I'm plain tired of traveling. I know, I should just zip it. After all, it's pretty gloomy outside right now, and NYC was gloriously sunny and chilly. I don't want to make you cry, but we even got SNOW during our 3-night trip. The Gods were smiling on us.
But now I'm just full. And tired. So please, do me a favor and head over to read a little about my trip (and what I ate) at the Seattle Mag blog. I'll be back. After a nap.
[where: 98101]
Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Food Tube: Ripert and Bourdain under fire at Les Halles
I'm not a huge Bourdain fan. His schtick is wearing pretty thin on me, and it's always bugged me that Kitchen Confidential was written by a tall white guy. Seriously, his book would've been seventeen times better if it'd been written by a woman chef. He thinks the kitchen's hard on men? Ugh.
But one thing I do like about him is his perennial insistence that the James Beard Awards are a bunch of poppycock, because the guys who are really cooking your meals are not the chefs whose names are on the menus. Nope, they're--lots of the time--illegal Mexican cooks who work 16 hour days and get paid like shit.
So that's the saving grace of this episode of No Reservations
Bourdain talks Eric Ripert (of Le Bernardin) into coming down to Union Square and working the non-stop steak-charring grills at Les Halles, a mid-range French-ish spot that really isn't aiming to be anything but a mid-range French-ish spot. Anyhoo, long story short, before you know it the actual chef--a Mexican guy--gets pretty damned irritated with the antics of Ripert and Bourdain. Just imagine--a couple of big-timers semi-mockingly come into your workplace and basically F around. Sweet idea, Bourdain.
The one good take-away is that anyone who imagines a pretty Monica Geller chef cracking actual crab claws to make your "crab Louie" or what-have-you, might now realize that it's more than likely a 19-year-old high school drop-out opening a plastic container and scooping crab out with a questionably clean spoon. So there's that. Happy weekend!
[where: 10016]
But one thing I do like about him is his perennial insistence that the James Beard Awards are a bunch of poppycock, because the guys who are really cooking your meals are not the chefs whose names are on the menus. Nope, they're--lots of the time--illegal Mexican cooks who work 16 hour days and get paid like shit.
So that's the saving grace of this episode of No Reservations
Bourdain talks Eric Ripert (of Le Bernardin) into coming down to Union Square and working the non-stop steak-charring grills at Les Halles, a mid-range French-ish spot that really isn't aiming to be anything but a mid-range French-ish spot. Anyhoo, long story short, before you know it the actual chef--a Mexican guy--gets pretty damned irritated with the antics of Ripert and Bourdain. Just imagine--a couple of big-timers semi-mockingly come into your workplace and basically F around. Sweet idea, Bourdain.
The one good take-away is that anyone who imagines a pretty Monica Geller chef cracking actual crab claws to make your "crab Louie" or what-have-you, might now realize that it's more than likely a 19-year-old high school drop-out opening a plastic container and scooping crab out with a questionably clean spoon. So there's that. Happy weekend!
[where: 10016]
Monday, February 11, 2008
Food Throwback: Gael Greene ala 1968
Say what you will about Gael Greene (or, maybe I should say, does anyone in Seattle know/care who Gael Greene is? She's been a restaurant critic off-and-on for NY Mag for four decades, plus she did the you-know-what with some famous people I think. I can't remember/don't care). Where was I? Oh, Gael Greene--she's one hell of a writer. Her recent stuff definitely throws off a heavy whiff of old lady par-fume, but back in the day she penned this And it's a masterpiece.
New York Magazine is celebrating its 40 year run by re-publishing some old reviews, and it's incredibly fun reading. Gael's review of Orsini's has such rhythm to it...it's just beyond great (seriously, it's worth scanning just to see the prices!)
A couple other pieces to check out on your lunch break: A story on Manhattan real estate, stating that people should--shudder!--consider buying in Brooklyn, where "an entire brownstone full of Victorian details costs as much as a half-floor loft in the Village—about $20,000." If only.
