The safe dish and the surprising one

Around Ramadan, a small café in Abu Dhabi stays open long past midnight, and its late menu has two dishes that matter.

One is the plain omelette. It is there for the guest who knows exactly what they want and does not want to think about it. It tastes the way it tasted last time. Nobody photographs it, and nobody needs to. It makes a quiet meal before dawn possible.

The other is the dish the kitchen clearly cares about. Eggs baked with something nobody expects, a bread that someone in the back plainly fusses over, a combination that makes the person who ordered it put down their phone. It is not complicated or expensive. It simply shows that someone was paying attention, and the guest can taste it.

From the guest's chair, the two do different jobs. The plain one is why the regulars come back on a tired night. The surprising one is why they bring a friend.

People who work for themselves face the same menu, and many of them only ever cook the omelette. A designer, a writer, a photographer working alone offers the reliable, standard version of the work, because it is hard to be turned down for something ordinary. It feels safe.

Others fall into a worse habit. They describe the surprising dish, charge the price of the surprising dish, and then, when the moment comes, lose their nerve and serve the plain one with a little extra garnish. The client notices. Clients almost always do.

There is nothing wrong with the omelette. It pays the rent and it serves real people. But if the safe version is the only thing on offer, there is nothing for anyone to talk about, and nothing that shows who made it.

The work worth being known for is the dish that took some courage to put on the menu, and then the courage to actually cook it.