I Get Gnocchi Down, But I Get Up Again

I used to think that being a restaurant critic would be a terrific job. Now, I’m not so sure. I think I would run out of ways to describe things fairly early on in the gig. I lack the appropriate type of imagination.

I say this because we are currently being challenged by what our work canteen is doing to us. I am running out of ways to describe the bad news. When I walk back into the our office after lunch, someone will always quiz me about the menu because it’s their turn to chance their arm at the bain-marie and they want some prior warning and I am fresh out of ways to say, “Perfectly hideous.”

What prompted this blog was; Gnocchi with basil sauce (not pesto) and vegetables. As soon as the words, “I’ll have a small gnocchi, thanks.” Were out of my mouth, a delicious thrill of anticipation shot through me. How badly could they fuck this up? It’s become a perverse pleasure of mine, seeing how off-the-mark a couple of professional cooks can be. And not just occasionally, but every single stinkin’ day. It actually defies the odds, how bad these guys are. Across all food types, three different dishes a day, five days a week. You’d think they’d just fluke it in there once or twice, but no. They have applied themselves to the fine art of poisoning en masse and they are taking it all the way with 100% commitment and perseverance. I admire their tenacity.

I want to tell you about the gnocchi but fear I cannot do it justice. With gnocchi, you’ve got to be a little brave when you cook it. Really only leave it in the water for 30 seconds. Maybe 28. Not 40. You know what I’m saying? But these guys have managed to cook their gnocchi for 5 seconds and half an hour at the same time. I know! Technically impossible but hard undercooked gnocchi that is sticky and stodgy at the same time is borderline evil genius. As for the not-pesto-basil-sauce. I’m not certain where the cream came from but I’m guessing not an ungulate. I’m wondering if there are rare breeds of lizards out there that are like the step between reptiles and monotremes. A lizard that suckles its young. 'Cause that’s what the sauce was made of. Lizard milk with basil off-cuts from down the back of the industrial deep-freeze. The vegetables? Completely uncooked. Raw chunks of cold onion and capsicum in the luke-warm lizard milk sauce.

Speechless, both because of the obnoxiousness of the meal and the fact that my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, I returned to the office, knowing that I had been the proud witness to the lowering of a bar to places where a submarine wouldn’t even be able to find it.