I love food, and I complain a lot about food. I complain about a lot of things, but the frequency and volume with which I gripe about what's on my plate is pretty extreme. I know it's annoying, and I always hope that it isn't too much for the company I'm in, but I just feel compelled to express my thoughts and feelings about whatever food I just ate. I don't refuse to eat the food, and I don't send it back or cause a scene, but I just can't help myself when some smiling waitstaff puts down a steaming plate of mediocrity in front of me. For me and the people like me, food is earthly chiasmus of pleasure and sustenance, of intentions and results, and of hope and pragmatism. Eating in a restaurant then, is the ritual of being stimulated thoroughly, taking in textures, smells, flavors, and visions in a setting of either muted reverence or cacophonous kitchen clatter. This is my jumping off point from which to spiral into discontent.

It might start with a poorly composed plate, hinting at the shortcuts taken in preparation of my meal. Then I'll try something, usually the first morsel that catches my eye hanging out near the edge of the plate. Underseasoning is a sin, and indicates both a lack of attention to detail and an absence of confidence in the chef. At last I dive into the featured items on the plate, hoping for contrasting texture and unexpected flavors hidden among a familiar backdrop. Like a child with a toy, I begin disassembling components to create more flavors or temperature contrasts. It's often at this point that I yearn for acidity. Finally I consume the last little bits of sustenance on my plate, greedily dragging it through whatever sauces I liked.

Throughout the whole experience, I try to put myself in the cook's place, and see the development of my food from his or her point of view. I have genuine disappointment when I discover that elements are missing, or not well prepared. I experience a moment of loss, not for the cost of the meal, but for having had an opportunity at something really wonderful just pass me by. Plain and simple, bad food is just sad, in the way that loss always is.