Restaurant Week: Plead the Fifth Course

Each day this week, we dive into the surprising and unverified history of the five-course meal. Join us as we interview resident food critic Bianca Strings on each course’s complicated social and political history at a restaurant worthy of Restaurant Week.

Those Stories: We have arrived at the dessert course—the bonus. Thank you for coming. Here’s your parting gift. Isn’t having some sweets on a night out great?

Bianca: The word dessert is the result of a slang term. It should be called the desert course, but they added the extra ‘s’ to make it seem fancier. This course used to be called the grand finale, but bad behavior set in among the patrons.

Those Stories: Was there a dry and arid climate in the room?

Bianca: No, it didn’t happen in a desert. People deserted their tables. They walked out without paying for the check. They skipped town. It became an art. How much food could you not pay for? The best con artists even ate the chocolate mousse in the process.

Those Stories: That’s terrible.

Bianca: Today’s dessert course is a complicated dance between the restaurant and the guests. The restaurant draws out dessert to entrap the patron and ensure they pay. They put complex items on the menu that take a long time to make, like souffles and Crème Brûlée. Then they serve more drinks and bring out the check when you’re ready to leave. However, they usually make you sit with the bill for a while. That’s also why you valet your car at five-course restaurants. The valet will only bring you your car after you pay. Some Founding Fathers got their horses impounded because they wouldn’t pay their bill.

Those Stories: But in modern times, everyone pays, right?

Bianca: You would be shocked how some people still skip out on bills. People set fires in restaurants. One person snuck out through a ceiling panel. Another family in the 80’s had President Ronald Reagan call them, pretending to have a national emergency they could solve. It was something with Iran.

You can also tell people you’re an important restaurant critic; sometimes, they comp you. That’s what I do.