DISH
spe+cial (spesh-al) adj
Maribeth Maloney
"Special" has two different connotations in restaurants. It all depends on whether it's used as a noun or as an adjective. In its noun form, sure, the Daily Special might actually live up to its promise: Today the Chef is featuring Pan-Seared Duck Breast with White Truffle Polenta and a Lingonberry-Infused Sauce. On the other hand, it might as easily be a plated euphemism for "we should've tossed it yesterday": Today the Chef suggests the Land and Sea Goulash served over Smashed Mixed Vegetables.

The kind of special of which I speak - the sort that I'm generally guilty of requesting - pertains to the adjective form. So dreaded is this special that it's capable of sending pulsating waves of rage coursing through the veins of otherwise mentally stable chefs…or perhaps causing a kitchen that runs like a well-oiled machine to come to a screeching halt…possibly even driving a frustrated waiter to spit-shine silverware as a desperate act of retribution. I'm talking about the much-loathed SPECIAL ORDER!

Searching back through my mental file cabinet of food memories, I lay blame on Burger King for my problem. "Have it your way." Number 24 on "Ad Age" magazine's top 100 advertising campaigns of the 20th Century, a full four spots above "I dreamed I went shopping in my Maidenform bra." Maybe it's because the pitch debuted in 1973, coinciding with both the awakening of my womanhood and the ear damaging roarings of Helen Reddy that made me want to seize free choice by the buns. Who's to say? All I know is when I heard "Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, special orders don't upset us," there and then (dammit) I knew I wanted it my way.

Of course I can't leave out that other incident that happened a couple decades after closing the B.K. chapter of my life; that's when I realized that I frequently needed it my way. Trust me, you don't want to hear about it. I'll just refer to it as the awakening of my gallbladder. But given the choice of either embracing my persnicketiness or facing the doom of regular departures from restaurants via stretcher, I opted for a life of special. I haven't looked back since.

Do I have a food allergy per se? No. But neither do most people who claim to. According to "Medical News Today," although one out of every three Americans alleges having a diagnosable food allergy, both the government and medical associations estimate the realistic figure to be more along the lines of only two percent of the entire population. For those whose life could possibly dangle in the balance during a dinner date, no one would argue that special is the only way to go. The Mayo Clinic suggests carrying a "Chef Card," a sort of personal I.D. that lists allergens and requests particular cooking methods, ingredients and offers ways to avoid crosscontamination. They also recommend having the card laminated and at the ready to hand off to waiters. The lamination is key; that way the card won't get soggy in the event of an impromptu spit-shine.

My own situation falls somewhere within the murky netherworld of special dietary requirements and flat-out fussiness. I can't help it. I just want what I want and I want it the way I want it. Does that render me a contemptible, controlling slob who should just stay home rather than darken restaurant doorways or does it put me in the norm?

Actually, it does both.

Industry reports would have me believe that 64 percent of diners in 2005 tended towards special orders, with 54 percent more requesting items identified as heart-healthy than in 2004. Giving me even more reason to live is the fact that the National Restaurant Association reports that 75 percent of the nation's 935,000 restaurants that serve the 70 billion meals each year from the hands of the 12.8 million employees for the whopping total sales of $511 billion raked in annually…are nothing short of jolly to let me customize until the cows come home. Furthermore, Tim and Nina Zagat of the eponymous restaurant guides surveyed 4,500 people, including 450 restaurateurs, and found that 85 percent of chefs believe that diners ought to be able to have special requests fulfilled - even more than the 83 percent of diners themselves who felt such entitlement.

While all that data truly warms the cockles of my heart, I have to wonder - who are these nameless, faceless chefs and restaurateurs? Because the ones who attach their names and faces to their words would just as soon see me and other would-be ingrates like me spit-shined to within an inch of our lives.

In the words of celeb chef, T.V. personality and riotously funny author, Anthony Bourdain, "Special requests and substitutions drive me and most chefs crazy. As I've gotten older, though, I've learned to live with them. The sooner I give the bastards what they want, the sooner my heart stops pounding and the sooner my waitrons stop flinching around me…" Jonathan Gold, food critic for "L.A. Weekly" and former New York food critic for "Gourmet" magazine says, "Another common complaint from restaurant staff is diners who order off the menu or ruin a chef's perfectly crafted dish with demands of 'no butter, no oil' or everything 'on the side,' not for simple health reasons like food allergies, but because they know they can."

Then there's ber-chef/restaurateur, Thomas Keller: "I think that a lot of people just want to be in control of what they're eating. But what is the definition of pure luxury? Not to be in control." Don't get me wrong, I know he's a culinary

genius, but he's also as much of a control freak as me - it's a simple matter of which side of the sauté pan you're on.

Boiling it all down, chefs do wish to please diners; it's a co-dependent relationship if ever there was one. But no one likes a tyrant. All it takes to have it your way is common decency.

My last few meals out were last week in Manhattan, all served up "special" and spitshine free (at least I think so). At Le Bilboquet for lunch I ordered "Le Saumon Fumé et Guacamole": "May I please have it without the guacamole?" "It's served alongside." "Yes, I know, but I don't even like to be near guacamole." [Big smile.] "Of course!" "May I also have some capers and toast points?" [Still smiling.] "But of course!"

My dish arrived looking like an architectural wonder, the toast points arranged in a delicate Stonehenge formation surrounding the plate.

At Kobe Club for dinner I ordered "Lauran's Chopped Salad with Crab, Shrimp, Avocado,

Mango, Bacon & Bleu Cheese": "Could I please

have that without the avocado, mango and bacon?" "Without them?" "Yes." [Big smile.] "Um, sure."

Okay, so it was no longer "Lauran's Chopped Salad," it was mine. And maybe the fact that my friend owns the restaurant and his wife is the salad's namesake helped prevent an amusebouche full of scorn, but it was service with a smile and I had it my way. However, I don't always succeed…

Lunch at Felix: "I'd like the 'Tartare De Saumon a L'huile De Sésame,' but is it possible to have it without the sesame oil?" [Big smile.] "Do you want olive oil instead?" "No, I don't want any oil…maybe some lime juice instead?" [Quizzical smile.] "No, no. The chef only prepares it with oil." "Hmm. Okay. I'd like as little oil as possible, please." "Absolutely!" [Big smile.]

After two attempts, it was still oilier than I could handle, but I didn't kvetch. They not only tried, but they were gracious. Short of bursting into the kitchen and preparing it myself, I knew I wasn't going to get what I wanted.

And sometimes, just sometimes, the special

order of the day is in knowing when to quit. I
    Have it my way-
    + 6 ounces smoked salmon, diced
    + 2 tablespoons capers, rinsed and chopped
    + 1 Roma tomato, seeded and diced
    + 1 shallot, diced
    + 1/2 teaspoon sea salt
    + 1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground
        black pepper
    + Juice of 1/2 lime
    Combine   ingredients   in   a   non-reactive
bowl; toss gently and let sit for about 30 minutes.
        Mound onto a serving platter accompanied
      by toast points. Four Appetizer servings.
        SMOKED   SALMON
                    TARTARE