Small plates. Two words that strike joy–or frustration–in the hearts of diners. Are the small portions so popular at restaurants these days a perfect way to sample flavor or a trendy route to bankruptcy? Here, both sides of the debate.
PRO: Small plates rule. Not because everything that comes out is fabulous, but because if it is not fabulous then you wrinkle your nose and happily move on to the next plate and never order that dud again.
It’s the ultimate meal for the non-committal, those who find the idea of eating one dish for a whole meal excruciating. Even if it’s magnificent, the next bite and the next bite are likely to taste pretty much like the last–which no matter how great, can become boring.
Small plates–and their small portions–offer you a rainbow of flavors and textures in lovingly prepared petite bites that often leave you longing for more. And that’s a good thing. Plus you don’t get the fish eye from your dining mates after you’ve poked your fork into their plate hoping for a sample.
Sure, some argue that small plates make it hard to figure out how much to order for the table. The solution: order slowly, with the most promising dishes coming first and the rest saved for later–if you’re still hungry.
If you know where to go and generally what to order (and after one visit, it should be clear) small plates can even be a bargain–especially when you sop up those rich sauces and fine olive oils with bread.
But maybe the best thing about small plates is that philosophically they are about appreciating modest portions of deliciousness, a simultaneous exercise of restraint and decadence.
Go ahead and get yourself two classic small plates. I’d recommend an exquisite slice of Spanish ham (preferably Iberico but serrano will do) or Manchego cheese (preferably reserva). Place a bite in your mouth, close your eyes and let that paper thin shaving melt on your tongue while you breathe in its flavor and aroma. One serving might offer two or three bites, but they will be such magnificent bites–evoking the grassy fields or the acorn forests where the animals grazed–you won’t need more. You’ll simply sigh, smile then move on to your next potentially life-changing little plate.
–Monica Eng
CON: Trying to figure out what to order at a small-plate restaurant is a little like trying on jeans. Different pairs may be labeled with the same size, but they can vary wildly in fit. Frustration ensues.
Go with friends to a small-plate restaurant and just try to guess what might feed the lot of you. Maybe you order a small-plate salad. And small-plate bacon-wrapped dates. And small-plate cheese. And small-plate duck.
All the while, you have no clue how much of each will arrive at the table. Will there be four bacon-wrapped dates for your party of four? Or will there be five? Or maybe–horrors!–there will be just three?
Will the duck be sliced into six pieces or four? Will the salad come with two olives or seven? Will it have one piece of prosciutto draped over the greens?
You just never know. And then you spend the rest of the evening trying to figure out how much of what to eat without looking like a greedy pig.
You worry about fairness: Will everyone get a piece of that tiny mound of duck salad? Will everyone get a bit of that artisan cheese that’s little more than a dab sitting on a plate?
How do you split five bacon-wrapped dates evenly into four portions? Or more likely, do all four people politely take one, then leave the fifth sitting on the small plate waiting for someone to have the guts to take the last one?
And so it goes. It is an evening of careful math, of fractions, of wishing you had a calculator, of eyeing last pieces and in the end, leaving many on the plate.
It is an evening of spending more than you expected as you order more plates than you need because nobody–nobody–knows how many small plates it takes to serve a party of, say, four.
It is nothing like the tapas experience in Spain, where these small plates are generally cheap and meant as snacks, not entire dinners. There isn’t as much money at stake. It’s not your whole dinner, it’s just something to munch on while sipping a simple Rioja.
Bring on the big plates, thank you very much. When there’s plenty to go around, nobody spends the night doing math, which is no fun for anybody–except, perhaps, hungry mathematicians.
–Trine Tsouderos
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meng@tribune.com
ttsouderos@tribune.com
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