FOOD FRAUD
Dishing on seven common restaurant lies
One of the best ways to start a meal is by spending a little time with a tantalizing menu. Its primary function is ● utilitarian, of course. You can’t order a dish if you don’t know it exists. But for a skilled menu writer, the name and description of a dish can make diners salivate with excitement. ● Some restaurant menus employ artful descriptions. Some embellish. Some cross the line into flat-out lies. It isn’t always the restaurant’s fault. Some menu lies are so ● long-standing and so pervasive that to call an ingredient what it actually is — when such terminology even exists — would only create confusion. But at the very least, diners should know the difference: To identify when a menu is playing fast and loose with the facts; and to appreciate when a restaurant shoulders the time and expense to acquire the real deal. A library of books could be (and has been) written on the rampant mislabeling of fish and the complex ● question of what does constitute “local” and “organic,” so we’ll set those deeper topics aside for now. But here are seven menu lies that any diner is likely to encounter on a routine basis.
Wild Mushrooms
Every time I see “wild mushrooms” on a menu, it’s all I can do not to ask the server which staff member went out into the woods to forage the criminis. A fledgling menu lie that seems to be gaining traction in the Valley, I say we nip this one right in the bud. Almost every mushroom you’ll find in a restaurant was farmed. That includes the more esoteric varieties like oyster mushrooms, hen of the woods and beech mushrooms that are frequently slapped with this label.
What’s maddening is that this menu lie is completely unnecessary. There’s nothing even a tiny bit wrong with farmed mushrooms. But let’s save the term “wild mushrooms” for those instances when somebody undertook the immense time and effort required to wander around, finding and plucking real wild mushrooms from the soil.
Crab
I am cautiously optimistic that this battle may soon be a victory for supporters of truth in menu writing. Most diners at this point know the difference between real crab and surimi, the processed fish paste that contains no actual crab but is textured and seasoned to mimic the genuine article, however poorly. Surimi is a perfectly acceptable food product that has its place. There’s a bundle in my freezer right now. As the stigma eases, most restaurants feel comfortable calling it what it is, using terms such as “imitation crab,” “crab stick” or “krab.” But with plenty of nonmisleading names available, those who persist in referring to it as “crab” are pulling a dishonest bait and switch.
Wasabi
Partners in crime with “crab,” the misuse of “wasabi” is so deeply ingrained it probably isn’t going away anytime soon, if ever. You could be a sushi fanatic who drops in for a California roll and a few pieces of nigiri three times a week, but unless you visit a high-end sushi restaurant, odds are you’ve never tasted wasabi in your life.
At most restaurants, that nub of paste next to your pickled ginger is a mix of powdered horseradish and mustard, reconstituted and dyed green to resemble the Japanese plant for which it’s named. The substitution itself is understandable. Wasabi is difficult to grow, and even setting aside cost issues, there isn’t enough supply to keep up with demand.
More distressing is a recent phenomenon: Restaurants that offer a pickled wasabi product as “fresh wasabi.” It’s delicious, and usually made with the real item, but it’s no more “fresh wasabi” than Smucker’s jelly is “fresh grapes.” Call it what it is, please.
Balsamic Vinegar
Here’s another battle that’s probably unwinnable because the product isn’t going away and truthful terminology doesn’t even exist. The dearly departed Marcella Hazan is reported to have expressed, perhaps half jokingly, that she regretted introducing Modena’s most famous condiment to the United States.
True balsamic vinegar is made from reduced grape must that’s aged for years (if not decades) in wooden casks. One taste of it puts the lie to most products that bear the moniker, which are usually just red wine vinegar with a little caramel color and sugar. Rule of thumb: If you get more than a scant few drops and dinner didn’t cost as much as a refriger-
ator, it wasn’t balsamic vinegar.
Parmesan Cheese
The debate over what constitutes Parmesan cheese has become increasingly contentious in recent years. In Italy and to a lesser extent the European Union, the term “Parmesan” is tightly controlled, and “Parmigiano-Reggiano” even more so.
Here in the States, “Parmesan” is used on store shelves and menus to cover a wide variety of hard grating cheeses, many of which bear only a passing resemblance to “the king of cheeses.” Most restaurants are honest enough not to use the term “Parmigiano-Reggiano” unless they’re serving the pricey, premium cheese from EmigliaRomagna. Sadly, plenty aren’t.
Kobe / Wagyu Beef
As the public’s understanding of Japanese beef has grown, what started as a flat-out lie has diffused into a jumble of marketing jargon that carries little meaning. “Kobe beef ” was the first term to hit mainstream American consciousness. But despite what some menus continue to claim, nobody is making $12 hamburgers with intensely marbled beef that costs per pound.
More popular phrases these days are “Kobe-style” or “Wagyu.” Both are often misused to pitch Angus beef with a Japanese steer somewhere in the bloodline. Outstanding premium beef exists on both sides of the pond. But the terms have become debased to the point that a trusted source is often the only way to know what you’re getting.
Truffle
Truffles, depending on their quality, can be intoxicatingly fragrant tubers or lumpy little doorstops. But most dishes with the word “truffle” in the name don’t contain any truffle at all. Most often, they’re prepared with truffle oil, which can sometimes be made with real truffles but is usually composed of olive oil infused with synthetic flavorings designed to mimic true truffles’ scent. (Spoiler: they don’t.)
Truffle oil’s dubious flavor is widely pilloried by dining critics and food writers. While I’m not prepared to state it is never, ever worth using, let’s just say that rather than correct the lie, this might be a situation where it’s better to simply stop using the product altogether. True truffles are glorious little buggers that are worth saving up to splurge for.