Column: A more personal plate

Every member of my father’s family has at least one restaurant they visit more than frequently, and with this constant culinary exposure comes a more personal touch: We meet the chef.

My grandmother has known Frank, who’s behind Chicago’s Topo Gigio, for more than 25 years now. Our family sits down (always at the same table), and about 30 minutes into dinner, rosemary lamb chops are served. There’s never any question, menu or “Special of the Day” about it; my grandmother just takes a bite.  

It almost seems like a power move. Knowing the man behind the meal legitimizes it: That red meat on the white plate, garnished with green parsley, becomes universally understood as “my grandmother’s favorite dish.” The meal defines her, and she can’t help but order it again and again.

Yet, after four years at IU, I have to wonder: Do I know any chefs on this campus?

Compared to Chicago, Bloomington has significantly less options for eating out. It should be easy to meet and form a personal relationship with a restaurant owner, but the number of chefs I know is still nil.

Thus, I have no favorite meal at IU.

And, actually, I never could. There are more customers than restaurants in this town. The eateries, in this case, become more individual than the individuals who frequent them. The restaurant becomes a sort of indicator of the individual’s identity.

My freshman year, Pizza X created this standard. Their pizza is actually pretty bad — similar to the cardboard plates it’s often served on — but somehow, it made an appearance on my dorm floor.

“I was so drunk I ate an entire bag of Pizza X breadsticks,” we heard the next day.

Pizza X helped the girls in my dorm emphasize what a great night they had. We were all defined by the food we ordered, and the breadsticks helped articulate our state of mind.

That kept us ordering, again and again.

This small repetition became a larger part of my freshman year. When people asked me how my weekend was, I immediately had a socially understood answer, with the few extra pounds to prove it.

In a town with many people and few restaurants, Pizza X became a mascot I lived by.
Their giant X-marks-the-box marked a fashionable lifestyle that many other freshmen also experienced. Whether that lifestyle was healthy is irrelevant — our routine helped define who we were. Each of us were grasping for a slice of cheesy identity in a large campus.

And, in Bloomington’s world of few restaurants, ordering from that mass chain gave us a sense of individuality that was precious.
    
­— ntepper@indiana.edu