Reintroducing themselves to the lunch crowd after a three-month leave, the office’s catering company, Garden Gourmet Catering Co. — now with a cut, minimalist design — presented Bean and Cheese Quesadilla, a lunch item with apparent yet restrained shoutouts to the breakfast and dinner crowds. A quick bite without attention to detail might give the eater a sense of bean and cheese mush, but a closer chew will reveal the tactile reinterpretation of the chef’s struggle with accepting identity as a passive cataloguing rather than an active staple.
Even a second and third bite will alert the eater of Head Chef Paul Carter’s background with Barthes’ early work, Camus’ later work (most obviously Le Premier Homme) and at least a cursory glance at Laromiguière and Gurwitsch. So much so, it seems Carter is actually mocking the very idea of Franco-Lithuanian philosophy. Or, at least, this might have been the case if not for the juxtaposition of Bean and Cheese Quesadilla and Grilled Chicken Sandwich. In itself, the combination takes a tongue-and-cheek jab at the idea of putting protein inside of a readily-digestible starch, a recurring theme in G.G.C.C’s resigning attempts to question the act of questioning.
Most grabbing, despite its starkness and crass blatancy, is the fact that while called Bean and Cheese Quesadilla, the item has a remarkably closed structure (not common, or even heard of, among actual quesadillas). Because of the time and preparation taken before releasing Quesadilla (if any fault is most notable, it is that G.G.C.C. tries to do too much in one item), we know the misnomer is absolutely no erratum. In fact, the discrepancy between an expected open-ended quesadilla and Bean and Cheese Quesadilla reveals an onioned point. That is, the eater at first has no choice but to petition the very process of assigning categorizable names to foods. The same demur was raised in Moroccan Couscous, Mahi Mahi w/ Mango Salsa and Rancho Deluxe Rice (EP). The next level in the symbolic onion of self-discovery asks the eater to reconsider the tangible objection to the item’s name, in that by objecting why it is actually important to consider the name of an item, the eater is creating a paradox by further taking attention away from the intrinsic qualities of Bean and Cheese Quesadilla. The third level of the onion continues the theme of philosophical inaccuracy by proving the second level — while questioning the first — only takes us farther from enjoying the natural. In the final realization of the onion, which happens to be infinitely-layered, we are led to the tantamount conclusion that nothing that can be thought will bring us closer to a comprehensive view of the world. Finally, as the last bite of Bean and Cheese Quesadilla is taken, the eater is struck by the cardinal cry of the truth: thinking does not make us more advanced, it actually makes us less so.
While it’s tough to mentally digest all of Bean and Cheese Quesadilla at once, it is even more difficult to do so physically, and the lunch will most definitely result in irritable bowel syndrome.