And a completely un-1968 (and warning--kinda irritating and snotty) piece on what that lady who wrote French Women Don't Get Fat (or whatever it was called) eats in a week. Skinny bitch. Bonus points for whomever can count how many times she says "French." Cuz it's aLOT.
Finally, head over to Seattle Mag to read about the chef scandal at Artemis! Ok, I made up the scandal part, but it is fishy when your exec chef leaves within 6 months of opening, especially when he earned raves.
New York Magazine is celebrating its 40 year run by re-publishing some old reviews, and it's incredibly fun reading. Gael's review of Orsini's has such rhythm to it...it's just beyond great (seriously, it's worth scanning just to see the prices!)
A couple other pieces to check out on your lunch break: A story on Manhattan real estate, stating that people should--shudder!--consider buying in Brooklyn, where "an entire brownstone full of Victorian details costs as much as a half-floor loft in the Village—about $20,000." If only.
And a completely un-1968 (and warning--kinda irritating and snotty) piece on what that lady who wrote French Women Don't Get Fat (or whatever it was called) eats in a week. Skinny bitch. Bonus points for whomever can count how many times she says "French." Cuz it's aLOT.
Finally, head over to Seattle Mag to read about the chef scandal at Artemis! Ok, I made up the scandal part, but it is fishy when your exec chef leaves within 6 months of opening, especially when he earned raves.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Eating Vicariously: 2nd Ave Deli reopens in NYC
You can't throw a bad Seattle bagel without hitting a local foodie bitching about the lack of good deli in Seattle.
2nd Ave Deli's broiled chicken livers and onions, via nycnosh
And they're right, of course. But it's about more than just having a place to feast on stuffed cabbage and knishes; deli is about attitude. This interview with Jeremy Lebewohl, who's reopening New York's best deli, sums it up nicely.
Amen.
NY Mag on the reopening of 2nd Ave Deli
[where: 10016]
And they're right, of course. But it's about more than just having a place to feast on stuffed cabbage and knishes; deli is about attitude. This interview with Jeremy Lebewohl, who's reopening New York's best deli, sums it up nicely.
Sour or half-sour?
What kinda question is that? Sour!
Considering all that, is this a good deli moment?
People have asked me, “Do you think opening up a deli filled with fatty foods is a smart thing to do in modern times, when people are on diets and eating tossed salads and all this type of stuff?” I happen to think that now is the perfect climate. If you go to a lot of in-vogue restaurants, you’re going to see pork belly, and barbecue is back in a big way. Food tastes move in cycles. When I was a kid, in my house, in all my friends’ houses, there were all kinds of cookies and Entenmann’s cake and bags of potato chips. That’s what you ate. Then all of a sudden, God forbid you eat anything but a Diet Coke and maybe a crouton if you’re lucky. That’s not the way to live.
Amen.
NY Mag on the reopening of 2nd Ave Deli
[where: 10016]
Monday, December 3, 2007
Food News: Wild Salmon to close
When Jeffrey Chodorow brought former Ray's chef Charlie Ramsayer to NYC to head a "NW-style seafood restaurant" I had my doubts. When I found out it was in a space that housed two other failed restaurants in my three years in NYC, well, I had a feeling it might be doomed.
Now comes the news on Eater that the hammer has dropped. Wild Salmon will close on New Years Day, after less than a year in business. Ouch.
So what do you think: Will Ramsayer return to Seattle or stay in the Big Apple?
RELATED: Pacific NW Roadshow and Bruni Reviews Wild Salmon
[where: 10017]
Now comes the news on Eater that the hammer has dropped. Wild Salmon will close on New Years Day, after less than a year in business. Ouch.
So what do you think: Will Ramsayer return to Seattle or stay in the Big Apple?
RELATED: Pacific NW Roadshow and Bruni Reviews Wild Salmon
[where: 10017]
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Eating Vicariously: Allen & Delancey
Sometimes I really really miss New York.
And reading this, from the chef at Allen & Delancey, well, this is one of those times.
Oh my God. Yes. Do want!
[where: 10002]
And reading this, from the chef at Allen & Delancey, well, this is one of those times.
Potatoes: We slice them very thinly, then layer them, brushing each slice with some rendered bacon fat....
