had both so I was in for the experience. Before going too far, I want to say the experience was fun, good company, good drink, and nice setting all made for a wonderful evening.

When I think of French dining, I think Beef Bourguignon, Coq au Vin, or Salad Nicoise. None of which were on the menu instead the menu contained a mysterious blends of unfamiliar meats, vegetables, and sauces. Absolutely nothing was familiar to me. Fortunately for me, most of my dining companions found themselves in the same situation. Usually when a waiter arrives at the table, I have a general idea of what I am interested in ordering. After scanning the menu several times, I had no idea whatsoever.

The waiter was absolutely vital to the ordering process. If he hadn’t patiently explained every item on the menu, I would have been lost. And I am not exaggerating, I mean every item on the menu needed an explanation from the waiter. Usually after a waiter answers my questions, particularly if he spent the better part of a half hour, I can safely make my choice. I simply match the entree’s main dish — say the steak with what the waiter just told me. Except nothing on this menu says steak or chicken or salmon. Each item has a clever French name which was spoken beautifully by the waiter and promptly forgotten by me. So instead of looking down at the menu and seeing steak, I am seeing the blah, blah or the blah, blah, blah. I can’t remember if the blah, blah is the salmon or the blah, blah, blah. I worry that the so far very patient waiter might break if I ask him to repeat for the fifth time what was on the menu. Instead, between a combination of fuzzy memory and mental dart throwing, I make my choices

The food arrives and was eaten. First the food tasted fine. I ate everything on my plate but at the prices they were charging I was going to eat everything on my plate even if I detested the meal, so hardly a valid measurement. More telling, I am afraid, is that even after eating my meal, I had no words to describe what I ate. This is after the waiter has given a dissertation about the menu and who when delivering the food, kindly reminded me what I ordered. If I had to describe my meal, I would say it was a hunk of meat with a sauce. Wait that is wrong, maybe, it wasn’t a hunk of meat, maybe it was a vegetable. Wait, maybe it was fruit. Or was it pasta? I really couldn’t tell you. It was definitely something and it was edible. If any of my dinner companions asked me what I just ate, I had to go back to the website look at the menu and then, after a few minutes a word would jump out at me and I would remember what I ordered.

All and all, it was a wonderful experience but I am afraid the menu revealed, yet again, my low brow status. This only confirms the Dorothy Parker adage: “You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think.”