Small Plates = Big Bills

Last December, the New York Times declared that the entrée is now dead.

“As a diner, the idea of me chewing 17 bites of one thing and another 17 bites of another is absolutely boring, and not how I want to eat,” said the chef Mario Batali. “At the lower end, people are looking for options.” Two of his New York restaurants, Otto and Casa Mono, have no main courses at all.

I am one of those diners who helped kill off the entrée.  I’ve always been seduced by the idea of small portions. Not because I wanted to eat less, but because I wanted to eat more. The notion that I could try multiple dishes and not commit to a single entrée allows me to graze through dinners like I’m attending a customized cocktail party. It’s also a more social way to eat, since I usually end up sharing my meals with my dining companions.

Lately though, my love of tiny-plated portions has waned.  Cichetti,  meze,  tapas, little bites… a morsel meant to nibble with an aperitif or glass of wine prior to dinner.  It’s great if you grab a drink and snack at the bar on your way to somewhere else for dinner. But that’s not what I do and I suspect, it’s not what most New Yorkers do.  And this is why I’m starting to rethink my tiny plate addiction.

A few years ago, Gael Greene wrote a story about small plates in New York Magazine.

“Sociologists used to think they could track the rise and fall of the economy by the length of women’s skirts. Then fashion got hopelessly permissive. Perhaps the size of plates is a better indicator. In the dot-com euphoria, dishes had to be tall. Now restaurants boast their plates are small—perfect for a generation downmarketing, pinching dollars, and running from commitment to serious dinner.”

New York is hurting. Restaurants are closing right and left. Pinching pennies is the new black. But eating at places that offer small plates doesn’t tend to work out to small prices at the end of the night. Those little nuggets add up. It’s sneaky. You look at a menu and see $2 per oyster, $7 for brandade, $5 for croquettes. However, the portions are tiny, usually no frills and tend not to be very filling.

Over and over, I succumb to temptation.  I should know better. I’ve been down this road. It starts with a quick fix, a gateway appetizer, if you will.  For me, an A-bomb: anchovies.

But it’s where I go from here that starts the downward spiral. Potatoes bravas $6. Marinated peppers $5. Tuna carpaccio: $9. Next thing you know, it’s the end of the night and you’re hitting the ATM machine for more cash.

It almost happened to me again last night. I was ampin’ for some tiny tidbits.  Ended up at a Chelsea tapas bar. Drink in hand (Ameztoi 2008 Getariako Txakolina Rubentis Rosea: slight effervescence, crisp, minerally, raspberry fruit), I began my usual routine. Anchovies, $7. Then homemade fish pate,$7. Fries with spicy cod roe mayo, $8. The bill started adding up, but my dining companion and I weren’t filling up. We pulled the plug and hightailed it out of there. We had just spent $90 and were still hungry.

Our solution? The El Idolo taco truck on 14th Street. We ordered a chicken tamale and a large goat burrito. Total cost: $7.50.

So don’t write the obit for the entrée just yet. I’m not saying that the taco truck is the way to go (although it is quite affordable and really tasty). I’m also not giving up on going to small plate venues. However, I now have new-found respect for the age-old traditional menu and am willing to say that it just may be more bang for your buck.

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