Go on, declare your supremacy

You may be unaware of this fact, but I am a food snob. I am not, however, pretentious when it comes to food. And yes, there is a massive difference.

Simply put, a food snob demands quality food. It's really that simple. Pretentiousness comes in when it stops being about the food, and instead is about the dress code, the extent of the wine list, and the specific degree the server stoops at to properly kiss your hind quarters.

Now I don't have anything against a nice selection of wine (or other booze for that matter), and good service is a big part of the greater restaurant experience, but said service and food shouldn't ever be looked down upon because it comes out of the back of a mobile trailer-turned-kitchen. I've had far more let-downs from fine dining restaurants than I've had good experiences (granted I've had very few fine dining experiences, and Indiana isn't exactly a food mecha), and it's all because the food just didn't blow me away. It hasn't ever been bad, mind you, but if a place is claiming any amount of stars it'd better put out some incredible eats - and that means something that I couldn't easily mimic in a dorm's kitchenette.

I do want to be clear, though, I'm not at all putting down fine dining. I just don't find it to be at all necessary for incredible food. As I said, I'm a food snob. So what does this mean exactly? I demand greatness. Call it what you want, put it on the finest of china, serve it to me with the utmost of grace, but if I don't have to focus on not falling out of my chair from sheer euphoric bliss then I'm not satisfied.

Here's the catch, though - it doesn't take much. In fact it takes very little. Give me a burger and fries and I'll satisfied... so long as it's a good burger and fries (although as a general rule, if they're done correctly I feel that they deserve the title of pommes frites rather than "french fries"). Hot dogs? Bring it on if it's a quality product with a deliciously toasted bun, maybe some nice hot caramelized onions or some fresh relish, or even just some good clean mustard. A good bowl of soup can get me more excited than an eight-year-old on Christmas day. I love simple food. That much is a personal preference. I demand exquisite food. That, my friends, is the creed of a food snob.

I'll throw down an example from today. The garde mange class (garde mange classically being the "cold station", often doing select appetizers and desserts) set up a beautiful buffet of tartines and other treats today as a bit of a capstone project. My class got to go through and eat. Why am I this lucky? I try not to question. One of the items, and one that got me excited, was a simple caprese salad (tomato, basil, and mozzarella cheese in its simplest of forms). The cheese, I was informed, had been made fresh that morning.

Needless to say, I had high hopes.

Unfortunately they were, at least slightly, dashed away.

I blame the tomatoes.

Romas, if I'm not mistaken, they just weren't great. Maybe I should blame the fact that I've had locally grown, in season, utterly ripe and intensely delicious tomatoes in my day. Or maybe I should blame the fact that those things probably were picked while green and "ripened" in-transit. To go further, I would have enjoyed a bit more of a dressing (even a simple olive oil) and a bit of extra... perhaps some garlic, paper thin shallot slices, or even just kosher salt and fresh ground pepper. I will give credit where it's due, though - that cheese was quite good.

I encourage you to adopt the life of a food snob. Laugh in the face of America's fast food (notably the only country who can't seem to get the concept of good, quick food right), and lift up that burger made from fresh ground sirloin (which, by the way, is my suggestion for a great burger) served with hot, fresh, and always double-fried frites.

Keep it simple. Or, if you want, keep it complex. But keep it good.