The Virtual Food Critic

We are standing before an array of food 20-feet long: steaming wells, two deep and piled high with dishes from every category of food eaten by humans.

There is chicken, pork and beef, roasted, stewed, sautéed, fried, rolled into sausages, alone and in combinations. There are vegetables, solo and mixed, salads, breads, muffins, pastries, and puddings.

The Virtual Food Critic, age 11, walks slowly from one end to the other. He is carrying the smallest plate available and wearing an expression of displeasure.

He completes the circuit and returns to the table with a heaping plate of scorn. Most of the plate still shows from beneath a small mound of potatoes, a muffin and a piece of cantaloupe. He slumps in his chair and begins pushing at the food with his fork.

A pang of sympathy for the proprietors; all signs point to a "One Potato" review. It is how we calculate the lowest rating in the Critic’s potato-based system. Every dish is judged against the  Gold Standard: mashed potatoes.

It is his mother’s fault that he is here. The family has been in Chicago only a few months and it is new territory for her ongoing project to never eat the same food twice. Tonight she has chosen a Polish buffet.

In her defense, Polish is not a dramatically esoteric cuisine. It’s not like she brought him to a sushi bar.

But there is no overestimating the difficulty of satisfying the Critic’s criteria.

Above all, he demands that food be recognizable in both appearance and name. If he has to ask what it is, there is a zero chance he will put it into his mouth. Secondly, it should be white, or as pale as possible, served without a lot of fuss, preferably in a paper bag. Individual items must be served garnish-free with no contiguous borders and no visible seasonings. Sauce must be kept to a strict minimum and adhere to similar color guidelines.

The more closely a food matches this non-negotiable criteria, the more potatoes it earns, with a maximum of four potatoes reserved exclusively for dishes that are actually just potatoes.

Entrees deemed palatable enough to touch with silverware might earn an eatery a two-potato review. A three-potato review implies food worthy of a small amount of actual ingestion.

It is a meticulous and unforgiving system, in which the food goes largely untouched. He doesn’t need to taste it to know it is unacceptable.

He doesn’t even need to see it, as evidenced by his recent review of a dish his sister had not yet made for dinner.

"I do not eat meat pie," he says firmly.

"You have never had meat pie," his mother says, engaging in a dialogue of foregone conclusion.

The Critic sighs in exasperation.

"I’ve eaten meat and I’ve eaten pie," he says finally, in a tone that suggests he is weary of having to make such an obvious point. "I don’t like the thought of them together."

And the reviews are in.  No potatoes.

By S. Kamikaze

photo: The Virtual Food Critic prepares to be unimpressed. 

© 2007 P.M. Dunnigan/Suburban Kamikaze

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[suburban kamikaze]

Also known as "Boy, Esq."