Seeking the Specialty

            When making one’s selection of a restaurant on a given evening out, it is often wise to observe the clientele, and determine if their demographics are correlated with the food the establishment aspires to serve.  In other words, beware of the Chinese restaurant in which only white-bread suburbanites with their children in tow choose to dine.  If one enters a deli and observes two elderly jews beatifically munching their corned beef, cole slaw, and Russian dressing on rye while sipping on a Dr. Brown’s cream soda from an old-fashioned bottle, pull up a stool, and do likewise.

            This evening, I found myself at an excellent Asian restaurant.  The menu, of course, contained certain requisite dishes to satisfy its less adventurous guests, but the gems were, unsurprisingly less obvious.  In this country, any restaurant purporting to serve eastern Asian cuisine will serve wonton soup, egg rolls, chicken lo mein, and shrimp fried rice.  If it deigns to be called “Thai,” an assortment of pad thai dishes will adorn the menu to accompany the other uninspired, Americanized options.  While my fiancée, a lover and devotee of all things “pad thai,” selected shrimp pad thai, and found herself roughly as enthused about her dish as she would have likely been anywhere else.  I, in my infinite culinary wisdom (or lessons learned through extreme acts of gluttony), selected a noodle soup bowl replete with seafood and meats of often un-identifiable origin.  The noodles were clear, and via a process of gastronomic physics beyond my feeble comprehension, were more absorbent than the noodles to which I had grown accustomed.  The fish broth in which this delicious stew of sorts sat infused flavor into the noodles which represent a new and delicious experience.  This meal was washed down with an ample mug of taro fruit smoothie replete with pearls of chewy tapioca therein.  Try finding that at your neighborhood “House of Szechuan.”

            As I left the restaurant, blissfully stuffed with enough food to satiate me for quite some time, I began a discussion with my fiancée, who has always commended my ability to pick exceptional dishes from large menus.  While this may be one of my very few redeemable qualities, at least it brings me to a larger point regarding preferences and choices in life.  On menus, there are those dishes which are safe, necessary space-fillers that each restaurant must offer to satisfy its genre.  A bar restaurant had better offer certain staples along the lines of burgers, fries, and a handful of other fried, greasy morsels which are not only addictive and delicious, but excellent compliments to the more potent potables.  Every Indian restaurant in the U.S. probably serves chicken tikka masala, every Mexican restaurant serves tacos and guacamole, and as mentioned, every Chinese restaurant offers wanton soup and egg rolls.  However, what they choose to offer outside of the realm of that which is obvious and necessary is likely where they truly excel, and what they are truly proud to present to you when you enter their walls.

            I suppose as human beings, we are much the same.  There are those skills which we possess which are neither impressive nor noteworthy, but rather, prerequisites for independent living.  I know how to drive a car, pay bills, and use a remote control.  I would never list these on a resume or mention them at a job interview, as they are common skills (except for maybe the bit about driving a car…I just drove through Labor Day weekend traffic near Chicago, and the guy swerving while on his cell phone damn near caused a pileup you’d be reading about today instead of this post).  However, my less common skills are what define my societal value.  The fact is, I am fascinated and intrigued by that which people do best.  I watch tennis on television and marvel at the elegance and precision of ball-striking at the highest plausible human level.  I watch football and stand in awe that men who weigh 350+ pounds can slide on their feet like a cross-breeding of ballerinas and elephants.  I read great writers who move words on a page like generals direct brigades of soldiers toward a common objective.  I listen to songwriters manipulate sound and language to evoke emotional responses the way psychologists would train for years to emulate.  I am constantly impressed by intellectuals whose worldview blurs the line between originality and insanity, if only to expand my own thought-processes.  I am not interested in the fact that all of these individuals can convert oxygen to carbon dioxide, though it is, no doubt, an ability which is necessary for every other achievement described.

            The moral of the story is – focus your interest on that which is special, unique, or at minimum, uncommon about a life experience…and if you find yourself in a decent restaurant, for the sake of your wallet and my sanity, order something interesting!