Oh my God. Yes. Do want!
[where: 10002]
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
PNW Roadshow: Wild Salmon (the restaurant) part deux
Another write-up (note: not a restaurant review) of former Ray's chef Charlie Ramseyer's and Jeffrey Chodorow's new NYC seafood palace, Wild Salmon, in USA Today.
What's interesting here is that the writer interviewed several Northwest chefs, who comment on the idea of a "Northest concept restaurant" and how that would translate to cities not in the Northwest.
Check out the entire article here.
RELATED: Bruni reviews Wild Salmon
[where: 98101]
What's interesting here is that the writer interviewed several Northwest chefs, who comment on the idea of a "Northest concept restaurant" and how that would translate to cities not in the Northwest.
When you discuss Pacific Northwest food with Tom Douglas, beloved Seattle chef and restaurateur, one word keeps popping up — pristine. If it's fish, where was it caught exactly? By what method? How do the fishermen handle it when it comes aboard? And how does the purveyor handle it once it hits dry land?
Then, Douglas says, you take that pristine ingredient and get out of the way. He points out that when he was on Iron Chef, he beat Masaharu Morimoto using a simple recipe of salmon poached in butter.
Cory Schreiber, whose Wildwood restaurant in Portland, Ore., was one of the first to focus on Pacific Northwest cuisine, is less smitten with the concept. "You can't transpose it," he says. And he doesn't understand why anyone would try.
"Part of it is that the product doesn't transport well. Most of it is very perishable. The mushrooms, the fish — the obvious ones — aren't really meant to transport," says Schreiber, whose family has been in the Pacific Northwest oyster business since the mid-1800s and ran a cherished roll-up-your-sleeves restaurant in Portland called Dan & Louis Oyster Bar.
"And it's a non-transferrable experience," he adds.
Check out the entire article here.
RELATED: Bruni reviews Wild Salmon
[where: 98101]
Friday, August 24, 2007
Jane and Ali's excellent dining adventures part 2
In our last episode Jane and I flew out to NYC to eat fabulously (and freely! hell yeah!) with our fearless leader, National Restaurants Editor for Citysearch (at the time) Brian Miller. You'll just have to read Episode 1 to get the whole scoop...I'm too lazy to recap all of it.
So, day two begins. Being a good friend, Courtney (who I was staying with) appeased my sorry tourist ass and said, "OK, fine, we'll go to Carnegie Deli." Actually, lets all just admit that, at least when the food is decent to good (and the food at CD is good) it's sometimes kind of fun to have an excuse to go to your city's cheesiest places. Sometimes.
So we went. We ordered towering 10" high sandwiches filled with pastrami (and Courtney was a model, so you can see she's really sacrificing here) and ate way more salty meat than you'd need to eat in a month. Then she took me to H&M. Good friend, right?
Obviously, someone in their right mind wouldn't eat like this on the same day she is supposed to do a tasting menu at Jean-Georges. But a girl only gets to eat for free in NYC so often (or until she gets a job doing it, which, at the time would've been way too much of a dream to even think about), so she's gotta maximize.
The only problem with maximizing with salty meat is that your borrowed Prada shoes will not fit later that day. I've honestly never seen anything so unattractive in my life: Puffy tops-of-feet bulging over the shoes like fat-lady cleavage spilling over a too-tight strapless dress. God. Yuck.
But hell, this isn't stopping me. We meet at Jean-Georges and, after last night at Daniel, I'm feeling a little less intimidated by the big-time restaurants. We're seated in JG's sleek, earth-tone dining room--quite a contrast to the lusty, colorful dining room at Daniel.
Again, we're told that the chef himself would be cooking for us. Holy cow, here we go again. The three of us--Brian, Jane, me--were served a different dish per course, and this went on for hours. My favorite moment, though, was when Brian was served thin slices of raw scallops on slices of banana with a little wasabi between. This was exactly what I was looking for in my NY dining experience: something different! Something daring and bizarre. If you can't get that in NYC, where can you, right? Certainly not in Seattle at the time.
