The Paradox of Eating Fancy Food
It’s difficult to locate myself socially and economically. I was never hungry as a child, I went to sleepaway camp, I grew up in a firmly middle class neighborhood in a decent school district on Long Island. My dad didn’t have a job for a long time when I was growing up (recession vibes), sleepaway camp was partially paid for (paid for by scholarship money from the camp), dinner most nights was pasta. I grew up with an acute awareness that money was tight, and what economic strain can look and feel like for a family of five. Finishing your food was essential, a half full plate was cause for ridicule. Throwing away food was one of the worst offenses.
Now that my parents both have stable jobs and don’t have three children to constantly feed, meals out are a lot more common. I’d position my parents in opposite camps with regards to eating out. My dad takes an immeasurable amount of pride in not caring for the event at all, and even feels resentful of the frivolity of it all. My mom believes it is one of the great pleasures of life; over ordering on most occasions, acting as if money is no object. Both of these wolves rage within me: but which one howls the loudest?
As someone who would undoubtedly spend my lottery winnings eating at every fancy restaurant I’d ever wanted to go to, you could say I’m a fan of eating out. I love fancy food. What can I say? It tastes good! But does it taste as good as it costs? The fact of the matter is: I’ll never know.
Let me explain. It is not uncommon to spend between two and five hundred dollars on an incredible fancy pants ass meal. At least for middle class folks earning a middle class wage who direct their disposable income on that type of outing. “Fancy food” is relative of course. I guess I’d define it as somewhere where you have the option to spend anywhere from 20-150 dollars per dish at supposedly high quality quality restaurant with a creative/intentional menu. Generally speaking, depending on living expenses, earnings and the like; many middle class people can afford something nice for a few hundred dollars every once in a while. Whether that be a special handbag, a pair of shoes, a video game console, etc, etc.
A few hundred dollars is not an unimaginably excessive amount to spend on a treat every now and then. The issue with spending it on food is that a meal is inherently fleeting. We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to savor something that is finite. We see the portion on the plate, we know how long it generally takes to consume a prime cut of meat and a few sides (30 minutes max, the rest is padded by the performance art that is the act of being served a meal).
Another layer to this issue is the finality of the decision. You can return a purse or a smart TV, but you can’t return a meal you’ve already eaten. When the plate hits the table and you take your first bite of 70 dollar lukewarm, moderately flavored truffle pasta, you’re stuck with it. It’s true that technically you have the option of sending it back, but then you run the risk of someone (the chef and/or the waiter) not liking you. Plus this is a fancy place afterall, maybe there’s not something wrong with the food but rather something wrong with YOU.
There is not only pressure for the food to be good, but also the pressure put on ourselves to enjoy it. If a middle class crew spends over a hundred dollars on one dish, everyone at the table will marvel at its exquisiteness, its uniqueness. It then becomes impossible to actually assess the quality of the dish, as your brain is clouded by cost benefit analysis, and the pressure from the other people at the table to convince yourselves that this is all indeed worth it. Think “Emperor’s New Clothes” but with a public school teacher, a medical secretary, and a 150 dollar wagyu ribeye.
Maybe I’m making too big of a deal out of this. Afterall, you could simply decide that you’re spending X amount on a meal and the money is gone no matter what so you may as well enjoy what’s in front of you. Or you could choose not to spend your money on a fancy meal! But for me, eating out is indeed one of the great pleasures of life, and if I have disposable income that is what I want. I don’t want a purse (this is the third time I’m mentioning a purse, not even sure people my age carry purses anymore) or an expensive coat, or a high tech pair of noise canceling headphones. I want a wagyu ribeye, or a truffle pasta. I want to finally go to the place that all of my favorite food writers and bloggers have been posting about. There is no doubt in my mind that eating high quality, inventive food is at the top of my list for how I want to spend my money, and yet I find it impossible to consume without guilt, anxiety, or pressure to enjoy.
I’ll leave you with this, perhaps the best and most recent example I have of this cost benefit analysis at work: an Omakase I went to a few weeks ago. Infamous for being exceedingly expensive for the amount of food you get, Omakase is one of the most extreme and widely discussed examples of the paradox of eating fancy food. Don’t get me wrong, the fish was incredible, exquisite, and unique. But when the bill came I was shocked and hungry. I had been looking forward to this experience for months, and I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the food. But what I was left with in the end was a pit in my stomach, from hunger and anxiety; the feeling of being cheated, swindled. The intense and sudden realization that it was not worth it. I have experienced that feeling a number of times to varying degrees, and I live in fear of it to a certain extent. What amount of money makes this feeling go away? This isn’t the biggest problem in the world, but it’s something to think about if you have the time.
A piece of fish the size of two quarters that by my estimation is worth about seven dollars
