The User Experience of a Meal

Magicians have been thinking a LOT about how magic translates to this quarantine moment. Pre-recorded videos, live broadcasts, packages or instructions we mail or email to people. But we are not the only ones thinking about how to translate and transport unique experiences. Many fine dining restaurants have started doing take out service, where you bring home box after box of meticulously crafted courses, sides, and instructions. As has become the vogue recently, restaurants are as much about the experience of eating as they are about the food itself, so when I had the chance to try one of these services (Vespertine’s presentation of The French Laundry’s tasting menu) I was interested to know how they attempted to bundle that up for my later consumption. Four Suits had planned on collaborating with a close friend and professional chef M.S. to create some unique magic/food fusion events this year, but then reality set in, so here we are. What follows is not a review, but a collection of observations that stood out to me.

First was the pick-up process. A reservation was required, so when I pulled into the parking lot an attendant (hostess?) checked my name and indicated a parking spot I could wait in (they offered contactless pickup). After a few minutes, another attendant brought two large bags to my car. The whole sequence had a strange tension of personal and impersonal: no human contact, and yet they literally touched the food I would be eating; each customer waited anonymously in their cars, and yet the bags had my name on them, that food was specifically mine, even if it was otherwise identical to the food in the other bags (it was a fixed menu).

When I arrived home and began unpacking, I found a small envelope. The first card listed the sequence the courses were to be eaten in, and after were a series that on one side described the courses with a short quote from the chef and on the other listed instructions for saving or reheating the food. The cards were helpful, and the quotes were a nice addition. Since the chef had worked for Thomas Keller himself, they were mostly anecdotes from his kitchen and memories or learning these recipes. None of the dishes required “assembly” beyond pouring soup over its accompanying mousse, and despite my own affinity for cooking, I was surprisingly glad for that. Maybe it was that I was hungry and ready to eat, or that at that price I was glad they had done the hard work, or the fear of ruining a dollop of caviar with an imprecise hand. Not sure.

The production value of the packaging and cards was neat and professional, though not particularly fancy or unique.  One could say that it helped keep the focus on the food, but honestly I would have appreciated a little flair here. As secondary as this may be, it is interesting to think about where and how we are able to provide extra and unique value.

The food was, unsurprisingly, fantastic. We can discuss how to transport and translate experiences across mediums and distances all we want, but if the underlying mechanics, if the (literal) meat and potatoes, aren’t there, then it won’t matter how well you moderate your Zoom performance or how seamlessly it cuts from one camera angle to  another.

Overall, I was amazed how well the whole thing went off. The instructions for what to hold in the oven versus keep in the fridge could have been clearer, which was what prompted me to write this (written instructions for detailed magic tricks is something that has resonated *cough cough* with me a lot lately), but otherwise it was a relatively seamless and enjoyable experience.

—Z.Y.