But the best part was Brian's reaction. "Oh yuck." And then he shoved the plate aside. Here I was studying how the dish worked--the banana being the softest thing on the plate, whereas the scallop would usually play that role. And the way wasabi hits you with heat and then disappears, versus how chilis fade slowly.
In the midst of my reverent oohing and aahing, Brian's "been there, done that" attitude was funny. And, well, honest. At the time it was a little shocking to me, but now I know it's just what happens when you eat in NYC every night. You get used to the antics and, just maybe, a little bored with them.
The meal was more interesting and required a little more thinking than Daniel did. Daniel was full-figured, lingerie-clad, busty. Jean-Georges was long legged, wearing expensive but understated shoes. JG used concentrated flavors--it was my first run-in with the word "nage," a concentrated essence of a vegetable or fish (often lobter)--and Daniel uses concentrated fats.
Clearly it's not that simple, but the two approaches were distinct and, having the meals just one day apart, the differences in approach were much more noticeable.
Next time: Hob-nobbing with the rich old ladies and suits at Le Cirque.
So, day two begins. Being a good friend, Courtney (who I was staying with) appeased my sorry tourist ass and said, "OK, fine, we'll go to Carnegie Deli." Actually, lets all just admit that, at least when the food is decent to good (and the food at CD is good) it's sometimes kind of fun to have an excuse to go to your city's cheesiest places. Sometimes.
So we went. We ordered towering 10" high sandwiches filled with pastrami (and Courtney was a model, so you can see she's really sacrificing here) and ate way more salty meat than you'd need to eat in a month. Then she took me to H&M. Good friend, right?
Obviously, someone in their right mind wouldn't eat like this on the same day she is supposed to do a tasting menu at Jean-Georges. But a girl only gets to eat for free in NYC so often (or until she gets a job doing it, which, at the time would've been way too much of a dream to even think about), so she's gotta maximize.
The only problem with maximizing with salty meat is that your borrowed Prada shoes will not fit later that day. I've honestly never seen anything so unattractive in my life: Puffy tops-of-feet bulging over the shoes like fat-lady cleavage spilling over a too-tight strapless dress. God. Yuck.
But hell, this isn't stopping me. We meet at Jean-Georges and, after last night at Daniel, I'm feeling a little less intimidated by the big-time restaurants. We're seated in JG's sleek, earth-tone dining room--quite a contrast to the lusty, colorful dining room at Daniel.
Again, we're told that the chef himself would be cooking for us. Holy cow, here we go again. The three of us--Brian, Jane, me--were served a different dish per course, and this went on for hours. My favorite moment, though, was when Brian was served thin slices of raw scallops on slices of banana with a little wasabi between. This was exactly what I was looking for in my NY dining experience: something different! Something daring and bizarre. If you can't get that in NYC, where can you, right? Certainly not in Seattle at the time.
But the best part was Brian's reaction. "Oh yuck." And then he shoved the plate aside. Here I was studying how the dish worked--the banana being the softest thing on the plate, whereas the scallop would usually play that role. And the way wasabi hits you with heat and then disappears, versus how chilis fade slowly.
In the midst of my reverent oohing and aahing, Brian's "been there, done that" attitude was funny. And, well, honest. At the time it was a little shocking to me, but now I know it's just what happens when you eat in NYC every night. You get used to the antics and, just maybe, a little bored with them.
The meal was more interesting and required a little more thinking than Daniel did. Daniel was full-figured, lingerie-clad, busty. Jean-Georges was long legged, wearing expensive but understated shoes. JG used concentrated flavors--it was my first run-in with the word "nage," a concentrated essence of a vegetable or fish (often lobter)--and Daniel uses concentrated fats.
Clearly it's not that simple, but the two approaches were distinct and, having the meals just one day apart, the differences in approach were much more noticeable.
Next time: Hob-nobbing with the rich old ladies and suits at Le Cirque.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Working with Wylie: Interning at WD-50
Great posts by Dana over at Tasting Menu. She's been spending time in the kitchen of Wylie Dufresne's WD-50, a restaurant I cannot wait to go back to (read my review here).
