Gourmet gaffes–let your taste buds be your guide

There are multiple words in the world of food that inspire me to drink (but just a glass of Cava or an early-harvest Riesling) because they are either used incorrectly or employed to the point of utter uselessness.

One culprit: pan-sauteed. Do menu and recipe writers not understand the redundancy of this hyphenated, wacked out word combo? When was the last time someone sauteed leeks in a pie dish or Dover sole in a souffle dish? Can you imagine tagine-sauteed green beans?

We saute in pans. That’s what we do.

Another kooky one: oven-fried, always with the hyphen. If you’re “frying” anything in an oven, you’ve been reading too many “Cooking Light” magazines. What we do in an oven is bake. Frying is done on the stove in ample grease or fat, i.e., butter, oil, and the mother of all super slick and salty renderings: bacon fat.

Another word that is worked to exhaustion like a swayback plough horse is “gourmet.”

I recently purchased a bag of ice from AJ’s Find Foods. And, you guessed it; it was gourmet ice. I won’t go full throttle into my personal feelings about AJ’s–basically Basha’s sashaying around on Jimmy Choo patents in a good neighborhood wearing a Halston dress. (For the same or better quality meat and seafood at prices that won’t have you opting for ground round when you want filet, or tilapia when you’re dying for sea bass, visit Costco, Whole Foods or an independent meat market.) I’ve been known to spend a good $5 more per bottle of wine there than at Trader Joe’s or Cost Plus World Market. Shame on me. But back to these worrisome words.

I may be the only person who has actually read the copy on a bag of ice. How on earth is it gourmet? Was each cube shaped with a golden chisel, then kissed by an angel before being placed carefully in the plastic bag? Was this ice extracted from some supremely pure glacial farm tended by ice Sherpas?

No, on both counts.

Let me tell you, for all the chilly prose, ice will never be gourmet.

For if my ice is gourmet, what, then, is my six-course dinner at Binkley’s, Mary Elaine’s or Vincent’s?

I’ve seen gourmet popcorn, gourmet potato chips, gourmet coffee, and gourmet dog food for the love of James Beard. What’s next, gourmet chicken fingers at Denny’s? Gourmet sandwiches at Subway?

Does it make us feel better, or superior to purchase something labeled gourmet? I’ve seen gourmet ice cream. Is this food modifier and moniker an American phenom?

The most magical ice cream I’ve ever lost my mind over was in Berlin, purchased from a streetfront, walk-up establishment.

(Although some Hawaiian ice cream is insanely pure and devilishly dreamy.) I shelled out the equivalent of a buck fifty American for two scoops of “if I died right now, I’d die happy ice cream” and never, ever once did I see the word gourmet anywhere in the vicinity.

In the states, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s sets me back at least three bones–usually more, and I don’t get the ambience of the charming streetscape, nor the ability to question the maker about his craft. I can’t ask Ben, nor Jerry, what inspired their Chunky Monkey (though I believe I have a fairly accurate idea). Yet B&J’s ice cream is considered gourmet.

True: those crafty marketeers and their oh-so-wise focus groups play on our insecurities and prey on our disposable incomes when it comes to labeling food products. Has reason abandoned us entirely? Let us be wiser.

Perhaps B&J’s is better than most other ice cream brands, but gourmet? And maybe gourmet popcorn is a pop or two above the generic. But again, gourmet? Is gourmet dog food more delicious than non-gourmet? I don’t know. Ask my dog, Gumbo. (He’d know. He’s crazy about Big Buns’ scones, and so am I.) Is it more healthful? Perhaps. But, perhaps not. It if is, then it should be labeled “extra healthful dog food,” not gourmet.

But labeling ice and dog food gourmet, and the fact that we Americans are buying it, says to me either we’re stupid, shallow, or wasteful (with money), or maybe all three. Or that proper use of the English language, the meaning of words, in the culinary world and otherwise, is dying a slow, massively unrecognized death.

My summer vacation will take me back to Berlin (but with my 9-month-old son this time), to Budapest and to Lake Balaton in Hungary. We’ll be eating ice cream at least once a day in Prenzlauerberg, three-euro doner kabobs in Kreutzberg, and five-euro plates of perch cooked lakeside and al fresco, just hours from Budapest. I doubt any of these treasures will be labeled gourmet, though I expect to be thoroughly impressed by them. I don’t doubt that after these culinary experiences, I will feel as though I’ve eaten gourmet food at a fraction of the price.

Is gourmet then a sensory state? Or is it a word in our lexicon that’s simply been employed on disappointing levels. Let your own senses be your guide. Don’t allow a label or a price tag to make up your mind.

Contact Lupita@foodamericana @msn.com.Contact Lupita at foodamericana@msn.com.