But where?
Why not?
Well sure!
Would we do it again?
A good time, or at least a time, was had by all. Bill paid, card signed, check divided and calculated. Some prefered wine, some ale at the bar inside, downed to dregs and legs. There was a toast to good times. It was nice to have moved inside to warm up and reflect. Was the mission a success? Had we learned anything, or at least lowered an eyebrow?
The caesar salad down at Twisted Fish that night was generous for sharing, and there were anchovies in excess (if there's ever such thing). The coconut-battered salmon strips, well, they were a little more problematic. They'd come out the first time perhaps a half-hour or more before, probably still sizzling with deep-fry, probably moist and steaming inside, only to meet with shaking heads, frowns, and a very puzzled waiter. Away they went. There was a buzz and stir among the uniforms. By the time they returned with the salad, and in spite of assurances that this plate had been made new, these salmon strips no longer sizzled, or steamed, and inside was just a little bit dry. It was a welcome touch though, to have something so fat and sweet (and that's without the dipping sauce) to finish a meal as is often done. There must be a good reason why.
It's amazing anyone had any room by that time anyway, but it all got tucked in. Before salmon strips and salads, entered the entrees. They were ample. there wasn't much discussion, which is usually a good sign.
Red Hat's favorite, black cod sautee, was perfect enough to chase any uncertainty about premature salmon strips away. Fish planked, fish in puff pastry, all came out hot and just as ordered. Sides of slaw were just right, crunchy and fresh and not overly laden with mayonnaise. Nobody had to push aside a mistaken order of onion rings, or move a aside of fries. Savory, delicious, a little intimidating with hunger's edges already dulled, but mostly a relief. It was all right.
Unlike that first arrival of salmon strips, which were listed on the menu under a designation something like 'appetizer.' They first came out just before the entrees. This would have made alot of sense to the casual observer, but I had asked the already-ruffled waiter for them to come out after. I admit it might have been a tactical error on my part, along with failure to schedule a pre-game meeting. Others, the salad-seekers, held their tongues after the dessert debacle and ordered only the next main course. And apparently, according to co-diners seated with more of a view, there was quite a bit of conference and milling around over those salmon strips before, during and after. (After a more recent attempt at some simple drinks upstairs at another Juneau establishment, I have begun to wonder whatever happened to the lost art of writing it down right, or even writing it down at all.)
Granted, the waiter was already a little confused. He’d had to return to our table empty-handed to tell us that the kitchen was out of two of the three desserts we’d requested and see our disappointment. Nobody refrained from commenting on how the brownie might be warm but seemed too much like a supermarket mix and underdone under all that not-so-special vanilla ice cream to boot. It would have been a lousy way to start a meal! So it’s a good thing that one diner brought a box of Pocky with the chocolate on the inside, cleverly called ‘Reverse’ on the box, to enjoy with our coffee as we sat down.
There was a table big enough for our party in the outside dining area, there among the cruise ships and ship rats. It was a sunny summer Sunday evening at the Twisted Fish.
And why not eat dessert first? From our earliest childhood experiences this question remains. Does it really spoil the appetite? Is dessert just a bribe to get us through greens and fish and broccoli trees? A broader question hovers: What does it mean to dine, and why do we do it the way that we do? Ok, yeah, that’s not one, that’s two.
Red Hat and friends got started on this quest for truth at the suggestion of our good friend Julie Perini, afformentioned food experience authority now residing in Buffalo, NY. Julie called on St. Patrick’s Day wildly excited. Too much green beer? Nope. Perini had just conducted her own reverse dining experiment. It was easier to find a decent place to do it in that teeming metropolis she calls home, namely a real restaurant where good food is typically ordered in sequential courses from well-trained and courteous waitstaff. Maybe, if you have traveled or are just not from here, you know the kind of place. It’s the kind where the diner pays for more than just the convienience of not having to cook all that Costco stuff himself. Dining is about the Experience. We’re still not sure such places exist in Juneau, but had to find out more about reverse dining anyway. (Please do not confuse this with ‘reverse eating’ a la Southpark!)
It’s not just a way to mess with a waiter, and ours was at least good-natured through it all. What we can say from our first attempt at dining in reverse is that there’s a reason appetizers are served in their typical order and quantity, and that is to whet the appetite. It’s not such a shock to have salad as a refreshing course after an entree, but is definitely a shock to the system and sensibility to get a huge plate of dessert before any savory food. Even if it’s a good dessert, the sugar and fat hit the blood fast and provide the same lulling sense of satiety for which they are designed to finish a meal. A fine dessert will last in memory as a beacon shingin out to prompt our return... but that’s a topic
Red Hat has addressed before. A disastrous dessert even after a decent meal would a great shame. Before, it kills both hunger and hope for things to come.
Twisted Fish was only one place to try this turned around experiment, though. There are other places, even in Juneau, where a person can at least pretend to dine. A good time was had by all. Will we do it again? Sure. Why not? But,
Where?
and the last question remains: Should we have paid before sitting down?
