Greetings, consumers,

Behold the Grade “A” Fancy Algebra of Ordering. Our analysis

derives from the writings of Alacartes, ancient philosopher,

brewer, and man-about-town who reminds us that vigilance in

the restaurant leads to better decisions. It may begin with a

processes of elimination, followed by judicious consideration

to finally arrive in the zing zone. There can’t be many hard

and fast rules, but some formulas can help guide the diner

toward a better meal. The variables will necessarily change

with the tastes of the customer, the quality of the restaurant,

and the menu. One must be shrewd to beat the house. Just as

a superspy must evaluate the tricks up an adversary’s sleeve,

the veteran eater should factor potential disappointment

when selecting food and drink. It’s not brain surgery, but

there is some art to getting the most out of a menu.

WARNING! The following is for entertainment purposes

only. Grade “A” Fancy does not guarantee the application

of principles described herein will result in good chow in

every case.

An unfamiliar menu is like a roulette table. There are lots of choices, but you

can’t put your chips on all of them. In roulette you can bet “straight-up” (I just got thirsty) on a single number, say, 23, but there is only one chance in 37 you are going to win. You could also bet on a set of two, three, or four adjoining numbers; red or black; odd or even. Each of these bets will lower the odds of your losing—although they also decrease the payout for winning. This isn’t really the right metaphor, though, because with each turn of the wheel there is precisely the same chance for any single number to come up a winner. Obviously that doesn’t happen in a restaurant; if the meatloaf is king on a Tuesday, it is unlikely that the broiled haddock will suddenly triumph on Wednesday.

TheAlgebraofOrdering

Maybe reading a menu is more like reading the Daily Racing Form. You are handicapping the different offer-ings in hope of finding the dish that can win. And if you are in the race for three courses, maybe you can pick a trifecta; win, place and show! Some-times the safe bet seems prudent and you put your money down on the favorite. The rib-eye at a steakhouse? That’s such a sure thing it isn’t even gambling. Sometimes you have a hunch about a long shot, and then the payoff is big! But what if you are at an unfamiliar track, confronted with a card full of nags the history of which you know nothing? What, pray tell, to do?

The first inkling of this quest began when we discussed the tricky task of choosing a salad dressing. We real-ized that habitually ordering what we wanted—a simple vinaigrette—was resulting in a slap in the face. Un-less we were in a really outstanding joint, the salad too often arrived in a sauce so vinegary it smarted the lips. Greens are supposed to be good for you, but eating a salad shouldn’t be a “no pain, no gain” situation. It’s hard to understand why something as basic as a vinaigrette can be so rotten so frequently. Maybe the cook takes the name literally and fashions it wholly from vinegar—so what are you, too cheap to throw in some olive oil? When the dressing is “Italian”

you can bet you’re in trouble: it is forever fated to taste exactly like the flavor-packet shaker gizmo with corn oil, water and dry oregano. For too many years, most of us thought that was salad dressing, and a salad was a penance. Not surprisingly, “Italian dressing” is basically bogus; if you are in Italy there is olive oil and vinegar on the table so you can do-it-yourself. So we’re talking about the phony-baloney American version.

We don’t even consider ranch; that’s what jocks order, and what’s more it is a total bullshit flavor perpetrated by Big Salad Dressing. Blame it on Dubya, but I could not eat any ranch dressing past the year 2000.

House salad dressings are almost always horrible. They have to make it “special” for you so you’ll tell all your friends about the amazing food at Mario’s (this is a hypothetical Mario’s, not intended to represent any real Mario’s, living or dead). So they make it all fruity, or sweet, or ridiculously garlicky—whatever they do, they do too much, and then drown the poor greens until your salad plate resembles a Superfund site.

And so, the problem in a nutshell: how to avoid salad dressing disaster? You need to assess the situation to beat the odds.

Here is a scenario taken from real life. We were at Neary’s and ordered salad, because one wants to be good to one’s colon. Glancing around at the roomful of white heads, we thought about how endearingly old-fashioned Neary’s is—not just the everyday jacket and tie ambiance, but the meat and potatoes menu, too. There was no reason the salad dressing shouldn’t go with the aesthetic of the place. So we bravely ordered Russian dress-ing. It seemed like the right thing to do, even though we hadn’t had it on a salad since we were kids. And it was perfect. That got us thinking about how these crucial decisions are made. How can we read our own desires and the menu in front of us at the same time, and how often do we make the best choices?

