Don’t fuck with my food, dammit!

Cluttered about a particular section of my brain are a bunch of ideas that are, well… good ideas, but half-baked as it were. They’re the outlines of a terrific cookbook, the first chapters and story idea for a really good novel, or, as in this case, they’re the rough concept of a good restaurant – I’ve got a few of those going. If I ever win the lottery…

I seriously want to open a restaurant with some catchy title where the menu is classic – note I don’t mean boring. I mean classic.

As in, don’t-fuck-with-my-food classic. As in, bacon is bacon. It needs neither adulteration nor adornment (hence the recipes for black-pepper-encrusted rosemary bacon had me scratching my head and wondering why). As fan-fucking-tabulous as bacon is (I have otherwise kosher friends who will eat bacon because to them, it is its own food group), there are things I do not feel are improved by the addition of bacon. Ice cream is one of them.

Certain foods are nostalgia trips. They bring on that flash of memory, or whisk you off to childhood in a single bite. These are foods that simply should not be fucked with. Sure, I applaud the idea of modernizing a classic recipe, but when you are craving that nostalgia-inducing bite from childhood, finding a “grown up” and “more sophisticated” version is a let down.

Sacrosanct are foods like chocolate chip cookies. You can make them bite size or chocolate chip cookiesgargantuan, with dark chocolate or milk chocolate chip and I really don’t care if you like nuts or not (I don’t) so long as the cookies have that crispy outside, chewy inside, doughy, chocolate-chippy yumminess, I’m good to go. Chocolate chip cookies should not involve salted caramel bits sprinkled on top.

I love salted caramel. I love chocolate chip cookies. I might even like the two of them together, so long as you didn’t call them chocolate chip cookies. Because the second those three words are out of your mouth, my brain and heck, my entire body, start gearing up for ooey, gooey, chocolate-chippy goodness.

Brownies are in the same category, as is just about anything you ate and enjoyed a child.

Really, I do want to try (some of) those foods. They sound like cool ideas (most of the time). But when a food is changed enough from its original, no matter how good it might be, it ceases to be that original thing. So, blueberry infused creme brulee is some baked blueberry custard masquerading as creme brulee. Call it blueberry custard, dammit. That way I won’t expect a cup of creamy, vanilla-y stuff that might be smuggling some blueberries under its crispy shell.

Because that blueberry infused thing? Ewww.