A View from the Hills
Our nephew from Connecticut makes brief business trips to California, and we hear the phrase "only in California" as frequently as Pulitzer-prize-winner Herb Caen used "only in San Francisco."
Nephew Tony, a Control Systems Design Specialist, views with lifted brow and a somewhat down-putting smile to the panic with which some of our citizens are responding to the predicted computer breakdown in the year 2000.
Stockpiling food in anticipation of the "disaster" strikes him as naive over-reaction.
"What's going to happen, and we're already working on it, the system will break down, and we'll be prepared to fix it."
"I can't bring myself to worry that far ahead," I said. I tend not to plan much beyond breakfast and my Burdock root tea.
My current fixation has been on vertical vittles, those pyramids that, as nearly as we could determine, appeared initially at what was then Palo Alto's Star's restaurant under master-chef Jeremiah Tower.
Perhaps the chef's name inspired his reach-for-the-sky approach to food. In any case, photos of his culinary creations were circulated and gave rise to a trend we hope will run its course and fade.
Unfortunately our favorite restaurant has succumbed. Where formerly we were served culinary masterpieces beautifully arranged, we are now presented with skyscrapers. A mashed potato base lifted my grilled salmon high, and beside it some julienne veggies reposed. Over all, sauce had been ladled, giving the whole a stew-like consistency.
Cris' portobello mushroom was similarly violated, buried as it was beneath a tennis-ball-sized mound of mashed potatoes. The result was an elevated shepherd's pie effect, instead of the neatly served platters we'd come to anticipate and savor. Springing food pyramids on unwary patrons can result in serious gustatory shock, and Cris and I could not attempt to conceal ours.
With a successful succession of success why had these charming, level-headed owners been seduced?
"Where did they go wrong," I wailed.
I stood my salmon steak on its side, attempted to denude it of the offending potatoes, and discovered that mashed potatoes stick to grilled salmon with the tenacity of wallpaper paste.
We shared our feelings about these unorthodox presentations with our dapper, efficient wait-person and had a heart-to-heart with the owner when we left. The gist of our plea was, "If it isn't broke don't fix it."
So, when our nephew kissed me on the forehead and invited Cris and me out to our erstwhile favorite restaurant, we declined politely and suggested he shop for the fixin's and prepare one of his own gourmet meals for us at home.
"O.K. Aunt Mary, that's what I'd prefer too, but how come you turn down an opportunity to eat out?"
I explained. He shook his head, the eyebrow shot up and that down-putting smile flashed.
"Vertical vittles," he said with a sigh. "Only in California."
"Not for long," I hoped. "There must be others out there who are as unhinged by food pyramids as we are."
And then, as always, I had second thoughts. As my friend Susi is fond of reminding me when I pontificate or climb on my soapbox, "Different strokes for different folks."
Perhaps we should take a vote?
Mary Cristy is a Los Altos Hills-based free-lance writer and longtimecontributor to theTown Crier.