(由 Google 翻译)人生中总有一些失望如此深刻,难以轻易消散。我去一家大胆称之为“意大利餐厅”的地方就是其中一次失望。
从我踏入的那一刻起,就感受到了一种极力展现文化气息的氛围,几乎到了乞求掌声的地步。昏暗的灯光,叮当作响的酒杯,以及隐隐约约的低语,那是一种令人困惑而非成熟的感觉。只是刻意表现得太过了。空间狭小,容纳不下那么多服务员,他们每个人都不确定自己是来服务的、表演的,还是仅仅是作为装饰的一部分而存在的。
我承认,面包还不错,因为我原本的希望只是被浪费了。为了安全起见,我点了一杯不加糖的茶,我最不想在(传统)餐厅听到的就是百事可乐或可口可乐的产品。我决定点一份他们现在早已习以为常的简单的红酱意面。服务员盯着我看,仿佛我是在用德语说这句话似的。他最终建议用肉丸代替扁意面。我同意了,简单到不能再简单了。他们没有让服务员了解他们提供的食物本身,这可不是他的错。
端上来的菜如此粗制滥造,就像出自一个对手艺漠不关心的人之手,只不过更热衷于电子游戏。酱汁带着罐装番茄特有的酸味,
金属味十足,酸酸的。它没有加调料,也没有用大蒜来提味,也没有用小火慢炖来去除生番茄难以忍受的酸味。我吃到的菜一点也不传统。
意面本身煮得不够劲道,不是弹牙的,而是有点儿像被侮辱了一样。每一口都让我不快地意识到,努力和理解并非一回事。然而,服务员站在我身边,带着艺术家揭开杰作的自豪感。
我从未感到如此疏远意大利菜的概念。把这种菜称为美食,简直就像把猫称为狮子一样。我坐在那里,百思不得其解,其他顾客竟然能吃得下。
就连Outback Steakhouse,这家以烤牛排而闻名,而非意大利风味的餐厅,也能教给这些“厨师”一两招烹饪技巧。我怀疑厨房里的员工都是意大利人,他们更喜欢“肉汁”这个词。
(原文)
There are disappointments in life so profound they do not simply fade. My visit to a place audaciously called Italian Restaurant was one such disappointment.
From the moment I entered, I was met with an atmosphere so desperate to appear cultured that it nearly begged for applause. Dim lights, clinking glasses, and the faint murmur of confusion not sophistication. Just trying far too hard. The space was far too small for the amount of servers darting about, each unsure of whether they were there to serve, perform, or simply exist as part of the décor.
The bread, I will admit was fairly good, as i had hope only to be squandered. I ordered an unsweetened tea to play safe, last thing i want to hear from a (traditional) restaurant was pepsi or Coke products only. and i decided for something they would be well accustomed too by now a simple red-sauce pasta. The waiter stared at me as though I had said it in german. He eventually suggested meatballs over linguine. I agreed, simple as can get. not his fault they don’t educate there waiters, of the very food they serve,
What arrived was a dish so devoid of care, it might have been assembled by a man with no care for his craft. But more interested in video games. The sauce carried the unmistakable tang of tin can tomatoes,
metallic, and sour. It had not been grazed with seasoning, nor comforted by garlic, nor given the dignity of a slow simmer to remove the unbearable sour taste of uncooked tomatoes. What i was served was anything but traditional.
The pasta itself was undercooked not al dente, but al insulto. Each bite an unwelcome reminder that effort and understanding are not the same thing. And yet, the waiter stood beside me with the pride of an artist unveiling a masterpiece,
Never have I felt so estranged from the concept of Italian food. To call this cuisine is to call a cat a lion. I sat there, bewildered that the other patrons could even stomach it.
Even Outback Steakhouse, a place more famous for its ability to give burnt stakes than any Italian ambition, could teach these “chefs” a thing or two about cooking. I suspect the kitchen is staffed by Italians that prefer the word Gravy,