Funghi Caroso
I was celebrating my new book contract at La CoCo in Berkeley. And it was a bit of a fiasco.
On my first visit to LaCoco's, I ordered a favorite of mine, something for which I was particularly peckish: fettucini topped with 1/2 marinara and 1/2 alfredo sauce. The waiter would not take the order! "No, the chef will not do that, he will not mix the sauces." "Would he put them on the plate unmixed, so I could mix them myself? NO. "But I've never had trouble with this order anywhere else, I really want this dish!" In the face of my adamance, the waiter reluctantly retreated to the kitchen to ask the chef. He reported back. The answer was NO. I enquired whether I could order fettucini alfredo, and a side of marinara sauce. No, I could
not.
On top of that, the mushroom special my companion ordered was NOT available. I was astonished that a restaurant would run out of a special so early in the day. Lisa explained the odd behaviour was due to the dedicated chef, noting that she had once ordered the pizza special, and the chef had emerged from the kitchen to apologize. He was out of red onions, would she accept white onions on her pizza? She accepted, but a later and better experience with the proper allium convinced her that the chef knew his onions.
When the food arrived, it was delicious. Good enough that I returned a month later, to celebrate the book contract with Trisha.
We walked through the fragrant atmosphere, and were seated at a small table lit by the glow of a candle. We opened our menus. And there I saw it: Funghi Caroso. Well, I'd just met a Linux Wizard with the license plate Caroso, a 16th century Italian dancemaster. Funghi Caroso piqued my interest. Dancing mushrooms? So, despite the fact that neither Trisha nor I am overly fond of mushrooms, we ordered the dish, thinking that a few tablespoons of reduced mushrooms spread on bread might be a tasty treat. And after all, itw as a celebration.
When the mushrooms arrived, they came as a huge platter of almost-raw mushrooms sprinkled with parsley and bathed in a yellow, buttery sauce. We both stared at the plate aghast. There was just no way we could eat that dish! I gamely placed a few moshrooms on my plate. Trisha placed a few mushrooms on her plate. And we tried them. They were not very good.
I put my fork down. "I'm not eating the Funghi Caroso."
So Trisha decided to send the dish back.
The waiter was aghast. Send it back? "Did you try it?"
Yes we had both tried it. Trisha had trouble getting the waiter to remove the plate from our table, but finally succeeded. We smiled at each other over the candle. But our peace was short-lived. The chef appeared at the side of the table, brandishing the plate of Funghi Caroso!
He was dark and sported gold chains around his neck. He was passionate about the mushrooms. "Did you TRY them?" he demanded. "They are a specialty of the house. People come here JUST for the Funghi Caroso! You must get your bread in there and WORK it around, you must TRY the mushrooms!"
Despite our protests, and my declaration that I would be happy to PAY for the mushrooms if only he would take them away, despite our horrified expressions, he could not be dissuaded. "At this point I WILL NO charge you, I want only that you TRY the Funghi Caroso," and he LADLED mushrooms onto our plates.
Finally he left us in peace to stare at the heaps of pale fungi. We picked up our bread, WORKED it around in there, and ate the &#$%!! mushrooms. They weren't so bad, considering the alternative.