I’m becoming my mother. It’s a realization I have often, but it was on a family vacation this summer that I saw the change in every aspect of my life. Even food. I thought my mom and I had grown apart, or never really been alike, in this regard: my mom loves a bargain; I just love good food. Don’t get me wrong, she loves good food too (she once conceded that Nobu’s lobster tempura was “almost worth it”), but she gets the greatest thrill when she finds a “good deal” on culinary luxuries. (So, surf and turf for $20 is a good deal; mixed green salad for $8 is not.)
For my mom, a chemist-turned-business-executive, the calculations come naturally. So too does the perceived value of meat and seafood, all rarities for her during her childhood in post-war Hong Kong and her days as a poor international student at Berkeley. It was her frugality during her pursuit of the American dream that gave our family the means and freedom to eat well.
Knowing this, I carefully chose the restaurant for our final vacation dinner in Saugerties, a quaint New York town. I settled on Miss Lucy’s Kitchen, an upscale but fairly priced place that features ingredients from local farms. Once seated, my mom studied the menu, making her decision out loud.
“What’s a hanger steak?” Her tone teetered between skeptical and hopeful. “Is it like filet mignon?”
In other words, is it worthy of its listed price? Should I tell her that hanger steak is a cheap butcher cut, but, because it’s trendy, restaurants sell it for the same price as filet mignon?
“It’s very flavorful, Mom, even meatier than filet mignon. A little more like flank steak.”
She wasn’t buying it and moved on down the menu. I tried to ignore her mumblings: “I wonder how many pieces of lobster come with the pasta? Why does their duck entrée only include the breast?”
While I tuned out her chatter, I couldn’t ignore the voice in my own head: “That pasta sounds good, but is it homemade? Ooh, the sea bass comes with fava beans—I wonder how many?” I started weighing whether the appeal of fava beans, a pain to shuck and peel at home, were worth more to me than seared duck breast, which I was craving. For how many fava beans would I trade my real desire?
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