The Legend of Plate-opia

The development of the plate has come to a screeching halt. It’s over. If you held out hope for progress in plate technology, prepare yourself for disappointment. It’s the end of an era. The circular plate has come and gone. The era of the unwieldy rectangle and impossible oval has arrived.

In the entire history of eating, starting with shells and hollowed-out gourds, leading up to the use of clay and porcelain, you could point to a sensible progression: you put your food on a round plate and ate off it. You could turn the plate at any angle on a crowded table and you’d have the same edible egress: meat, starch, vegetable. You could get at any item.

Today, you can no longer go out to a restaurant and expect the waiter to serve food on a surface you can actually eat off of. You have to shift one way to slice your chicken, leapfrogging the bread bowl over the rice pilaf, then rotate again, banging into the butter dish, to spear a broccoli floret.

My wife and I went out to eat this week expecting a leisurely meal. We didn’t know what we were in for. When the latest art objects arrived in front of us, I turned to her. “What are we supposed to do with these?” Neither one of us could unravel the complex shapes in front of us. “What’s wrong with the basic circle?”

While we commiserated, a burly sailor at the next table intruded. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear. Have you ever heard of the land of Plate-opia?”

Confessing we hadn’t, he continued. “It’s a legend every sailor knows. Plate-opia is an island in the Sea of Spoons just off the coast of Utensilvania. Only the Garden of Eden and Atlantis rival it in opulence.”

“Prithee continue,” I said, my curiosity piqued.

“Plate-opia is a magical island where all plates are circles and all residents slice their food with ease. No one receives a rectangle or elongated oval or any other exotic shape that places form over function. There’s no need to tilt a plate at an awkward angle and knock into the salt and pepper shakers, or contort your body like a yogic master to find the best way to attack your food. It’s a diner’s paradise.”

“How have we never heard of it? It sounds too good to be true.”

“Aye, it does, but it just so happens I have a map I’m willing to provide.” He winked. “For a price.”

After a tense round of negotiations, I decided to purchase his map for the king’s ransom of a draught ale, and now I’m the only person with the knowledge to navigate back to Plate-opia. My wife remarked that it looked suspiciously like New Zealand, but I’m not discouraged. I know Plate-opia exists, even if only in my dreams.

Jason and the Argonauts step aside, here come Robert and the Plate-onauts. Or nots. Or whatever. Who’s willing to join me?