A friend visiting me in Toronto took me to my first-ever Michelin Star restaurant a few years back. The menu here was exquisitely sparse and used limited-edition ingredients I wasn’t familiar with. Since the chefs are taught to think about texture and flavor and aroma and a whole host of other things, for a first timer, some dishes can be hit or miss. The palette needs time to get used to concentrated care like that. The care of artistic flair in the kitchen, a place traditionally for the women of the house to tinker with family recipes and exchange gossip over tea.
Imagine a shaved salmon appetizer with pickled rhubarb and capers, swimming in a lemon sauce, my favorite flavor on earth. For crunch, some five-star onion twirls done right with zero grease. You like it, but the pairings are not what you eat at home. It’s an interesting swirl in your mouth. Your tongue is open, but not jumping in yet. You need a few more bites to commit. Or not. This appetizer is like a relationship that ends too soon. It had some alignment and promise, but you’re not sure of what exactly. There was not enough time to conclude whether you liked the restaurant or not. Whether you’d want to eat there forever.
The fire in the kitchen cut your meal short, and the restaurant is not taking any reservations from diners present at the time of the fire because the chef is superstitious. But you can’t stop imagining the rest of the meal you will never get to have now. You make up stories tall and wide. You’re at the precipice, not knowing whether to jump or walk back. Walking back is the only way, my friend, because changing the chef’s mind to try again is near impossible, especially when he doesn’t want to take a chance with his heart.
Now, imagine a restaurant down the road. You have eaten your heart out of all that they have to offer. You know the chef’s moods and the upper limit of his culinary skills. You appreciate the familiarity, but you can easily walk away to the new eatery, a subway station away. There is potential for the chef to improve his skills, but you’ve run out of patience.
These are the easier breakups because you’ve given them your all. You’ve stayed on days the meals were too salty; you’ve tried to encourage the chef to think bigger. But you have nothing left to give now. When you shift your loyalty to the eatery, it’s easier to never come back to the restaurant, except for some friendly banter with the staff for old times’ sake. But it doesn’t mean you won’t compare this restaurant, its ambience, the chef’s easy smile, and the hearty flavors with every restaurant you step into for the rest of your life.
