On Saturday, we joined the in-laws for dinner at Wood-n-Tap, a lovely restaurant along the Farmington River.
When it came time for Clara to order, she stumbled over the words while speaking to the server, practically spitting them out of her mouth.
“You want a quesadilla,” I asked. “Right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Bleh. I hated how that felt in my mouth.”
“What?” I asked.
“The name,” she said. “The stupid name.”
I looked at the menu. The quesadilla on the children’s menu is called a Kids-a-dilla.
I don’t blame her. What a stupid name for an entrée. Just call it a quesadilla.
I had a similar problem this week. A friend was buying me lunch at a place called Doro and asked for my order.
“The grilled cheese,” I replied. “They call it something stupid. I can’t remember the name. But it’s a grilled cheese.”
The name on the menu?
Melt My Cheese Please.
Like Clara, I’d feel stupid saying, “Could I have a Melt My Cheese Please, please?”
I don’t mind a clever name (though puns are the worst). But when it comes to food, call it like it is. No need to enhance the name of your offerings with meaningless cuteness. Cook good food and serve it well. Don’t try to impress us with the name of that food.
Clara wanted a quesadilla. I wanted a grilled cheese.
It doesn’t need to be any more complicated than that.