Begin with this easy example. Most adults don’t need to be told that in a diner or coffee shop, one does not waste time gazing at an eight page menu of stock photographs and trendy come-ons. You order the solid, time-honored favorites: eggs, grilled cheese, BLT, patty melt if it’s offered, or regional specialties. That is sim-ple, do we agree? But throw this into the batter: it can become more com-plicated when you are in a different locale or an untested establishment. For instance, New Yorkers should think twice about tuna or chicken salad in America where mayonnaise is a primary ingredient and not just a delicious moist adhesive.

It is also good to keep in mind how modern trends, in both technology and taste, can screw up diner classics. Ask before you order: Do you nuke your pie into a heap of steaming goo? Are the French fries dusted with musty chili “seasoning”? And, remember, if you don’t smell coffee, you’re not going to taste coffee. We still order it by reflex, but if it comes out of one of those Mr. Coffee-style auto drip machines, it may as well be melted brown Crayolas in a 95% water solution.

Beating the HouseThe following are some general ideas on how to get the most out of a menu.

Jumbo Size Menu > Possible Great DishesThe smaller the menu, the better the chance of a bigger payoff. Large menus may seem like a boon—look at all those choices! But really, your odds are terrible. One might say they stink on ice.

If you are in the corner coffee shop don’t waste time contemplating forty different wraps or pasta dishes you know will be sub-par. The red flag should go up when a small-time greasy spoon has big-ticket pretensions. As the writer and meat fancier Paul Lukas wondered out loud, when con-fronted with a menu the size of the New Testament in a humble coffee shop, “Who orders the T-bone?”

The SpecialtyProcess of elimination decision-mak-ing is easy when you’re somewhere with a specialty. I think you know what you’re having at Roscoe’s House of Chicken & Waffles. At a steakhouse you just choose whichever cut they’re known for. And you’re not going to order a bagel and an egg cream in New Orleans, are you?

The Crazy World of Salad DressingAs earlier mentioned, after years of enduring jarring vinaigrettes we learned that in old-fashioned or non- fancy restaurants, Thousand Island, Russian, or blue cheese are the clear winners. Tempered with may-

onnaise, they can improve even the saddest icebox-cold salad.

The Happy Pocket Value SystemYou are in the mood for a chop or steak but don’t feel like $plurging that night. “Eat pork chops, young man,” as Horace Greeley might have said, if he had thought of it. At two thirds the price of the average steak, it is the cheapskate’s delight, your value bet.

And speaking of value, garlic bread is for suckers. They are betting that you are a chump who will shell out a premium for some oil and garlic smeared on yesterday’s bread. Un-fortunately, it’s considered irresist-ible party food and if you’re out with a crowd you’re sunk, so eat a slice, enjoy its oozy crunch, and continue with the merriment, please.

You know what else is for suckers? Pasta. The markup is enormous, so save your bowl of pasta primavera shoveling for a night in with “Jersey Shore.” We take that back if you are at a place celebrated for their from-scratch noodles. That would be the aforementioned specialty.

While we’re talking macaroni, do you always choose the spaghetti side if you’re in an Italian fried seafood kind of establishment? I know, you think you should have the vegetable for a well-rounded meal but come now, you’ve done this before, think

about your wagering. Odds are the vegetable will be wet and bland, and the spaghetti will be a winner.

When In (insert country here)You have doubtless noticed that a French restaurant knows how to cook a steak. It can seem like a boring meat-and-potatoes-Dad cop-out to order a steak in a saucy place but in fact it is a Grade “A” option, and we have seldom been disappointed by doing so.

When dining in an Italian restaurant, don’t order chicken if you don’t like a paillard. Pancake flat is what they do. I don’t. Similarly, avoid steak in a Mexican or Colombian restaurant unless you like your meat well done. The cuts are usually thin and will be cooked through; not that it won’t be tasty, but you have to be prepared.

Restaurant Food > Troublesome Home CookingSorry, Alton Brown, but some things are just restaurant food. A fe w items that professionals do better than you, in a home kitchen, can do, are prime rib, baked potatoes, and

anything deep fried. They just have the superior equpiment and the time for these jobs. Not to mention they pay people to clean up the mess. Another example is eggs Benedict. Nobody wants to make hollandaise sauce while half-asleep.

