Restaurant Review

Home: The Only Place You Can Laugh at a Charred Chicken

By Jaime Paul

Home cooked meals hold a certain quality of comfort which you simply cannot experience from sitting down in a restaurant. Home cooked meals allow me to shuffle around the kitchen with my cow slippers, inspecting all of the delectable ingredients that lie on the counter, preparing to grab as many tomatoes as discreetly as possible. Home cooked meals allow furry fidos prance around the kitchen, occasionally barking into the night.

At the dinner table, my brother and I sit across from each other laughing obnoxiously, filling the entire house with noise. When the time comes to get seconds, we rush to the pan, first come first serve. On occasion, however, a home cooked meal won’t leave you wanting more, which occurs when the dish has poblano peppers, which I despise; and overcooked or undercooked white meat chicken., even then, these nightly home cooked meals are the highlight of my day. It is in these moments that the world is at peace and I can simply relax.

Typically, the food is absolutely incredible. From the moment my mom starts to cook, my mouth is watering, waiting in anticipation. Her homemade matzah ball soup can cure any illness. Her snow day chocolate chip cookies have a soft center, with a crunchy exterior. The chocolate chips will melt in your mouth, literally. On occasion, however, there will be mess ups.

At times, there will be salt instead of sugar, one cup of flour missing, and an overheated pan which will dry out your white meat chicken to a crisp on the outside and leave it raw on the inside. Tonight was the night where the chicken was faulty.

The beginning of this meal began somewhat unfortunately. Me and my cow slippers were booted from the kitchen, and were no longer able to steal vegetables. I was, therefore, unable to spectate on the cooking process. I sat there in the living room, fireplace burning, impatiently waiting for my mom to yell, “Dinner’s ready!”. The scent of warm chocolate chip cookies lingered throughout the house, masking what I yet to discover was burnt chicken, making my mouth water, and my stomach rumble. In that moment, despite my immense hunger, I felt a sense of peace and comfort. I was guarded from the cold winter's night, cuddled up next to a dog, anticipating when dinner would be ready.

After about twenty minutes of anticipation, my mom called us for dinner. My brother and I filed into the kitchen. My brother inspected the food, strolling around the kitchen, while I placed the plates on the table, along with silverware, slightly haphazardly. My dad remained in his chair in the living room typing away at his computer, waiting for dinner to truly be ready.

Once dinner was served, I, along with the rest of my family, including my dogs, went to sit down. The caesar salad sat atop the white marble along with four plates. The carrots, peppered with spice, were complimented by the deep purple of the cabbage. The mashed potatoes sat adjacent along with the chicken. If this presentation were to be seen in a restaurant, I would be taken aback. When someone goes to a restaurant they are not only paying for good food, but also an experience, and the appearance of a dish is part of this. This presentation from my mom, however, was comforting because this simplistic presentation is something that she has always done. My mom is not one for presentations, but I find her lack of attention to detail in the presentation to be endearing, and in all honesty, when it comes to my mom's cooking ,there is an open understanding between the two of us that it’s the taste that matters. Unfortunately, today she did excel in flavor.

During the dinner, despite the fact that we were only four people, the entire room was filled with laughter and noise. It is still unclear as to what was so funny at the time, but my brother and I sat across from each other laughing uncontrollably. The food encapsulated this sense of enjoyment, as the chicken was extremely overdone and underdone at the same time. The sides, however, which accompanied the chicken, were delectable. The mashed potatoes were light and fluffy. The chunks of potato skin gave it an odd and unexpected element of texture, and when combined with the fig balsamic sauce, it was perfect. The smooth mashed potatoes glided over my tastebuds leaving behind the sweet, yet tangy sauce, causing me to crave more. The cabbage perfectly complemented the carrots, giving an earthy flavor. The chicken, however, was what some might call a flop, and even the chef, my mom agreed.

When it comes to my mom and her cooking she is honest. She will not try to state that something is better than it is. When she messes up a dish, which is extremely rare, she admits to it, accepting the face of disapproval from my dad, who is not the kindest when it comes to food critique. At one point, he literally returned a dish, stating that it tasted like rubber. Tonight was no exception.

The chicken glistened in the light. It looked tender and juicy from the outside, and I was eager to take a bite, but this presentation was deceptive. As my knife hit the chicken's skin, it stopped. I had to apply a significant amount of force just to get the chicken to cut, and upon the first bite, I found little to no flavor. My teeth struggled to pull apart the over done meat. When I asked my dad for his opinion, he avoided the question at first, but I could tell by his facial expressions that he agreed. What I was not expecting, however, was for him to say that the chicken was also somehow undercooked on the inside. I peered over at his dish and he was in fact correct. The center of the chicken still had a bright pink color. I then asked my mom for her opinion and she agreed. I tried to mask the over and undercooked aspects of the chicken by dousing it in the balsamic fig sauce and finished it because I was hungry, and did not want to disappoint my mom, but overall, I would say it was not one of my favorite meals.

Once dinner was finished, we decided to eat cookies, but much to my disappointment, they did not have that crumbly exterior and warm gooey interior. I would, however, blame the chocolate chips that we used for this. In my opinion, the chocolate chips define the cookie. In order to have a good cookie, the chips need to be rich and large. They need to be able to fully melt in the oven so when you bite into the cookie it oozes out. These cookies did not have that. My dad also commented that they were two sweet. My brother was the only one that didn’t mind and happily ate several cookies over the course of that night.

Overall, I commend my mom for cooking this, and even though it was not her best meal, I still enjoyed it. When it comes to eating out versus eating at home I will almost always prefer a home cooked meal, because the food is usually good, and even if the food is not good, there is a sense of comfort that cannot be obtained in a restaurant. I can laugh openly with my brother, and enjoy the company of furry companions. Community is about having an environment where you can truly enjoy the company of others, and home, no matter if the food is good or bad, is the best place to do that.