TheBanyanTree: Quasi-performance/pseudo-freshness

[auntiesash]

For the second time in as many days, I have heard(*) the sentence "They have
great guacamole. They make it right at your table!"

Both times I've thought "Why would they do that?"  I mean, I love me some
guacamole(**) but is this a new thing that I've missed somehow?  And is it
just guacamole, or will I soon see my butter hand churned or my pasta
field-tossed?

I'm not sure if this is performance art or the ultimate in freshness.
 Personally, it seems a sad combination of the two.  Performance art every
bit as awkward as the roving magician who pulls a quarter from your ear and
sticks your playing card to the ceiling while your food gets cold and your
conversation wilts with your salad.  Freshness that is implied but speaks
nothing to how long the publicly slaughtered avocado sat in the walk in
cooler.

Quasi-performance/pseudo-freshness.

While there are no doubt people in the world who can determine by taste
whether the green mash before them was created just seconds ago or was,
sadly, cooked in a kitchen far, far away and then walked over to the table,
can I be so bold as to suggest that those people are not, in general,
availing themselves of Endless Enchilada Night?  Just a guess.

I remember mother making us a Caesar Salad.  That was pretty darn exotic
cuisine (I blame Julia Child) and she was describing to me how, in proper
restaurants, they made the salad and the dressing right there at the table,
with real anchovies and a freshly cracked egg.  You can imagine how
thrilling that sounded to me (Mom - are you SURE those little fish things
aren't bait?) and even now I'm not sure if mom was speaking from personal
experience.  Oh - I'm sure she was describing something real, but there were
many things she talked about that seemed a world away - like cucumber
sandwiches and black forest cake.  Things I could never quite be sure about.
 Were these magical touches of sophistication from the books mom read?  From
cooking shows perhaps (Julia has a lot to answer for)? Or were they
real remembrances - glimpses into that life mother had once - before
children, before marrying a lumberjack, before Montana - the time when she
was a woman who wore beautiful hats with feathers and net veils and wore
suits with kick-pleats and hose with seams?

My son can buy Caesar Salad in a bag and Black Forest Cake is a flavor of
yogurt (and I used to think anchovies were gross?).  There is still some
food mystery in his life - watching the salmon and octopus be transformed
into sushi or hearing me talk about the flaming coffee drinks poured at
Embers back in the day.  Does "20-something SarahAnne at Embers" put Ned
through the same mental yoga that I once experienced wrestling with
"20-something Helen brunching with the officers at Quantico"?  You know - I
sorta hope it does.  I also sorta hope, if I someday have some grandkids to
regale, I have a more stellar mental picture for them to grapple with than
table side guacamole at "On the Border".

sash - 2/2011

(*) And by "heard" I actually, in one instance, mean "read".  Gmail chat is
not, at this point, audible.  A feature that would bring full circle to the
phone call/text/chat/text-to-voice chat.  It would not surprise me if this
feature were pending but, if so, I would need an "opt out" button.  While
Gmail may save my sanity some days, broadcasting those chats in my office
would not, actually, save my job.

(**)  Why do I keep trying to spell guacamole with a Q?  Argh - I just did
it again!  And if French fast food ever took off in the US, could I patent
Quacamole for confit de canard?

(***) Is anyone else craving guacamole now?