Love kids or hate them, there is something deeply disturbing about the process of raising small children. Having summoned a human being out of the messy aspects of our biology, we must impose upon them rules of behavior and conceptions of right and wrong that we know, in our bones, to be dubious. The contradiction breeds desperation, and sadly it is in inculcating civilization’s dictates that we most often violate them. When you witness an adult hissing at someone, shouting at someone, promising retribution, or cruelly expressing disappointment, they are usually communicating with their child.
So when certain restaurants decide to spare their patrons the possibility of having to deal with small children, a controversial trend nationwide, they unintentionally spare them much more. Portland’s Uffa!, for example, prefers not to seat children under eight at dinner for a host of sensible reasons. Their space is intimate and loud voices carry easily throughout the room. Dinners there tend to be unrushed, which can try the patience and threaten the bedtimes of young patrons. Their menu — often heavy on liver, cheeses, and complex sauces — rarely offers dishes likely to appeal to the child’s palate. But ensuring that only adults are around also allows us all to feel secure that no grownup will break through the thin veneer of civilized behavior into the abyss of aggression and resentment below. In sparing us children, these restaurants protect the illusions of adulthood.
In fact many of the pleasures of eating at Uffa! play off of the trappings of maturity. Uffa! offers classical grownup dining rather than the sort of culinary experiments or trendy décor that seek to dazzle. As we enjoyed the very nice chicken, liver, and bacon paté, served with mustard and a touch of crudité, we couldn’t help wonder if part of the pleasure came from the feeling of triumph over the childish palate. The pea soup was more broth and crisp vegetables than Gerber-style mush. It was delicious, with big chewy pieces of ham, but more fundamentally it seemed dignified.
Our waiter engaged us in a real discussion about our wine preferences. We appreciated that he seemed to attend to what we wanted rather than push us toward a pricey bottle. He took our whole order conversationally, without writing it down. And when, in a clumsy moment, he knocked over a creamer at a neighboring table, there was of course no yelling or scolding. What is a little spilled milk among adults?
Uffa’s kitchen must look like a laboratory of sauces. The menu offered a béchamel over the vegetable casserole, a mushroom prosciutto sauce over a chicken cutlet, a Dijon mustard sauce over the trout, an apple cider reduction over the pork chop, and a light cream sauce over the grilled red pepper. We tried dishes with still two more — a creole seafood sauce over pan-fried cod, and a Bordelaise sauce with the Beef Wellington.
