Buck Emberg
I believe stacking of food has come to the West by a misunderstanding of Japanese cuisine and culture. In Japan, stacked food does not look like a stack … it is more of an art form like origami. Upon delivery of the offering by a waitress who exists to not be seen, it is normal to sit in silence, staring down upon the gathered delicacies. Only after visual and olfactory satisfaction are completed can consumption begin … slowly.
PERHAPS it is because of mother’s mashed potatoes! The origin of some problems are that simple. Two large spoonsful were gently pressed into a bowl shape and filled to overflowing with her exquisite rich brown gravy. The gravy drizzled down the potato mound and trickled lovingly close to large slices of pink roast beef. The generous wedges gently nudged into the snow-like mound.
Sidled up to the beef would be three fresh vegies from her organic garden: carrots julienne topped with ginger slices and butter just made from Flossy, our house cow.
Next, peas were gently rolled onto the warmed plate and found a home on the north side of the potato mountain. In season there was a sprig of mint gently placed amongst the green green peas; and her red cooked cabbage with spices and Lady of the Snow apples (always three slices) peeking mountain-ward.
She loved huge white plates so the food could be displayed and visually savoured before the attack began by myself, five siblings, father and the usually raft of relatives and visitors.
Gosh, I miss you Mum!
Now we have STACKING!
I believe stacking of food has come to the West by a misunderstanding of Japanese cuisine and culture. In Japan, stacked food does not look like a stack … it is more of an art form like origami. Upon delivery of the offering by a waitress who exists to not be seen, it is normal to sit in silence, staring down upon the gathered delicacies. Only after visual and olfactory satisfaction are completed can consumption begin … slowly.
NOT HERE MATE!
To wit: stacked food seems to consist of something on the bottom of the plate which might be potatoes or rice or risotto. The drizzled brown stuff made of boiled vinegar has been gooed onto the lips of the plate so that it runs into the next thing, perhaps a quail. The quail, or maybe it is a piece of fish, is hidden by seventeen pieces of feathered greenery but one is almost able to see the meat morsel lying in wait. For some reason there is a piece of white bread, cut nicely into a triangle and toasted, sticking out like a brown sail from the salad stuff. Then there is the ultimate something with a French name which is placed loosely on top of the precipitous pile…it usually glistens with some sort of sauce, insouciantly trying to look like as if it has always been there. Over this some, cleverly disguised tiny onions, trying valiantly to look like something else, are dribbled loosely. They roll down the quivering stack like caramelized boulders on an incipient volcano.
As the waiting-person carefully sets the culinary masterpiece in front of the diner, just as often, the Stack starts to come apart and morph into its various parts as gravity takes over. One stares, not admiringly, but hoping to discover what food is about to go into ones cake hole. It can be a defining social moment, balancing the quivering pile and trying to look sophisticated … as it comes apart. Rather quickly, the Stack disappears … and you are still hungry.
I think one of the REAL reasons for stacking food is that not as much food needs to be prepared … and deserts are expensive; hence a profit increase for the restaurant. The inner, hungry person needs less, apparently, than the artistic soul. It is my experience that inevitably you want more food after devouring the visual masterpiece. However, sometimes, the Stack even tastes good, especially if the base is mashed potatoes with gravy.
No more Stacking Restaurants for me. We have become militant non-stackers! I am striking a blow, forever, for those people who like to go to a restaurant, take off their jackets and have the wonderful experience of plain old eating and filling the belly.
Mum. Your gravy and potatoes ruined me!
Buck Emberg
www.tasmanian-tiger.com
