Worth it, by definition

Following soon after Vogue's enthusiastic endorsement of the $800 haircut, there is Frank Bruni's four-star review of Japanese restaurant Masa in the NYT dining section. Bruni begins his review by describing how his friend has some kind of an orgasm while eating a maki roll. He, too, found "bliss" at the restaurant, and deems the experience worth the considerable pricetag:

Masa, which reopens Jan. 11 after a holiday break, is arguably the most expensive restaurant in New York. Lunch or dinner for two can easily exceed $1,000. Justifiable? I leave that question to accountants and ethicists. Worth it? The answer depends on your budget and priorities. But in my experience, the silky, melting quality of Masa's toro and uni and sea bream, coupled with the serenity of its ambience, does not exist in New York at a lower price.

There's something wrong when editorial content in respected publications (and I'm warily placing Vogue into that category) serves only to reinforce the idea that something out of most people's reach must, by definition, be something most should desire. I have no problem with advertising, and don't mind that the Times online urges you to see "Kinsey" (which you should do anyway) or that Vogue is largely made up of clothing ads. But when writers, not advertisers, endorse the most high-end of high-end items, it often seems as if they've bought into the idea that price really does indicate quality. True, there's no point in the Times having a dining section or Vogue being a fashion magazine if they do not serve as paens to the finest dining and fashion, respectively. Yet if they reveal that the finest food is actually a doughnut or the finest fashion a pair of $40 lime-green snow boots, these publications will disappoint their readers, who want to see the inaccessible, and who want to be assured that the inaccessible really is that much better than the accessible. I have never eaten at Masa, so I cannot say if Bruni is right that the meal is worth what it costs. But what Bruni must assess, in reviewing this restaurant, isn't whether the sushi is good, but whether it's $1000 good. And unless the sushi turns out to be mediocre or worse, anyone consuming it, reviewers included, might fall victim to suggestibility and decide that, what the hell, it was probably worth it, because isn't it more fun that way?

I should also admit that I'm not a fan of the super-expensive restaurant. In my experience, the anticipation, and the overanalysis of what everyone at the table is ordering, along with the expectation that one must declare that every bite of every dish is exquisite, all combine to cancel out the actual joy of eating the meal, which frequently ends up tasting no better than a meal at a moderately-priced establishment. To put it bluntly, I do not believe that a perfect food experience can be ensured by paying a certain amount of money. Many factors affect your enjoyment of a meal--Are you in the mood for the cuisine in question? Are you, well, hungry? Are you so hungry that any food would taste delicious? Did you eat somewhere nauseating the previous night? Are you really, really craving the food you're about to eat, so much so that anything other than eating that food, right at that very moment, would be an utter disappointment? Did something especially pleasant or unpleasant happen earlier in the day? And so on. Assuming you're an omnivore, there is absolutely no way to know whether, at 7:30 tomorrow night, you'll consider the perfect dinner to be a slice of pizza or fois gras risotto. (Now, I don't see any point in saying something like, "The only real pleasure of eating is being surrounded by loved ones," since anyone who's ever eaten a steak after really craving one knows that that's not the case. But, while ecstatic food experiences are out there, even the NYT can't tell you exactly where you'll find them.)