Please note that since writing this blog post, Paper Planes has closed down
A couple of weeks ago, I read an article in the Guardian about the complex (and somewhat American) art of hacking a menu. Hacking the menu (for those who, like me, have no idea what this is) means either a) asking for things that aren’t on the menu at all (signature dishes that only those in the know are even aware the chef has in their repertoire); or b) ordering something that is on the menu but then customizing it to within an inch of its life. Asking for bacon instead of cheese on your burger, for instance, before requesting a gluten-free bun and a side of onion rings instead of chips.
The Guardian article suggests, with good reason, that the concept of hacking the menu has something innately un-British about it. We’re all programmed to either eat what we’re given and be polite about it, or eat what we’re given and then delight in moaning about it afterwards (I guess I fall into the latter category). But one thing us Brits will never do is just say what we actually want.
Determined to buck the national stereotype, I found myself in new brunch joint Paper Planes with a dilemma: should I order the porridge, suck up the fact that I don’t much like cinnamon (except in tagine), and forego the fresh fruit? Should I opt instead for cool natural yoghurt (literally one of my favourite things in the world) with fresh and dried fruits, and just accept the fact that this was not going to be a morning for carbs? Or should I (shock horror) just ask for what I damn well want?
