Bad food is funny. Mostly because you don't know if the food is bad or if you just have bad taste. Or if the food is only bad because it's not what you're used to--because it's foreign food. Or because in a different language and culture, you just order wrong. Or something is lost in the translation.
Tony carefully chooses our restaurants. The restaurants are an investment of both money, time, and fun. It's a joy to discover new tastes in a new land. And Switzerland is expensive. One of my cousins came years ago on a company reward trip. Most of it was paid for--except eating out for most of their meals. They were so poor, they couldn't afford to eat out in Switzerland. It would be hard to be hungry in Switzerland.
We eat simply for breakfast, the foods we buy at the Coop. Fresh cherries, blueberries, muesli, milk and nuts. Tony grabs a few pastries at the bakery. We pick up crusty bread and a wedge of cheese for lunch. Yesterday we added a simple packaged Greek salad. We sat on a bench in the forest overlooking Wengen. It was a $10 lunch with a million dollar view.
Now for dinner. The funny bad food.
We chose to have dinner at an old hotel. They had a highly rated and expensive restaurant.
Tony had already chosen his meal from his menu investigation. I was open. But the waiter, an Italian with English language skills he had to really thing about--when he finished describing the process in which the trout was caught or farmed-I couldn't tell--when he finished describing the way it was cooked, "It is pink," I felt I was ordering a science experiment. I no longer wanted the BBQ trout than I wanted a day old hamburger. So I haphazardly looked at he menu and figured I was safe with the SuPErfood Salad: raspberries, quinoa and Castelfranco. I had previously looked up Castelfranco Veneto, and found it to be a province in Italy.
Ah ha! It's an Italian salad. I couldn't go wrong.
The appetizer was delicious. A fried egg on roti--the closest comparison would be American hash browns. But this had a delectable sauce.
The main meal arrived. Tony had ordered Alpine mac & cheese with bacon and applesauce, with a side of potatoes-described by the waiter as not "au gratin," but they were potatoes au gratin. Delicious.
My salad arrived too, but in alien form. It was a jumble of white bars that looked like bones. Some of the white bones were fringed with purple. The mistake I had made was not looking for a second definition of Castelfranco. Radicio Variegato di Castelfranco is a winter green--a cross between escarole and raddichio. Also described as having a pleasantly BITTER taste. It was covered in a sweet, pink dressing, adorned with slices of sweetened plums and raspberries.
I tried to like it. I removed half of the ribs of Castlefrano. I tried to appreciate the not-so-pleasant bitterness.
Finally, I gave up and enjoyed two more pieces of crusty bread with fabulous butter. I speak the language of butter very well.
When asked how I enjoyed my meal, I smiled and said, "It was different."
"Oh different," the waiter said, clearly not understanding the connection.
But because Tony's meal was delicious and because Tony is Tony, he had in mind the dessert he'd also picked out earlier that day. The Swiss cheesecake. With coulis.
He was excited.
The waiter brought it with two spoons. I was excited to see that it resembled the cottage cheese pie my grandmother used to make. My mouth warmed back up with memories of the treasured Swiss pie, delicious either warm or cold. Tony allowed me the first bite, the nose of the pie.
My tastebuds revolted. It wasn't what I expected. It was sweetened but it was made of brie. The sour, bitter cheese esteemed by cheese lovers who develop an acquired taste in order to pretend to love brie.
And Tony had to pretend to love brie too. Because the dessert he'd dreamed about all day, was expensive. And I'm going to reveal just how expensive it was. Nineteen Swiss francs. Yes, siree, that equals $23.95. Tony ordered a thin slice of brie baked with sugar and pie crust accompanied by squished fruit. He was going to enjoy that Swiss cheesecake no matter how much it didn't taste like the expected cheesecake.
I sat across from him watching him suffer, like we all suffer after we've purchased an expensive salad that tastes terrible.
But the good thing is he laughed hard with me; and then he'd take another bite. We'd laugh hard again.
Actually it was probably the best piece of cheesecake we've ever enjoyed.
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