“Hello, we’re so happy you’re here! Have you ever dined with us before?

No? Well, then let me explain how things work at this restaurant because it’s a little different than what you’re used to. 

Every dish on our menu is portioned for one person. We have it divided into two sections: appetizers and entrees. We have no ‘medium-sized’ or ‘large format’ dishes. The kitchen prepares and sends out the food not as the spirit moves them but as a structured two courses. The appetizers will consist of a few flavorful bites, and the entrees generally share their plates with a delicious sauce and an appropriate vegetable garnish. 

We kindly ask that guests not share their food. However, if your companion requests a small taste of your entree, we suggest that you pass it across the table on the small bread plate we’ve provided. Yes, a bread plate! Been a while, right? Every meal comes with a basket of perfectly acceptable sliced baguette that you may use as a vehicle for mopping up sauce. Have you decided?”

…said no waiter ever, but a boy can dream.

Listen y’all, I don’t want to rant but I’ve been clocking a disconnect in today’s dining culture. A selection of sharing plates ordered for the table and coursed out into three or four drops has become the standard practice for independent, chef-driven restaurants. This is good! I like eating this way, having a bite or two of a bunch of different flavors, stopping to savor each one before turning to the next. It’s the way I scroll the articles my Google app feeds to me. 

Yet something else has been afoot. All across the city, chefs have really gotten back into the art of sauce making. I’ve noticed that spoonful of something textural and intense — salsa macha, chimichurri, chile crisp — has been replaced by platefuls of old school goodness, pools of winey reduction under chicken at Creepies; creamy, brandy-spiked shellfish sauce bathing lobster at Trino; glistening butter sauce clinging to squash-stuffed pasta at Cellar Door Provisions. Speaking of butter, it seems like good old beurre blanc and all its variations are making a serious comeback. I don’t want to know how much butter I ate recently at John’s Food & Wine but damn if every dish wasn’t a banger. I wanted to live as long as I could with the squash beurre blanc under a torched squash salad and the brown butter sabayon set atop cauliflower like whipped cream on a sundae. I wanted to reach for the bread and….

….oops, no bread. If you want to enjoy every bit of sauce at John’s you have to fight away well meaning servers who want to clear an obviously empty plate and go at the dregs with your fingers. That’s not exactly the right move for a share plate with company, but desperate times and all that. 

At Creepies there is the option to order bread and butter. I’ve always passed because a) I don’t need the empty carbs and b) there is always so much more I wanted to try. Yet when the entrees come swimming in great sauce my instinct as someone who has eaten in 4,000 Italian restaurants in his lifetime is scarpetta — that act of swiping a piece of bread through the sauce. 

This defining act of gastronomy, truth be told, is so much easier when there’s a plate sitting right in front of you and meant for you only. That’s when you feel comfortable hunkering over the plate and mopping. Scarpetta is at its most satisfying when it leaves a clean streak like some kind of cleaning agent in a commercial. 

Perhaps when a great half chicken lands in the center of the table, restaurants could think to offer share plates and bread. Charge for it if they must, but don’t make it an expensive assortment of fennel-crusted this and caramelized onion that. Let the bread take a back seat flavorwise. Let it be just okay. We practitioners of scarpetta aren’t picky.