Dana's basically interning under the restaurant's pastry chef, Alex Stupak (WD-50's former superstar pastry chef, Sam Mason, is opening his own place called Tailor, um, well, hopefully soon). Worth a read for anyone interested in molecular gastronomy, or desserts, or being a pastry chef. Find the article here.
Dana's basically interning under the restaurant's pastry chef, Alex Stupak (WD-50's former superstar pastry chef, Sam Mason, is opening his own place called Tailor, um, well, hopefully soon). Worth a read for anyone interested in molecular gastronomy, or desserts, or being a pastry chef. Find the article here.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Bruni reviews Wild Salmon
So the NYTimes critic finally got around to reviewing Wild Salmon, the mega-NW-salmon-seafood extravaganza that took Charlie Ramseyer from local fish spot Ray's to the Big Apple. And the review? Bruni gives the place one star and the whole review just sounds like a big "it was...uh, fine" to me.
I remember having to review restaurants like this, and when you're not inspired by a place it definitely comes through in the tone of your review.
For example:
"Wild Salmon presents the fish in so many varieties and guises that the tone of a question from one of my companions wasn’t necessarily facetious.
“Where,” she asked, “is the salmon cereal?”
Jeffrey Chodorow, who put this production together, must not have thought of that. After all, few restaurateurs work a conceit as exhaustively as he does, a tendency evident in the nomenclature of the seafood platters. The smallest is called Mount St. Helens; the next biggest, Mount Shasta; the biggest of all, Mount Rainier. The amount of shellfish you get increases with the altitude of the Western peak you set out to scale."
Good lord.
When I first went to NYC as a 17-year-old visiting a friend, she told me I should say I'm from "Washington State" because everyone would think I was from DC if I said I was from "Washington." To them, Washington State was this far-off place that, until Microsoft and Amazon became what they are today, New Yorkers probably couldn't find on a map.
And it's just kind of funny to see the combination of passive xenophobia and double standards at play here. I mean, theme platters? Jeepers. Honestly, good thing nobody's opening a restaurant here in Seattle serving Chrysler Building strombolis. The lines would be out the door!
I remember having to review restaurants like this, and when you're not inspired by a place it definitely comes through in the tone of your review.
For example:
"Wild Salmon presents the fish in so many varieties and guises that the tone of a question from one of my companions wasn’t necessarily facetious.
“Where,” she asked, “is the salmon cereal?”
Jeffrey Chodorow, who put this production together, must not have thought of that. After all, few restaurateurs work a conceit as exhaustively as he does, a tendency evident in the nomenclature of the seafood platters. The smallest is called Mount St. Helens; the next biggest, Mount Shasta; the biggest of all, Mount Rainier. The amount of shellfish you get increases with the altitude of the Western peak you set out to scale."
Good lord.
When I first went to NYC as a 17-year-old visiting a friend, she told me I should say I'm from "Washington State" because everyone would think I was from DC if I said I was from "Washington." To them, Washington State was this far-off place that, until Microsoft and Amazon became what they are today, New Yorkers probably couldn't find on a map.
And it's just kind of funny to see the combination of passive xenophobia and double standards at play here. I mean, theme platters? Jeepers. Honestly, good thing nobody's opening a restaurant here in Seattle serving Chrysler Building strombolis. The lines would be out the door!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Who's Eating Seattle?
My husband suggested I give a little backstory. Here goes:
I was born in Ballard but my parents moved to Federal Way "for the schools." My sisters and I went to high school at Bellarmine in Tacoma. We'd been in public school before that so it was a little strange to be meeting kids who'd only been to private school. At the time I don't think I understood all the connotations of a private school education, I just knew that my new friends' parents had money. And they drank wine. And made pesto from scratch in the blender! So maybe only Mrs. Branson did that, but I was only 16 the first time I smelled it and it's one of the first food memories that really stands out. It was so aromatic and foreign. It was so "gourmet." My parents didn't and don't cook much. OK, my parents cook sometimes, but there's a difference between cooking because you have to feed the family and cooking because you can't wait to get lost in the chopping and the wonderful aroma of sauteeing mushrooms and onions. Somehow, I became a person who does the latter even though the rest of my family sticks to the former category for the most part.
