so what's up with the poser plate you ask? do you even remember the word poser? the word, like an old familiar tune, ringing just barely in earshot, takes me back to a sweetly simple time. 1986. sixth grade. we were rockin' the long bangs and, like 11 year olds with turrets, we would shake our heads in vain attempts to get those long bangs out of our faces. we were blooming idiots, by which i mean idiots that were blooming, eyes peeled open by the wonders of a world that was bigger, grander and, most importantly, ours for the taking. lead fearlessly by devious older brothers, we were learning about rock music, the glorious fact that girls weren't actually "grodey," nor did they have cooties, and those crazy, pioneering lords of the skating world: caballero, hawk, mountain. the list goes on. skating was it, it was the bangs in our faces, the sweet ass vans shoes with skulls, the sure fire way to come home every day with bloody knees.
it was the line between the glory of truth and the shame of being a poser. posers were the ones who talked the talk but couldn't ollie the curb at full speed.
ah, good days. hence the title of this post. my plate, with the carefully placed pile of spinach, chopped in ribbons, tossed with a fresh white balsamic and fresh peach vinaigrette and topped with seasame seeds, the four squares of firm tofu, glazed with a miso, mirin and sugar reduction and broiled, and the two (not one or three) tempura prawns, doused in mayo, soy and sugar, was a poser. it was a pretty good poser though, not only lookin quasi-japanese in organization and precision, but tasting fairly good as well. do you ever get raw spinach at a japanese restaurant? rarely. peach dressing? i've never. well, cest la vie. the guests were happy and, bonus, i got to trip myself down memory lane...
