A Recipe for Success

by Mark R. Vogel

Nevertheless, I needed to choose dishes that I already knew had wide appeal. One of my offerings was my butternut squash soup which had a proven track record. Indeed, most of the folks liked it, and some did sign up for classes based on the strength of the soup.

But no one commented on its color, smoothness, fabrication techniques, etc., (although one food neurotic lamented about the amount of butter). People simply responded to whether it tasted good or not.

That singular taste sensation influenced their judgment about the worthiness of my cooking class.

Amazingly, I could have crafted a more difficult dish, one requiring greater culinary expertise, but if the taste displeased Ms. random-customer, she would have come to an entirely different conclusion about my culinary prowess.

How vexingly ironic that a dish displaying greater talent could cause the opposite impression, simply because the taste was discordant with a specific person's palate.

A woman I used to date with psychotic issues about food liked her fish plain. No seasoning, no butter, no lemon, no sauce, no salt, no nothing. Just take a plain fillet, throw it in the oven, and then slap it on the plate.

One chef at a renowned French restaurant I took her to actually came out to our table to make sure he had the order right. He found it incomprehensible, (as did I), that someone wanted a completely barren piece of fish.

But my date enjoyed it and commented on how good their cooking was. Cooking? What cooking? Merely putting a completely unadulterated piece of fish into an oven is barely cooking.

But kooky or not, she liked it, and therefore came to favorable conclusions about the restaurant. So do yourself a favor.

The next time you're making dinner for others, especially new guests, give them a call and find out their gustatory profile. Give the people what they want.

And if they still complain, offer them another Harry Truman axiom: "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."