It was a magic moment.
But to appreciate it, you need to understand the son's grading scale for food, which, as his mother, I have nailed down to interpret his level of "excitement" (albeit nonchalant) about a food item I am trying out on him. The response always comes after I ask first: "So, what do you think?" Here's the guide to this food-rating system.
"Good."
This is the response to such events as - oh, mom did a nice job on the new flavor of marinated chicken breasts from Central Market as paired with a new exotic side dish (e.g., curry couscous, or pine nut rice pilaf, or saffron jasmine rice (from a box)). Or like when I set out some charcuterie on a large white platter with peppered (Central Market) crackers, to entice him into something exotic in the meat realm. When he asked "what's this for" I said, "oh, it's something like pepperoni - you might like it - something to tide you over before dinner...." (In fact was training him for aperitif rituals).
My prompting question followed: "So, what do you think?" "Good." Satisfying response. A new food experience. Done.
"Pretty good."
This is reserved for the misses, like he knows I'm trying to get him to eat something new, and hoping he'll like it, but he's just not digging it. The "pretty good" is really not good at all. He is trying to be nice. I am pleased he has this quality as an American male, to prepare him for what to answer to questions from females in his life such as: "Does this dress make me look fat?" [I just hope to that his answer is a little more positive than "pretty good."]
I got a "pretty good" for an answer to "so, what do you think?" when I casually set out for him those outrageously priced chocolate-dipped madeleines that I bought during "Passport to France" at Central Market. I should have tasted them first. They were no bueno at all. He did not know any better to say "pretty bad," which they were.
"Really good."
I do not remember ever hearing this. Maybe, probably, I got a "really good" that one year, Christmas Eve, for that outrageously complicated 10-hours-in-the-making and $75 worth of ingredients, multi-layer homemade chocolate cake with white chocolate filling and chocolate-peppermint glaze over chocolate ganache frosting. But I just really don't hear this answer much in ordinary daily life (which is how about 99% of our lives is spent).
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My mom had already promised the son a steak for dinner tonight - out somewhere. I was about to head to Central Market for a paleo/"Garden of Eden" regime salad, but figured maybe I should stick around for family dinner. I had a feeling the son might appreciate the steak at Hopfields (about which I have written kind of a lot), that sort of new French-themed gastropub so close to our house, on Guadalupe. He actually said "ok" to going there, probably because mom was here.
I place our order at the bar. I decide what to do about the iced tea order for mom (they have several selections in bottles). A nice young man sitting at the bar helps the server figure out which tea is best for my mom. I commend this nice young man on being so well-informed about the tea options. He said, "well, I'm the owner."
Which of course led to all sorts of "Oh My God" by me because I just love that place. The French-vibe thing. And he said he knew I loved it because he had read that first post I did about Hopfields about my being transported back to France upon tasting that vinaigrette dressing, with so many shallots, which I learn is the recipe of his Parisian mother-in-law, whom I had just missed as she had just left. Sigh.
The two orders of steak frites, for mom and for the son, are brought to the table. They are of course lovely to look at, that nice cut of steak, on that plate with that smear of mustard.
I was minding my own business with the very green and lovely Salade Nicoise. All of a sudden, before I could even ask the son, "so, what do you think," I hear the son say:
"The steak is really good."
Mom let me have some of hers. So I had some steak as well, and ran it through the son's smear of Dijon mustard remaining on his plate (and maybe some butter and a couple of frites made it into that bite[s]).
And it is. Really good.
And to add to the really good list: Hopfields is expanding.
They're doing great he says.
That Justine's is always throbbing with people and noise and jazz, and now that Hopfields has been so warmly welcomed - thanks to great food and vibe/concept - I'm just glad that France is (finally) working its way into Austin's food soul.
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