$ and ¢ in Relation to ValueBeware the middle-of-the-road. It is a dangerous place to be. Family restaurants and chains are anti-luxe anti-treats, and they’re no bargain, either. Whether it’s genuine corpo-rate hellspawn like Chili’s or Ruby Tuesday, or, even sadder, an indie knock-off of the genre, the horror will be the same: peeking under a rubbery blanket of melted cheese to find your entree; college-town “Mexican” or southwest-styled dish-es that are essentially baby food for drunks; tired staples like wraps or ersatz Caesar salad with chicken; and flavor trends like chipotle every-thing…served in a “bread bowl” whenever possible. This kind of fare may make good copy on the food service trade sites, but, ew. Like-wise, the imaginative drinks on their cocktail menu would leave you crying in your beer if only you had been smart enough to order beer.

There is nothing in the middle-of-the-road but a giant rip-off. One night when stuck for time and out of options we actually looked at the menu at T.G.I. Friday’s. (I know, how

can we, editors-about-town, admit this in public?) We figured it would just be a forgettable meal never to be spoken of again, but were shocked to find how horribly overpriced that hellhole was. The risk was too high; we bolted.

Pinch Here, Blow ThereWhen pennies must be pinched, it is some-times smart to reserve your cash for a big pay-off. Some nights, the big bucks are better spent on a fine cocktail in a deluxe setting followed by a cheese sandwich at home. A favorite dodge is a jolly round at Sardi’s, followed by one course at the Sabrett cart.

Speaking of DrinksIt must be five o’clock somewhere so here are a few notes on the question of beverages.

Classic = CocktailsBack before the cocktail craze of the aughts, we discovered that nine times out of ten, if the bartender is over sixty, you are going to get a decent cocktail, and a white shirt and bowtie ups your odds over a logo-encrusted polo shirt any day. A crisp jacket or red vest seals the deal. If it’s a steakhouse, we’ll wager a good cocktail is coming.

Simplicity, you know? Grill a steak, bake a potato, mix a Martini. Small menu, big payoff.

Patronize a lounge where the silver-haired set tipple and the prices are probably set in amber. Plus they won’t laugh if you order a whiskey sour.

Bottled sodas instead of a soda gun says the joint has some amount of interest in your welfare. The soda gun is a vile contraption that fouls all.

Highlife TaxNever order cheap booze in a high-end joint, kiddo. You are going to get mightily screwed. The mark-up is bigger at the low end so the

last thing you want is Budweiser. Make that Martini with Junipero, let’s say, or Hendricks. Or here’s one to try if you’re feeling lucky: don’t call your liquor. The finer saloons got too much class to sully their reputations with rotgut, so the well is plenty good for the likes of us.

Garnish AppraisalWhen it comes to olives or a twist, well…are you sitting down? This could take a while.

Nasty, rancid olives are dished up with shocking frequency; it never fails to surprise us how many seem-ingly fine establishments neglect this elementary ingredient. Therefore, unless you’re somewhere depend-able, order a twist. Although maybe you should specify lemon twist. Oh boy, we’ve received lime twists and lemon wedges more times than we can count. The down side in asking for a twist is watching the bartender take the lemon wedge out of the gar-nish tray and pull the peel off with her fingernails. That, my friend, is class. (Alcohol kills germs, alcohol kills germs, alcohol kills germs…)

More ≠ BetterA dazzling array of by-the-glass wines and tap beers does not delight us. Not all will be great, not all will be at prime time, and, yes, we are childish: we are simply annoyed that we can-not try them all.

Location Scout: The Algebra ofOrdering Beverages EverywhereAs with dining, the Algebra of Ordering beverages varies accord-ing to the type of establishment. Satisfaction can be attained by con-sidering the venue:

LocalIn a neighborhood bar or an old man bar, stick to beer, a shot or a highball. If you see regulars with cocktails then you’re in the clear to order one, but don’t expect fashionable liquors or elaborate drinks. We can report excellent success with Seagram’s 7 Manhattans.

