How To Eat (that)

The simple beauty of a hotdog is an American Truth. In a time when being an American means something different than it used to, the hotdog still stands proud to be at the ballpark, the county fair and the Costco. The hotdog doesn’t question or have political agendas. It just wants to experience the traditions of this country with everyone who can stand to eat mystery animal bits.

The American Truths at Costco have become a dicey little game for us. Before leaving Missoula yesterday, we went and got a hotdog at Costco. It was early, but we were hungry and no longer willing to spend our money on the restaurants of The Most Food Forsaken Town of America.

We’ve danced this hot waltz with the devil before. Eat the hotdog. Release the hotdog. Regret hotdog.

But they’re only a buck a piece!

So we go back. Still we load the sucker up with mustard and saurkraut and we one-two –three-it into the phrase Never Again.

What draws us back to the Costco hotdog?

I’ll tell you what it is: Because they’re there. They aren’t loyal to you, but they’re there.

Food on the road is never easy. In Paris there are too many choices. In Ritzville, Washington there is one. Portland has a swath of greatness speckled with mediocrity.

Missoula, Montana– a beautiful place with wonderful people– needs a restaurant high colonic.

Here's the rundown of where we've et at:

Finn and Porter Go for dinner. our hotel's restaurant:

- Great Mashed potatoes, made better if you ask that the teaspoon of raw garlic be left off.

- The Penn Cove Mussels are wonderful at the bar. Horrible from Room Service.

- Avoid breakfast unless you crave fat with a side of sneer.

- Beautifully rounded wine list.

- Their wild mushroom sautée is a medley of button mushrooms

Red Bird Run AWAY!

- Touted as one of Missoula's best.

- Red Bird gives food the middle finger and then charges you for it.

- I want to rip the quality of service apart, I do. I suck as a server, so I won't.

- We had rice cakes with red curry sauce, pork and shrimp fried spring rolls, beef kabobs with peanut sauce. The rice cakes were fried to humiliation. The pork spring rolls were slightly burnt, the beef kabobs were beef carpacio kabobs.

- We wanted this place to be adequate. We looked forward to going. We look forward to seeing it close.

- It is a nice room!

- great sauces, someone needs to be commended for them.

- The kitchen staff needs more direction and more clean towels.

- The red silk banner that covers the kitchen door needs to be replaced with something that doesn't get flung aside like Madam Bovary's virtue every time someone walks into or out of the kitchen.

El Cazador

You know in the reality tv shows when some character does something completely offensive and another character says, oh hell no.

- Beef tacos should never do that to anyone ever.

- e-v-e-r.

Caffe Dolce (just opened)

- Have a coffee and chocolate rubbed tritip blue cheese and arugula sandwich for lunch.

- Have any of their house made pastas for dinner

- Try their house salad and rethink what house salad means

Iron Horse eh.

- Food is fine.

- Service is waiting for every patron to turn, magically, into a football player.

- Kitchen staff to be avoided when met in dark alleys, bowling alleys or anything with only two exits.

Want. To. Go. Home.

I thought it would be pretty easy to cook for 2 dozen people every week. In many ways it was (serving 24 people every week is a different story) thanks to Erik's ability to organize and foresee issues. Here's what I learned throughout the summer.

1. Count stuff that you cut. Count everything that passes by you. Know your numbers.

2. Bring an extra platter, sheet pan and cutting board.

3. Learn to cook and talk. Learn to cut and talk.

4. If someone asks for feta, and you forgot feta at the off-site kitchen, tell them that the feta was beneath your standards and move on.

5. Containers are your best friend. Know how many containers you will need to store food, know where they'll fit, know what fits in them.

6. Prep is 90% of cooking.

When Erik and I hatched the plan to cook through out the state at different wineries, I failed to realize that I had to serve people their meal.

Over the summer I have learned the intricacies of existing on the other side of the apron. Here's how the last dinner went.

20 people are seated. 7 of them, all women, belong to the same party. All 7 women are under the impression that they are the super special center of the universe.

Course One:
Caprese Salad with Farmer's Market Greens and Feta
A member of the super fabulous 7 reads the menu and asks where the feta is on the salad. We decided against the feta and I tell her so. Not to be deterred from her feta, she leaves her chair, prances up to me and asks for a side of feta in a practiced child voice. As if saying something in a high pitch will make her less demanding. I tell her we don't have any feta, we left it behind. She pouts and wants salt and pepper.

Who knew feta, or lack there of would inspire so much distain?

Each course is paired with a wine. At the end of course one, another of the fab 7 (or was it 8?) asks for more wine. I tell her that the next course is coming and she'll get another taste of wine at that point. She and her friends are incredulous.

Somehow, I need these women to chill out without dropping muscle relaxant in their water or bopping them in the head with a seal club.

Course Two:
Zucchini Fritters with Babaganouj.
I ask the girls how they are enjoying things. They sneer, say things are fine and then return to their conversation about wanting to go to Honduras. As if Honduras has feta.

I did nearly knock them in the head and make them move their glasses when I land the fritters. Eye rolling ensued.

Other members of the table are perfectly delightful. I have a nice conversation with a couple of women at the end of the table who are genuinely delightful. One of whom is the pastry chef at Crow and Betty in Seattle.

Course Three:
Steak with Corn Succotash and Farro
As we are plating up, a question about plating comes up. A normal, easy question becomes more difficult with the fact that the Valkyrie of the Banal are squirming behind me. I've officially become the bitch waitress and I embrace the role with all of my soul.

While cleaning and doing dishes in the back, Erik comes and finds me and gives me a glass of SB.

Things get better after that.

Course Four:
Fruit Crostada
I don't care anymore. One of the pouting women (Gorgons have more charm) asks what the dessert is. I tell her. She corrects me, it's not peach, it's nectarine.

I still don't know what her question was.

The meal ended. Erik gave a beautiful speech. I cleaned up. We left.

In the end, I think I will either have to get much better at serving people food or people are going to have to wear helmets at the table.

Erik and I went on a trip to Missoula. Our goal for the trip was to avoid gastrointestinal distress as our last trip to Missoula was full of bouts of fleeing to the bathroom.

While on the road, one finds themselves eating things they just wouldn't – like Subway chicken wraps and popcorn shrimp from the deli counter of Walmart.

We threw the popcorn shrimp, which had been fried in a baking soda batter, away. Not before I tried to make them better with a spicy barbecue dipping sauce. The sauce made the popcorn shroimp go from god awful to god awfuller.

It was horrible stuff.

The subway chicken wrap couldn't be called horrible because it didn't taste like anything.

It was a day of learning to follow your food instincts. While I don't want to be a snob about food (because it is all waste product in the end), I do think Walmart and Subway will be on the list of things to avoid on the road.