One finds it amusing that the local diner touts a “chef.”

The powers-that-be promote that “chef” as working hard at developing menus and special holiday dinners, intimating that he is pouring over his collected notes and recipes from Le Cordon Bleu.  One gets the idea that “Chef” hand cuts his own sides of beef, pulls fresh green beans from the back garden, and uses his mandolin to prepare Potatoes Charlotte.

It is further amusing that when one discovers that other comparable restaurants and country clubs in the area have very similar everyday and holiday menus.

Is it really more of the truth that the “chef” at the diner is no more than a short order cook who orders from caterers and warms up most foods?

Hence, when “Chef” is swooned over and bragged about by the Saturday night diehard patrons, do those patrons know that they are really complimenting the food service company?  I further opine that Cookie Jowls at Camp Swampy is more of a chef than that diner’s kitchen.

Upon further ponderings, I then chuckle at the drooling going on for “Chef” by the Saturday Night Crowd.  I suppose with some people it doesn’t take much to fool them into thinking they moved up from a mundane, average existence to such a weak imitation of a lofty and pseudo sophisticated Camelot.

©2022, excerpt from “Letters from the Ridge”