Softened Brains

Had dinner with Yesenia and her mother at the Westchester Marriott tonight, at a place called 'Ruth's Chris Steak House,' a restaurant I challenge you to say out loud correctly. 'Ruth's Chris' is just not a phoneme grouping that exists in English. Want proof? Walk up to the next person you see, say 'Ruth's Chris,' and ask them to spell out what you just said.

See?

Food was good, though. I had a pygmy chicken breast stuffed with herb cheese, served on a 500º plate. This is not me exaggerating for effect; this is the actual temperature of the plates that they served the entrees on. I know this because the waiter delivered that info as part of the 'in case you've never been here before, here's how we do things here' schpiel that certain types of restaurants feel adds an air of class.

"Let us explain this thing you're holding in your hands. We call that a menu. It's a real innovation: we've decided to codify the food our chef prepares in a printed list, which we then present to each diner, so that they can read what we offer and actually choose for themselves what they want to eat in advance. This is, of course, different from any restaurant experience you've ever had before, where neither you nor the wait staff knows what the food will be in advance of its arrival at the table. Indeed, sometimes there's a chance it might not even be food, because the chef, he has moods."

Guess what? The 500º plate did the fucking job. I can honestly say I've never had an entree stay piping hot the way this chicken did throughout the meal, which was both impressive and kind of sad. Impressive that it worked, sad that every other meal I've ever eaten in my life reached room temperature before I was even halfway through. From now on, I regard it as my divine right as an American to have all of my food served on 500º plates. Even my salads.

D.