Fun With Carbs

They look so innocent, but they start culture wars.

I’m assuming most of my blog readers are New Englanders. If so, then hopefully you’ll agree with me on this one.

Is it ever proper to help yourself to your dining neighbors’ dishes? At any point during the meal?

Let me back up a bit. When we booked our flights and hotels in Sonoma and Napa, we also booked a Saturday night reservation at Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc, the celebrity chef’s casual bistro in Yountville. Five weeks went by – during which I devoured every “du jour” four-course dinner menu that arrived in my email inbox. (The restaurant serves a set family-style menu every night, which is so notorious that some diners choose to be “surprised” when they arrive for their seating.) We even dressed up a bit, though wine country is very casual. Bottom line: I was incredibly excited for this dining experience.

We were placed at a corner table, but practically on top of another couple, both who looked to be in their early fifties. If there’s one thing I hate while dining out, it’s close-proximity seating. And if it were any run-of-the-mill local restaurant, I’d ask to be moved. But I wasn’t about to do that at Ad Hoc.

It became clear that the couple next to us was VERY intoxicated. They were sharing a bottle of wine (who knows how many they’d had at that point) and practically shouting at each other across the table. The man in the couple was trying to sound philosophical, and we all know how attractive that is when someone’s drunk. And every time the woman glanced at her menu, he would snap, “Listen to me! Are you listening to me?” I happened to look down and realized he had also removed his shoes.

They were so obnoxious that even Rob noticed. And since we were half an elbow’s length from these people, we couldn’t talk about it. This is where BlackBerry Instant Messenger comes in very handy. Me: “These people are fucking morons.” Rob: “I think the toolbags are leaving soon.”

We did our best to ignore them. But as our waiter ran down the evening’s menu, they piped up with their own commentary of everything they’d eaten so far. Fine, whatever.

The salad came. It was a work of art, with roasted beets, endive and bright citrus fruit. I took a picture, since this is what I do. The woman leaned over and slur-screeched, “Are youuuu a fooooood styliiiiisst?” I gave her a tight smile and said no, hoping to be abrupt enough to discourage future conversation.

Our “add-on” dish, mussels in a saffron-mustard cream, came before the entree. The dish was fantastic: plump, succulent mussels cooked to a melt-in-your-mouth consistency. The sauce was velvety but kind of heavy, and we wanted to make sure we saved room for the rest of our meal. So we put the plate off to the side. This apparently incensed our wine-soaked table neighbor, who proceeded to rant at us for not eating “the amazing sauce.” “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” she slurred. “I’ll eat your sauce!”

We got through our entree – grilled flatiron steak – without incident. But as the waiter came to clear our plates, she stopped him in his tracks. “You’re not allowed to take that,” she said. “They don’t want their sauce! I’m taking their sauce!” Then she reached across to our table and snatched the plate of mussel sauce, practically licking it clean.

I looked at Rob, horrified. The woman’s companion laughed loudly. “It’s a family-style restaurant!” he said in response to our shocked faces. “Welcome to California!”

If this is California, I thought to myself, then fly me right back to Connecticut.

Look, I know we New Englanders have a bad (but sometimes deserved) reputation for being cold or unfriendly. We aren’t the type to strike up conversations with strangers in elevators, say hello to people we don’t know from Adam, or even slow to let another driver merge on the highway. But I don’t think you have to be from the Northeast to be creeped out by a neighboring diner taking your food from your table. All personality debates aside – it’s rude, it’s unsanitary and it’s downright disgusting.

We met some of the nicest, most relaxed people in Napa and Sonoma. They were warm, earnest, helpful, knowledgeable and genuinely happy to make your acquaintance. That was one of the best parts of our trip. And without the countless bottles of wine, maybe these people would have been equally cool. We’ll never know.

Our time at Ad Hoc was wonderful. The food, service and atmosphere were quite enjoyable. But I’ll always remember that night in Yountville as the “Unfortunate Mussels Incident.”