Backhanded Compliments to the Chef

The pleasure was all yours.

That was the absolute finest bouillabaisse I’ve ever had in this part of Lodi, New Jersey.

I admire how comfortable you are ignoring thousands of years of gastronomy and the culinary arts to just sorta do your own thing.

The meal was eminently edible. I’ll let you know if it’s completely digestible.

Presentation isn’t everything.

I usually like surprises.

There’s nowhere to hide in an open kitchen, huh?

I know you don’t have any Michelin stars yet, but the texture of the branzino resembled a reconstituted truck tire.

For someone who’s clearly never opened a cookbook, this was great.

I had an inkling you were self-taught.

I can’t say I’ve ever had al dente chicken before.

Topping this meal won’t be difficult.

The prices here are that of a great restaurant.

The waiters certainly appeared attentive.

I have to say, that was the best looking steak I’ve ever seen.

The way each course was slightly smaller than the previous one was rather interesting and counterintuitive.

Good thing gratuity is included.

You’ve really outdone yourself tonight with minimal effort.

I’m actually enjoying this conversation better than the meal.

Food is all relative. The meatloaf resembled one of my uncles.

Honestly, I don’t think I could handle dessert. Not sure you could either.

The ease of making a reservation helped lower my expectations.

It was a real workout chewing the shrimp.

You don’t have a James Beard award, but I did have a whisker in my soup.

You did such a marvelous job proofreading the menu.

I couldn’t see my entrée under the gorgeous mood lighting, which was probably for the best.

I didn’t think I could stomach dessert.

The silver lining tonight was a mysterious film across my entire tiramisu.

(Richard Castellano in The Godfather, dir. by Francis Ford Coppola, 1972)