I guess I’ve become a punk foodie. You know how punk rockers eschew any artist that experiences some degree of commercial success because they become sellouts and their work turns to crap? I'm there.

I’m mad at some of my formerly favorite restaurants for making it big. It seems like the minute they open a new location and start getting fancy mass-printed multi-page menus and t-shirts and piggy banks and whatnots... they instantly begin to suck. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge the proprietors their success, they totally deserve it and I’m happy for them to be doing well in this economy, yadda yadda, but oh my goodness.... what have you done to the food I loved? Even some of the restaurants that I knew were franchises, but were relatively small chains – one location in my city instead of 9, for example, have drastically bottomed out in the enjoyability department lately.

I went to one of my favorite special occasion restaurants (all fondue, all the time) last night for the first time in, oh, 6 years or so... the original hole in the wall in a rough neighborhood was closed down in favor of the second location which was all new and pretty in the fancy shopping district. Ugh. Lots of the patrons were there in skeezy tank tops and flip-flops, instead of the semi-formal attire that you used to have to wear to fit in with the classy atmosphere. Ugh. The uniforms of the wait staff had changed to what was basically the equivalent of ‘restaurant scrubs.’ Ugh. The seating was changed from semicircular booths that allow you to sit next to your companions like you should for fondue, to the traditional diner booth where you sit across from one another, facing opposite directions. (I can’t begin to tell you the psychological value of sitting side by side, looking the same way; it’s fit for a separate post, but...) Ugh. The waiter was instantly too buddy-buddy with me and my date (mostly me) and kept saying ridiculously stupid (rude) things like, “better let the lady go first, especially when the chocolate comes.” Ugh! The waiter also knew nothing about the wine list, my date asked, pointing at the extensive wine catalog (one of the main attractions of this joint is wine pairings and having a well-stocked cellar) “is this a sparkling wine?” and the waiter said, “I think so.” You do? Awesome. Let’s spin the wheel, then. Ugh!! The food wasn’t incredible, as I remembered it, but it was ok. The waiter told us to cook everything for WAY too long because of undercooked food laws or whatever... never on any planet should you cook chicken and shrimp for the same length of time, right? Ugh. The whole experience was essentially like going to Friday’s for triple the price, and none of the “I expect this to be bland, generalized, prepackaged douchebaggery, so, lemme have it” mental preparation. I tried so hard to love it, but, I was so wildly disappointed. I felt bad for my date, because it was his first time there, and I had hyped it up so high. I’m sure he thinks my taste is atrocious now. Ughhhh....

I went with the same date on a different day to a place that operates like a roadside ice cream shack, but with Italian Ice instead. The last time I was there, they had big lumps of real fruit stuck in the ice that didn’t all blend down to the velvety smooth texture of the rest of it, the flavors were so pure and real and tart and refreshing, and how quaint of them to decide to specialize in just one thing so well. When we went, I hyped it way up, and again, was wildly disappointed by the bland flavorless too-syrupy product with new uncomfortable spoons (sharp-edged spoons are of the devil! Don’t they have people to test these things at the factory!?), expanded menu that included totally unrelated treats, and fancy new printed napkins with... oh my God, they have 4 locations now?! That explains it. Ugh!!

My favorite barbecue joint has horrible side dishes, but the meat is sublime. They really focused their specialty on cutting their own meaty bits off the animal carcasses (I secretly always loved catching a scary gruesome glimpse at the bones), smoking them slowly forever, serving it with a secret sauce that you can only get at their dive-y location (if you were lucky and they hadn’t run out of it for that day), picnic table seating so you had to share with strangers, whole rolls of paper towels on the table to sop up your face and feel like you were at a family outing with cousins you haven’t seen in years.... oh, except not anymore. Now, they’ve redone the seating, bottled their sauce (in 3 flavors! Available in stores!), improved the taste and quantity of side dishes by getting them from one of those commercial food distributors, trusted someone else to give them pre-cut meat (no more beef cheeks?!), reduced the smoking time until it’s just ‘done’ in order to have a faster turnaround, gotten pre-printed napkins (perhaps also the kiss of death), and yes... established 6 new locations around the city. Gah.

Why is it that making it big reduces the quality so much?! Am I being a snob? I guess. The thought of taking something that of great value and reducing it to its most generic features in order to mass-produce it and gain wider appeal is just... appalling and infuriating. So, I cook way more myself now... I have learned to appreciate the joy of something a little less attractive but a lot tastier and more wholesome crafted with love and a teeny bit of hope that it turns out delicious. And when the dish sort of bombs, I can usually shrug it off in the knowledge that I’m no professional, it was a new recipe, I tried my best, or oops, I forgot the secret ingredient, but that turned out weirdly tasty – even if not what I intended. (I was going for Greek, and got German, ok! I totally meant to do that!)

Add it up: an affinity for a ‘pretty mess,’ a hatred for the blandness which is consumed with gluttonous vigor by the masses, appreciation for secret rich underground treasures, attempts at making my own art.... that totally makes me a punk foodie, right? I’m coining that phrase now. Next, I will start putting safety pins in my potholders and wearing lots of dark eyeliner when I bake.