Meal of (Mis)Fortune

From Luis Buñuel’s 1962 masterpiece “The Exterminating Angel” to 2022’s “The Menu,” films about meals that turn surreal have become something of a genre. After a recent dinner in Manhattan, I know the perfect setting for the next film in the category.

Carey Smith | Founding Contrarian

 Eleven Madison Park is famous throughout the restaurant world. It has 3 Michelin stars, its chef has earned multiple James Beard awards, and for a while, it held the No. 1 spot on a well-known list of the world’s best restaurants. It’s the kind of place where it’s almost impossible to get a reservation, and where, when you finally snag one — and fork over a whopping nonrefundable deposit to hold it — dinner for two runs a cool grand with drinks and tip.

So when my wife was finally able to book a table there not long ago, it came as a surprise to discover that the quality of food was — to be kind — completely unexpected. (Dear Reader: please insert emoji for sarcasm here.)

I know now that I assumed too much — namely, that 3 Michelin stars offered some guarantee of a positive gustatory experience. And though I was well aware that the restaurant that owed its reputation to dishes like suckling pig with blackberries and lavender-honey-glazed duck had two years ago gone entirely vegan, the fact that it had retained its 3 stars since that transition lulled me into a false sense of security. My wife and I were interested to try the highly touted vegan menu, and I genuinely assumed my hard-earned money was going to purchase something of at least transitory value. Yes, even I know what happens to people who ass/u/me, so I suppose I should not have been surprised at what actually transpired.

For starters, the bread was tasteless and the vegan butter (margarine) was as bad as I remember from my Alabama childhood. A zucchini dish, served with lemongrass and marinated tofu, was deeply disturbing. And the wine? I’ve had better from Costco. There simply was no balance; no sweet, no acid. Sour and salt overwhelmingly ruled the day, and it seemed as though the chef was training to enter the umami Olympics.

The exception to this sufferance was the service, which was excellent. So before sharing my unfiltered opinions on the meal, I left a 20% tip. That brought the night to — well, you do the math. (The manager’s offer of a partial refund was refused, though he insisted and did credit part of the meal. It’s far more satisfying to complain, harboring the hope that something might change as a result.)

But even though the meal was worthless, the experience, at least, was valuable, in that it served as a reminder not to follow the crowd — and to research thoroughly before investing either money or time. It’s something I regularly preach to entrepreneurs, but this time I didn’t dig deep enough myself.

If I had looked beyond the stars and glowing reputation, I might have found the review that said chef and owner Daniel Humm “doesn’t yet appear to fully possess the palate, acumen, or cultural awareness to successfully manipulate vegetables or, when necessary, to let them speak for themselves.” Or came upon a review in The New York Times that described a beet dish as tasting “like Lemon Pledge and [smelling] like a burning joint.” The same reviewer later opined that “the ingredients look normal until you take a bite and realize you’ve entered the plant kingdom’s uncanny valley.”

However, my wife and I are curious people, so even those reviews might not have been enough to deter us. But Humm’s loftily expressed reasons for his plant-based menu certainly should have: “The current food system is simply not sustainable.” “What is on one’s plate is the single most powerful thing an individual can do towards climate change.” And the kicker: “This could change the world.”

These are the kind of statements that make me lose my lunch. I pity the poor fool who believes them. Sadly, however, their numbers are legion.

According to Humm, the waiting list for Eleven Madison Park is in the tens of thousands. And dollars to umami vegan donuts, most of them just want to be part of the in-crowd. They’re there for the bragging rights; they subscribe to the hype, and they’ll cheer for the emperor’s new food no matter how nakedly unappetizing it is because they don’t want to upset the vegetable cart. Count me out in the future from jumping on the latest foodie bandwagon. With apologies to a great general of the Second World War: I came through, and I shall NOT return.