I was in a restaurant the other day when it hit me. Except for the artisan hamburger -- served with locally grown sweet potato fries on a homemade pretzel bun dressed with the chef's own brand of mustard -- there was very little on the menu I would have recognized as food when I was our server's age. Most of the words on the menu -- potstickers, edamame, California rolls, ciabatta, wraps, bloomin' onions, pad Thai, chipotle, tilapia, Mongolian beef, latte, mocha, gluten-free, bruschetta, sushi and sashimi -- would have been a mystery to me.