How it started: Mom’s tater-tot casserole – a slab of ground beef, browned, bathed in canned cream of mushroom soup, topped with tater tots and thrown in the oven. Hope the dog was hungry.
How it’s going: Roasted cauliflower at Bavel in downtown Los Angeles – yes, cauliflower, with a mystical concoction of hawaij chile sauce, lime leaf, crème fraîche serrano dip, pistachios and dried flowers. Try to avoid losing a finger as you and your friends stab at the final morsels.
My transformation from a kid who was picky, even about meals of meat and potatoes, into a foodie of sorts is hilarious to anyone who knew me 20 years ago – and probably would’ve infuriated my late parents, who endured my inflexibility, special orders and utter lack of culinary courage.
Mind you, it’s not as if my family was all that adventurous when I was young. Seafood arrived both frozen in a box and in unnatural shapes (fish sticks, anyone?), and canned green veggies in unappetizing shades of gray. Few dishes went unaccompanied by an English muffin, which we had in abundance since my dad was a commercial bakery supervisor, our captain of nooks and crannies.
We also were broke. Not to the point that we three kids went without – though I’m sure my parents did – but extravagant meals were unimaginable when rent was a challenge.
No wonder I conflated quality food with wealth. This wasn’t an issue of food insecurity, a societal travesty I take seriously, but my personal inferiority complex. And my eventual pursuit of great meals mirrored a desire to rise above chain restaurants’ Naugahyde booths that had an inherent stickiness designed to keep me in my place.
In my 20s, I occasionally ventured into a steakhouse to chase the notion that a crippling blow to my credit card said something about me. I could dine alongside the well-heeled, even if I limited myself to a pricey version of meat and potatoes. Even as the American dining scene evolved to offer daring, delicious options, I safely opted for more of the same.
Then, five months before Michelle and I were married, she took me to New Orleans for the first time. Everything changed when we arrived at Commander’s Palace. Where had barbecue seafood stew been all my life? Or the shrimp and tasso henican starter? Long-neglected taste buds were rewarded for their patience with the bread pudding topped with whiskey cream sauce that secured its role as my farewell meal’s dessert.
That was the most expensive dinner I’d experienced to date, which would have solidified my belief that it cost a lot to eat well, except that New Orleans had amazing food full of robust flavors everywhere we turned and at all price points.
And if New Orleans offered that, wouldn’t most places, even if not at quite the same level?
As Michelle and I traveled more, we grew bolder in our dining choices with the understanding that food was part of the experience, especially when we were together or with friends or family. Long before I read “Kitchen Confidential,” I started to understand something Anthony Bourdain figured out as a kid: “Food had power. It could inspire, astonish, shock, excite, delight and impress. It had the power to please me and others.”
I became far less concerned with proving I belonged and far more interested in the conversation and laughter found when we shared a good meal with better people.
Tacos El Paisano in Rosarito Beach might as well be a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris when we’re there with friends. Our friends and I still revel in the memory of the time the chef at a local favorite sent out Oaxacan fried ants to start. Michelle didn’t hear the waiter’s explanation and turned ashen when she learned the six-legged source of that crunch.
Then 2020 came and some of our favorite pastimes necessarily were put on hold.
Shows about food and travel such as Padma Lakshmi’s “Taste the Nation” and Stanley Tucci’s “Searching for Italy” helped fill some of the void when not even outdoor restaurant dining was allowed and we weren’t getting on planes. Michelle is an excellent cook and, hey, I’m strong on the grill and recently learned how to make shortbread inspired by “Ted Lasso,” but it wasn’t the same as dinner with friends and the adventure found in the pages of a menu.
Now it’s time to make up for wasted meals, to do the research required to determine my favorite tomahawk ribeye as well as the region’s finest al pastor. I want beet agnolotti, rigatoni cacio e pepe and that cauliflower for which I’d sacrifice my buddy’s pinky – he’s got two.
I’m so ready for new dining experiences that I’d judge a competition for a reimagined version of Mom’s tater-tot casserole. I wouldn’t even bring my dog.
