The customer isn't always right: Why too many custom options at restaurants is bad
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I'm no chef. I'm no ice-cream maker. I'm not even a "sandwich artist." Yet at a bunch of Chicago restaurants, my every random craving is regarded as good enough to replace a chef's vision. And I don't like it.
Take last weekend. I had a craving for a burger, so I headed out to The Counter (666 W. Diversey Pkwy., 773-935-1995), a worldwide custom burger bar that set up shop in Lincoln Park last year. Customers are given a clipboard when they sit down, and they choose their dream burger from a series of options available on a checklist. What type of meat? How much meat? What type of bun, or do you want your burger in a bowl? Cheese? Which four toppings? Wait, what about some "premium" toppings? What type of sauce? Want two for an additional charge? Fries? Fries and sweet potato fries? Fries and onion straws? Sweet potato fries and onion straws? Still hungry?
After much debating, I settled on a beef burger with grilled pineapple, corn and bean salsa, avocado, tomatoes, jalepeño jack cheese, and a caramelized onion marmelade. It sounded amazing, and was exactly what I wanted. But it was just okay—the salsa didn't taste like anything, and the marmalade and avocado melded together to create a green, sugary mush. I felt like a failure, but the worst part was that I was on the line.
See, I go out to eat to simplify things. I don't want to exert the mental energy required to do anything cooking-related, and I'm sick of frozen meals. I find a restaurant I like, or rather a cook whose taste aligns with my own, and problem solved. I also like to be challenged, culinary-wise. If left to my own devices, I keep the same assortment of things in heavy rotation; eating out alleviates some of that boredom, as no restaurant has exactly what it is I'm looking for.
But a lot are trying. Last summer, iCream (1537 N. Milwaukee Ave., 773-342-2834) opened in Wicker Park, a boutique ice-cream parlor, and by "boutique" I mean specialty of specialties: The café employs liquid nitrogen bowls to make ice cream on the fly, rather quickly. That means you can create whatever kind you want, and presto, you're eating it. The shop doesn't stop at flavor: you also choose which color, which mix-in, even which kind of sweetener you want. (Do I even need to tell you I messed this one up too?)
And there's the grandaddy of having it your way (not Burger King): Flat Top, a local chain that's cornered the market on all-you-can-eat, make-your-own Mongolian BBQ—with a new Loop location. You take a bowl from the start of the line, fill it with rice or noodles, throw in vegetables, spoonfuls of raw meat, and top it off with a sauce. Choose from dozens, or any combination thereof—not to much, but also not too little. Apparently people had trouble with the sauce portion, because I've noticed the restaurant sometimes stations an employee by that part of the line, who offers free one-on-one consultation and directs my attention to the many sauce recipes written on the wall for my perusal. One ill-fated tablespoon can ruin my meal; sure, I can just go up and make myself another one, but that seems like an awful lot of effort for something I did, so I usually just eat it. Then I'm too full to eat anything that actually tastes good. Who knew dining out could be so much fun?
I like the thrill of discovering a new place, some hole-in-the-wall that does things with flavors I didn't know possible. I trust there are plenty of chefs out there up to the challenge; I also trust I'm not one of them. And I'm also aware that at The Counter, iCream, and Flat Top (among many others) there are pre-selected options available for those who don't want to do things on their own—but then there's my pesky proclivity against decision-making. Sure, these choices look fine, but maybe I'm missing something wonderful.
Restaurants of Chicago: Please save me from myself.