Creaky ClassicIn a vintage restaurant, you’re okay with cocktails but the wine may be iffy. A good indication is the beer selection. If they haven’t got it to-gether to offer something more inter-esting than Budweiser or Heineken, chances are they haven’t paid any attention to their wine list since the Reagan administration, either.

House wine in a very good French, Italian, Spanish or Greek restaurant is usually correspondingly good. In an old-time Italian place, the house wine can be astonishingly sour and thin. You gotta wonder. Is the pox on you for not shelling out for a serious bottle?

AirportIn the tranquil comfort of the common schlock-rock spewing, fast-food-scented, flat-screen infested airport bar, wine will cost twice the price of beer but will doubtless be hot plonk. (Hot plonk should hence-forth replace “hot mess” as the hor-rible trendy nonsense phrase of the moment.) Plain ol’ beer or a shot are once again safest, and there is often some crazy deal to get a Paul Bunyan portion. But beware cocktails. Not because it won’t be a stellar bever-age; it won’t, you know that, you’re in the airport. We’re talking about getting fleeced. There can be some crazy calculations when the tab arrives. From a menu that said “all cocktails” one price, we were charged double because there are two liquors in a Manhattan. I knew my solid argument of the definition of a cock-tail would not be greeted warmly.

Newfangled NoveltiesIn a newfangled cocktail lounge, we naturally get sucked into ordering some original concoction. While that can be interesting, it’s seldom satis-fying, and rare we would ever want to buy the same again. There are exceptions, of course; extraordin-ary places will offer extraordinary recipes, but these fashionable cock-tail places, almost by definition, have to promote gimmicks rather than simple quality to bring in the punt-ers. The sad truth about the exotic

cocktail racket is that there really aren’t a lot of great things to try. Any drinks manual you pick up will have hundreds of recipes, most are just silly fantasies that no one will ever drink, certainly not twice. That is a swell strategy if you’re writing a book on bartending and you need to fill pages. Not so great if you are actually trying to sell a menu you have “curated” to feature your incredible creative mastery of the mixological arts to real people, because then you really have to be good to come up with a drink as satisfying and time-less as a Martini or Manhattan. For the second round we invariably order a classic, and it’s usually beautifully prepared.

So, here’s our Grade “A” strategy; reverse the order. Go classic on the first round to scratch the cocktail

itch. Now for the second round it’s safe to try something goofy. It takes the pressure off an “eh” novelty drink to fully satisfy. Think of it as dessert after you’ve already laid down a solid base.

By the way, we call them “new-fangled” cocktail bars to avoid the nausea induced by the overuse of “artisanal” or “craft.” Unfortunately for the Algebra of Ordering, it’s tough to sort out in advance if you are going to get your money’s worth—that is, are top ingredients and real creativity going to come together in a glass of liquid heaven? And to be blunt, will it justify a colossal price tag, preten-tious ambience and a twenty minute wait? Or is this joint going to be all mustache and an empty shaker? I wish I had an angle for telling the difference, but I’ve been fooled time and again.

Consider the SourceThe bottles behind the bar could once be a clue to the sophistication of the establishment, but no more. Take as an example an East Village dump where the vast display of high-end whiskey bottles led us to believe, even though the bartender herself looked less than competent, that we could order a Manhattan. Ha! Was we wrong that time.

Also, a list of house specialty drinks does not necessarily mean the per-

son who is currently behind the bar can make them. These might be the artistic products of some bar-star who only works Wednesdays and never trained tonight’s bartender how to make them properly. But whomever is behind the bar should have at least mastered the standard Martini and Manhattan. You order the classics because the recipe is already perfect. All we can say is give your bartender the once over, and trust your instincts. And remember, no matter what dump you’re in, Scotch whisky, neat, always works.

Further ResearchYou may find it hard to believe, but despite years on the boulevards and in the cafés, there are still codes to decipher and systems to crack. The Algebra of Ordering remains a work in progress. For instance, The Special: how can you tell if it’s a dark horse, or crowbait (what the chef wants to get rid of because it’s quickly going off?) And How To Interpret The Word of The Waiter: is his advice expertise or flimflam? Is she friend or foe? How would the smart diner best phrase a question to get the inside info instead of a bullshit frosting snow job?

For now, let the chips fall where they may. But if they fall on the floor, remember the five second rule.

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