Todd English @ JFK

This evening I was catching a flight out of JFK, and after I breezed through an atypically short security line, I found myself with just enough time to forgo a quick sandwich-to-go. Instead, I ventured as close as is possible to fine dining inside an airport terminal (at least here in the US) with a visit to Todd English's Bonfire at JFK Terminal 2.

For those not familiar, TEB JFK is an offshoot of celebrity chef Todd English's retaurant empire (not only celebrity chef, but Iron Chef, no less). It provides a simplified version of the Todd English's Bonfire Steakhouse menu stripped down and tailored to meet the demands of airline gate schedules.

Going in, I did have some cause for concern. I believe that in nearly all possible contexts, whether literary, cinematic, musical, and certainly gastronomic, that a title prefixed by possessive proper noun signals the final stage of transition that starts with principled artistry, proceeds to lucrative celebrity, and finally concludes with shameless profiteering. Think Tom Clancy's Op Center, Emeril's Steak Knife Set, Wes Craven's New Nightmare. Putting a well-known name at the head of a title suggests that the credibility it lends is more significant than any that could possibly come from the item on it's own, and often signifies a deliberate choice to disregard all concerns of overexposure or brand purity in favor of pure monetization, regardless of the consequences in terms of diminishing credibility.

I was lucky to get a seat right in front of the open kitchen, which offered a clear view of the plating operation and banter between line cooks and expediter. I was only seated a couple of moments before a waitress came by to take my order, and I made a snap decision for the Barbeque Shrimp.

I hadn't really noticed any of the kitchen chatter up until that point due to the background noise in the place, but soon after placing my order I clearly heard the expediter's voice rise above the din saying "uh oh, we've got a barbeque shrimp here," in a kind of surprised, bemused voice that I was afraid might be intended to convey something like "you're not gonna believe this guys, someone actually ordered the barbeque shrimp; better break out the recipe for that one." I always make it a point to consciously identify and avoid menu items that are present only for completeness' sake and/or rarely ordered. Vegetarian pasta at a steakhouse for example is likely to be on the menu solely to cater to the one-in-a-thousand non-meat-eating customers who happen to be eating with their carnivorous friends, and may not represent the kitchen's best efforts.

In any case, after a mere ten minutes or so my food was delivered piping hot to the table. It was a square of cornbread, on top of which 4 large sauteed shrimp were laid, with a drizzle of barbeque sauce, green onions, and parsley decorating the top. It was quite simple but surprisingly good, and allayed my fears about the infrequency of its preparation as well as the credibility of a one-off celebrity gravy train.

The whole experience of ordering and eating only took about 25-30 minutes in total; remarkably efficient.