Reason 2: False Chic Dinners

Being a bon viveur, I am truly excited about all things Gourmet. That's why the first night at dinner the menu stated the meals were the brain child of Jacques* something-or-another straight out of France, I was prepared to be amazed. The menu made my mouth water. I chose the smoked Salmon, lamb chops and crème brûlée.


First off I was not the sole person at my table to choose the smoked salmon. Another lady across from me said she had always wanted to try it, but never had. The smoked salmon had a hard texture and tasted funny. "I don't see why people rave about smoked salmon," the lady said pushing her plate away. She was right, it was not edible. Maybe she would have reacted the same to a proper smoked salmon, but in her mind this was a proper smoked salmon.


The lamb too cooked. There was not even a bit of pink. Shamefully, I had ordered the most expensive red wine on the menu (a Bourgogne) thinking it would go well with good lamb chops. About this time, I heard a load thump, and thought the boat hit something. In retrospect I know it was simply Escoffier rolling over in his grave.


Well at least there is the single most important food ever created by man, the crème brûlée. In my opinion, crème brûlée should be its own food group. The top of the crème brûlée was caramelized and beautiful. I cracked into the beautiful burnt sugary crust and all seemed well. I raised my spoon to my mouth, and discovered the creme was not smooth and creamy, but curdled, and egg smelling. Again, the person trying crème brûlée for her first time would probably assume this was crème brûlée.

I visited the dining room two more times before swearing it off, and eating hamburgers, Chinese food, and sandwiches for the rest of the trip. At least the cooks would be hard-pressed to screw those up. It was disheartening, but necessary for survival.

Sometimes phrases in French can more easily describe what had happened to the cuisine on this ship: Ils veulent péter plus haut que leurs culs.

*Some French name, you get the picture.

Wine Memory

Late in my life, I started to hear people talk about what wine complements what cuisine. In France, I often heard conversations that go beyond the complementary relationship of food and wine, discussing what I will call in English "wine memory." I have never heard anyone talk about this subject in English, even in wine circles. I suspect its because maybe the food we eat in this country does not want to "be remembered" by the wine. Maybe terminology already exists that is superior to the concept I present to you as "wine memory." I am paraphrasing from the French concept, "ça rapelle" which I would translate directly as "it recalls", but using the phrase "recalling food" brings images of Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle," and Peter Pan peanut butter instead of the romantic notion I intend to impart. In order to introduce this concept, I have to reveal to you what a hick I was in my youth. Well, everyone has to learn at some point, you are not born a gourmand, it is a lifelong process. My first experience with "wine memory" was when I was 21. I was on a date with a French woman, and it was my first time to eat at a French restaurant. This date would change my life in more ways than one. Most importantly, it was my first glance into how mysterious wine can really be, and opened my life up to the idea of eating for pleasure as opposed to eating to feel full. My date ordered an appetizer of Saumon Fumée (a.k.a. Smoked Salmon.) I had never had smoke salmon, no, just the smelly salmon patties my mom made growing up. She asked me what kind of wine I wanted- easy, "red." She told me red doesn't go with Saumon Fumée, and that she would order for me. I mainly knew Franzia back then, so cannot recall what kind of white was ordered, but I think she ordered a Sauvignon Blanc.

The wine and smoked salmon came to the table. The smoked salmon was orange in color, and oily looking, decorated with little green balls I would later discover are capers, and a small feathery green herb I was familiar with, but had never seen, dill. I reluctantly took my first bite, and was very surprised at the fresh taste of the smoked salmon. I took a drink of the white wine, and after swallowing, exclaimed, "this wine tastes like fish!" My date's face grew red, and she laughed until she cried. I thought she was laughing because she picked a wine that tasted like fish. She wasn't. She was laughing because I was learning as an adult what French children learn shortly after speaking their first words. (As an aside to Francophiles, I also learned the word "plouc" that night. "Aah, c'est plouc," she said!)

She explained in broken English that one of the mysteries of wine is its symbiotic relationship with food. We don't really know how it happens, but by pairing the proper wine with the proper food, we can increase the chances of it happening, and we WANT it to happen. What I was tasting was the wine recalling the memory of the food I just ate. I took another sip of wine, and could again taste the smoked salmon. It was a revelation to me, as big as when I discovered Santa was not real, that I really could not grow up to be whatever I wanted to be, including and especially president, and that I really could not use the force if I concentrated hard enough. I did not want to move on to the next course, but to slowly eat the salmon, and drink the wine until the memory of the food could no longer be recalled.