The Menu Reminds Us That All Food Should Be Comfort Food

(SPOT.ph) "Taste. Savor. Relish. Consider every morsel that you place inside your mouth. Be mindful. But do not eat," Chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes) requests from his diners at Hawthorne in the 2022 thriller The Menu.

The same is true for most restaurants offering tasting menus (a.k.a. dégustations). These places have servings smaller than the palm of your hand, spread out in 10 to 15 courses, and set you back for more than P2,500 per person. The plates are as intimidating as the food, which has bits and pieces painstakingly laid out with tweezers on top of pebbles or tree branches, drizzled with gold syrup or some other sauce (or, should we say, jus) possibly extracted from the holy grail. "Our menu is too precious for that," justifies Chef Slowik, and we all know why—Hawthorn is a U.S. $1,250-per-head, sea-to-table restaurant on a private island. And while it's fictional, it's not far from reality. The Menu, which is streaming on Disney+, satirizes how the one percent eat (correction: taste) and dictate—through Instagram posts, make-or-break food reviews, and angel investments—the fate of high-end restaurants in the global culinary scene.

The Elitist Foodies in The Menu

The Menu's conflict is clear: the givers, who are portrayed in the film as the service industry workers like Chef Slowik and Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy); versus the takers, who are the Hawthorn's patrons. The latter is introduced one by one throughout the narrative, starting with Tyler (Nicholas Hoult), whose performance as an overeager foodie makes us cringe (as his character should). We know his kind. He drops words and phrases like "mouthfeel" and "flavor profiles," takes photos for the 'gram even when told multiple times not to, and owns a Pacojet at home because his idol uses one. On the flip side, some restaurateurs—at least those who rely on the emerging power of online marketing—consider the visual presentation of their food if only to make it to the curated Instagram feed of the Tylers.

As a true-blue foodie, Tyler gushes after seeing Lillian Bloom (Janet McTeer) boarding the same boat that brings them to the private island. A food critic for Saveur and "basically discovered Slowik," she represents food writers and reviewers whose praises are dangerously sought after by up-and-coming chefs. Sure, criticisms are always to be taken with a grain of salt; but with the power wielded by their rants or raves, food creators may as very well be at their mercy. Unfortunately, this critic-creator relationship isn’t exclusive to the culinary industry. Artists, writers, actors, and musicians—especially those who don't know any better—are also often affected by reviews. While creativity flourishes in the face of criticism, it's a double-edged sword that may also hamper the imagination and, as pointed out by Slowik’s character development, leads to burnout.

Then, there's the wealthy couple Richard and Anne Leibrandt (Reed Birney and Judith Light), who has been to the restaurant 11 times. Despite being loyal regulars, they can't name a single dish even when asked at gunpoint. The Richards and Annes of the world dine at high-end restaurants because the other Richards and Annes do so, too. Like the rich, there are attention-seeking movie stars—even the has-beens like George Diaz (John Leguizamo)—who go to places like Hawthorn to be seen.

And then there are the capitalists like Hawthorn's angel investor Doug Verrick, whose minute-but-significant presence is complemented by the attendance of business partners Soren (Arturo Castro), Dave (Mark St. Cyr), and Bryce (Rob Yang). They love pulling the you-know-who-we-are card, especially when they request substitutions for dishes they don't like or ingredients they're allergic to. "Despite the fact that there are no substitutions at Hawthorn," an angry Slovik shouts.

The 99% Behind the Kitchen Counter

While the elitist foodies feast on their costly small portions, the remaining 99% also have their own chess game of power, money, and position. Slowik's kitchen staff also have their own games to play. His sous chef Jeremy Louden (Adam Aalderks) desperately wants Slowik's prestige, job, and talent. Another sous chef, Katherine Keller (Christina Brucato), deals day in and day out with man's folly. Elsa (Hong Chau), restaurant's maître d'hôtel, fights tooth and nail not to be replaced. These actions are often rooted in the fact that, unlike the elite, they just want to eat three times a day.

Common folks often don't have the luxury to "taste, savor, and relish" because doing so uses up so much time, money, and produce. Slowik's advice to "not eat"—though, of course, not to be taken literally—is the antithesis of our physiological needs, after all.

At the risk of being branded ignorant by foodies, I eat because I’m hungry, as simple as that. The food doesn’t have to be plated in a bed of pebbles or presented under a glass dome with a smoke effect. It doesn’t need to be a multi-course meal that’s to be consumed for hours. It just needs to not taste like soap, or like the gray test paper for quarterly exams, or like the brown corrugated cartons.

This type of food is often labeled as “comfort food”: soup, fried chicken, spaghetti, adobo, nilaga, tinola, and sinigang. Or the Pinoy quadrumvirate: menudo, afritada, mechado, and kaldereta. These are the meals cooked by your parent or guardian on Sundays then put in the fridge because she doesn’t have the time to prepare the next day’s baon. These are the meals cooked in big servings because they don’t easily spoil. These are the meals without edible garnishes and decorations—and, therefore, often not Instagram-worthy. These are the meals that satisfy a hungry stomach. Which begs the question, why aren’t all food considered comfort food? Do we not eat to be comforted? Do we not eat to be satisfied? Do we not eat to feel loved?

“You cook with obsession, not love,” accuses Margot of Chef Slovik. The celebrity chef, who started out as a diner cook flipping burgers, is hounded by what the Tylers, Lillians, Richards and Annes, and Dougs have to say. And these voices in his head eventually lead to his fall from grace.

The Real Cheeseburger: The Menu Ending, Explained

While Filipinos’ go-to and easy-to-prepare dish is probably the silog, Americans have the “real cheeseburger.” And this, as it turns out, is the symbol of comfort in Chef Slowik’s tragic story. After a series of plot twists upon plot twists, Margot demands the chef to cook for her a "real cheeseburger" in all its cheese-melting, oil-dripping glory. "Not some fancy, deconstructed avant bullshit," she adds.

At its core, The Menu is a story of losing one’s passion. Slowik, in pursuit of celebrity status, inadvertently replaces his happiness in flipping burgers with what he thought to be the fulfillment of his career as a chef. In the end, it’s too late for him. We shouldn’t let it be too late for us. Grab a cheeseburger.

Also read: Triangle of Sadness Is a Topsy-Turvy Boat Ride That Will Rightfully Haunt You

Rating: 5 out of 5 spots

The Menu is streaming online on Disney+.