Application of Elegance (II)

On an elegant menu.

As the most tone-defining element of any occasion associated with a meal, the menu is the single most important choice in the matters of the table.

“A menu is, in essence, a list” (– The Menu, by Eve Marleau)

But if a picture tells a thousand words, the menu paints a thousand dreams: it is the condensed narrative, a measure and memento of any a memorable meal. 

At its most successful, a menu is a dialogue, reflecting - or at the least respecting - the taste and ambiance of its location, occasion, audience and season, is arranged in a thoughtful and interesting sequence and has both the final fortune and foresight to be served with pleasant, just-long-enough intervals in-between. 

Whilst relatively little is written about menus, certain old-fashioned strictures still pervade. No surprise - the French and Italian moda operandi in menu-making lie at opposite ends: while the French maintain that a fish course should always precede a meat course and vice versa, the Italians are firm that the two should never be mixed. 

According to Marcella Hazan:

‘– the choice of the second course is usually a development of the theme established by the first’. 

And while the Germanic custom of a soup course followed by a main course is by now largely abandoned, in the Anglo-speaking hemisphere courses themselves have been almost altogether abandoned, held hostage by tableware: decanted into ‘sharing plates’ at their best and solitary ‘bowls’ at their worst fate. This all in the name of culturally progressive dining, conveniently cloaking any given reality… laziness, greediness, carelessness..etc. (One course does however faithfully survive, always at the ready, residing in the freezer: the unexpiring, industrious tub of supermarket-shelf ice cream.)

Old-fashioned European diktats aside, the clearest, unanimous aim of a well-functioning menu is balance and harmony in both taste and texture.

With that in mind, general menu-making advice typically includes not repeating ingredients or cooking methods and creating some contrast in textures and interest in flavours, all the while achieving a pleasing continuity or progression.

Above and beyond functionality an elegant menu might be seen as one that is: - 

1. Fit to purpose. 

It is a good idea to have a view of what role the food needs to play – if it is at the centre, or in background; if it needs to feed or simply superficially please, invite conversation or induce comfort. I once went all out at a Christmas party in Milan, where the food was so good and plenty, the first half was spent mostly around the food table, and almost every thank you message started with how delicious the food had been. Nothing should upstage fun at a party, not even food.

2. Fit to season. 

This is by far the simplest way to delight your audience, by presenting them with the best the particular moment has to offer. Not only is seasonal food at its most delicious, fitting and economical, it is also the most and only planet friendly choice.

There is little nobleness in importing flavours from another continent or super-imposing another climate’s riches on to a foreign table. And whilst ubiquity can make some ingredients feel unglamorous, there is plenty of opportunity to add allure to even the humblest sprout or potato through the recipe, manner of serving, pairing or even decorating. (Not that glamour has ever been synonymous with elegance.) Of course it also makes menu-making easy: those that grow together… go together.

3. Fit to context.

Practicality on the other hand is indispensable to elegance.

And not at odds with the imaginative or creative. There is a lot of pleasure to be had in eating posh foods in unposh locations and the other way round. But the logistics of feeding and eating - outdoor dining, buffets, picnics, boats etc. – will always benefit from a minimal amount of consideration.

As will the particular geographic setting, and its unique charms and limitations; what is pleasurable surrounded by a light sea breeze and late sunshine will not immediately translate to the City, with its distinct climate and even more distinctive energy. Fresh off a boat in the Mediterranean and back in England one early autumn evening, I whipped up some spaghtetti alla bottarga for a dear old friend who happened to be living next door, her fresh out of hospital with her first-born. Despite this being an exquisite recipe, a new one I had just picked up, suffice to say the dish tasted half as delicious as it did back in the Med, and considerably failed to provide the comfort and sustenance a new mother might enjoy on a mild, early autumn evening in London. (“…On the highest throne in the world, we still sit only on our own bottom” - Montaigne.)

Best and most of all, practice makes (menus) perfect. 

Though history well knows that the best menu moments are never twice repeated…