I go to a restaurant, right? I want to eat. Simple. But then they hand me the menu. And it’s not a menu, it’s a novella. ‘Pan-seared, ethically sourced, free-range chicken breast, gently caressed with a reduction of sun-kissed heirloom tomatoes, foraged wild mushrooms, and a whisper of artisanal thyme.’ A whisper of thyme! What is that? Is it audible? Am I supposed to hear the thyme? It’s chicken! Just tell me it’s chicken and it comes with some vegetables. Do I need to know the chicken’s life story? Was it happy? Did it have a rich inner world? It’s just food! The descriptions are longer than the actual meal lasts. It’s a culinary thesaurus designed to make you feel uncultured if you just want to say, ‘I’ll have the chicken, please.’
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