Menus come in an assortment of shapes and sizes. Laminated large rectangles, foldable pocket-sized ones, cheap paper with word searches for kids that come with a pack of the cheapest crayons ever made, scannable QR code menus and of course, the infamous fluorescent-light-illuminated images of greasy burgers and fries that never look like the picture you ordered from. But there’s also a different kind of menu. A fixed one, where you don’t peruse it and choose your desired dish but rather sit under the trusted judgment and discretion of a chef whom you have faith in and allow them to serve you. 

In all honesty, these are not the types of restaurants I frequent. Namely, because I assume the cost is one too many digits for my budget but also the truth is, at my core, I’m a Raising Cane’s man. But there are those that do frequent these restaurants and belong to the culture of fine dining, though the line isn’t drawn at fine dining. In fact, food is part of our culture whether you’re especially into it or not. Chefs are celebrities. Celebrities attempt to be chefs. And financially succeed. Then there’s the streaming shows. Were every one of the cooking shows to be written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.

Food in itself is obviously powerful. It transcends cultures and people groups, for no matter who you are or where you are geographically, people gather around the table to eat together. Consuming anything from greasy slabs of artery-clogging pizza to chana masala with warm naan or even some slices of grilled halloumi cheese with a bowl of olives. Food brings us together and more often than not, it’s the one thing we get to control in our day. We choose what we put in our bodies and, after experiencing numerous years in management at Chick-fil-A, I’ve learned people love to have power over their food and the people preparing it. For some, the fast food employee is the one person they get to have authority over and they gladly wield it. But sometimes, we are at the whims of the chef.

Great populated cities like Los Angeles, New York, or Dallas are home to some of the fanciest restaurants; some you’ll grow starving just waiting to get a reservation. In these establishments, the roles are reversed. Power in the hands of the customer? Far from it. These types of experiences are putting you in the chef’s hands and letting them do as they wish in the kitchen. There is no such thing as sending food back. This type of culture is represented in the new film, The Menu, which satirizes the fancy, snobby cuisine culture of these metropolitan areas. But in this film, we are dealing with Chef Slovik, head chef of the exclusive restaurant, Hawthorne, located on a remote island. This chef has grown embittered toward his passion and thus holds severe disdain for his customers. But the ones dining in his restaurant in the film he holds a specific distaste for. 

You see, these guests have transgressed against the chef in one form or another. Whether its an uppity food critic whose written words hold life and death over restaurants or a corrupt financial group which the chef is beholden to. On the pettier side of things, there’s an actor from a terrible movie that wasted the chef’s precious time and his assistant who happens to not have any college debt — which, in today’s world, is sometimes seen as a mark against you. For these transgressions there will be no mercy served. There is only one dish the chef is serving and it’s judgment. Be careful, the plate is hot. 

Chef Slovik began his career as a fry cook, flipping ordinary burgers. Years later, when we meet him in the film, he’s been jaded and corrupted by the business of elitism and fine dining so much so that he’s lost himself. It’s worth noting here, or perhaps deserving of a piece on its own, that in the end of the film it’s a cheeseburger which restores the chef to his passion. A good ‘ol greasy, lowly cheeseburger. Could anything good come out of a cheeseburger? It’s been said God chooses the cheeseburgers to shame the amuse-bouche.

But I’ll let you see for yourself how that plays out. For now, I’d like to focus on how Chef Slovik begins the night — before the chaos unfolds. As the diners are having their whispered conversations, the chef walks out with a glorious and gracious preamble:

“Over the next few hours, you will ingest fat, salt, sugar, protein, bacteria, fungi, various plants and animals and at times, entire ecosystems. But I have to beg of you one thing, it’s just one. Do not eat.”

A guest whispers in shock: “What did he say?”

“Taste. Savor. Relish. Consider every morsel that you place inside your mouth. Be mindful, do not eat. Our menu is too precious for that. And look around you, here we are, on this island. Accept. Accept all of it. And … forgive. And on that note, food!”

The chef asks a task of which seems to be particularly difficult for those of us belonging to the human race. We love to eat. According to the Oxford dictionary, “eat” is defined as “put food into the mouth and chew and swallow it.” It’s the act, the biological necessity. The law of our bodies. This, of course, is what comes easy to us. All we do is “eat.”

Certainly we do this with food, Pew Research from 2010 shows the average American consumes 2,481 calories a day – -a 23 percent increase from 1970 (one can safely assume there’s been another increase to 2023). We also consume content on a regular, habitual (more like addictive) nature. I need not inform the reader of the grip which streaming has us in, only slightly releasing us with a weekly release show here and there. We practically scroll feeds into our gullets and swallow them with no regard for the toll it will take on our digestive system. Then there’s the children. Oh, the children. While it’s debatable whether or not they are actually the ones that consume us, I’m painfully aware of the speed in which I read through The Foot Book at bedtime so I can get on to the next task for the night. I would be remiss not to mention one of the leading ways we “eat,” the same one that our friend Chef Slovik seems to have fallen into. Work. Chef Slovik has come to a point in his career where he has to face the truth. He crafts his dishes not for the simple joy and pleasure anymore but rather to receive approval from his critics, customers and investors. And, of course, there’s the facet of life rife for “eating”: Religion. We trade gospel joy for moral misery, and sing Hallelujah during the transfer of goods.

On the other hand, “taste” has the definition of “perceive or experience the flavor of.” The enjoyment of something. “Eat” is a law that demands, while “taste” is a gift that’s cherished. Like tasting the touch of truffle oil or pondering about loss after watching The Last of Us. Pausing on the picture of the squirrel before numbingly scrolling by without a single thought on how particularly cute the creature is. Truly pondering how many, many feet you meet with your son as you tickle each other’s toes. Clocking in and seeing the fruit of your labor blossom, like Chef Slovik used to do over the steam of a grill where ground beef squished into a patty sizzled. Climbing back into the car after service on Sunday not with a list of to-do’s or must-be’s for the week but rather a sigh of relief that there’s only already-done’s.

But “taste” is difficult for us, we’d prefer to be at the buffet where we can continue to consume without limit. Often we need a reset, like Chef Slovik. We need that greasy cheeseburger, perhaps in a different form. While we topple our plates high at the buffet stands, food spilling over the sides, behind us, dressed in the whitest of aprons, the Head Chef is awaiting our recline at the table where he’s about to serve his trademark dish. Albeit, the one and only dish he ever serves. The Eucharist. A meager piece of bread and a cup of red wine. A little lower than a cheeseburger and yet, satisfying. But we must not eat it, for this dish is certainly far too precious for that. No, this bread and wine before us is meant to be tasted. So, therefore, as the Psalmist once invited us, taste and see that the Lord is good.

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