So I went to UW for college and, though at the time I was crushed and I do mean crushed, the sorority I wanted to join didn't pick me. I became what the geniuses at UW refer to as a "goddamn independent." This was a gift from God. I ended up living in the dorms and then moved in with four other girls my sophomore year in a house off campus that we coined "The Shaft" because that's what we felt we were getting living there. It was a dump, but so much fun. And that's where I really started to cook.
I was horrid. I mean horrid. I had no cookbooks and no computer and no frickin' clue. I made caramelized onions using sugar (because caramel=sugar, right?), boxed macaroni and cheese with the exotic addition of curry powder (doesn't sound as bad as it was), and spaghetti sauce with sausage and vanilla. That last one wasn't throw-it-away-immediately bad. And so I started to cook. I had the idea that the longer you cooked a sauce the better it was, which was true with some and VERY false with others. But before you know it I was considering dropping out of college (psychology wasn't doing it for me) to become a full-time cook. On a whim I called on a pantry cook job for Il Bistro that I'd seen in the newspaper. I remember telling Sherri (Serino, who later opened La Medusa) that I had no experience but that "my roommates keep eating everything I cook." She took a chance on me and changed my life.
I worked for Sherri and her then-partner Lisa for a few years, getting my ass kicked by the guys in the kitchen, listening to the Mexicanos talk about their huevos and whatnot. It was an education. I learned on the fly. I was still really pretty bad for a few years, but then something clicked and I became decent, maybe even good. I cooked for Peter Neal at CaterArts for a few years (some of my dearest cooking memories, actually. what a f*ing fun kitchen that was) and worked retail to make ends meet. And then I got the opportunity of a lifetime.
I'd been bitching a few months earlier to my friend Steven about the state of restaurant reviewing in Seattle. At that point the Stranger was letting Riz Rollins (a music writer/DJish type) write about restaurants and it pissed me off more than it should've. To me it was the ultimate job and having him just sort of do it on the side seemed like a waste. I'm sure I'd gone on some classic Ali margarita-fueled diatribe about it to Steven. Anyhoo, the short version is that Steven ended up becoming the EIC of Citysearch in Seattle a few months after said diatribe. And when he was hiring he called me to see if I wanted to put my money where my (big, loud) mouth was.
Shit. I had to try to write a restaurant review. Actually, shit shit shit, I had to try to write three. So there I was, a broke retailer-slash-catering cook without a computer, trying to write restaurant review clips. I took about three weeks to write my clips (by hand!! seriously. I still have the originals) and then I faxed them to Steven.
Who the hell knows why he hired me but he did. I didn't even ask what the salary was when he offered me the job, I just said "YES!" as quickly as I could. And at the age of 24 I began writing about restaurants professionally.
OK, so what does a 24 year old know about food or restaurant criticism? Especially a broke one? Good point, so in the beginning I read entire books on, say, sushi or Spanish regional cuisines before my reviews. I remember reading Jeffrey Steingarten for the first time and just loving him. And of course Ruth Reichl, who gave me hope. She didn't seem elitist or snobbish...I could relate to her. I've read everyone from Calvin Trillin to Pat Conroy to Jim Harrison (thanks to my husband) on food since then. And I never get tired of it. Restaurants make me happy. The bad ones don't, but the really good ones more than make up for it.
I spent three years writing reviews here in Seattle. I sat across from my dad, kind of loving the fact that he rolled his eyes at the rose foam he was served at the Herbfarm. I got upgraded to the private room at Salish one night because I think they thought my boyfriend and I were getting engaged (we weren't, but that was REALLY fun, and no, they didn't make me for a reviewer. On the second visit my table got treated like complete shit. We didn't see our waiter for 45 minutes). I got to take my three favorite people to the Space Needle for $14 strawberry shortcake "cocktails" and horrible shredded Safeway-grade parmesan-encrusted steak. It was one of the worst meals I ate during my tenure, but also one of the most fun.
And then I convinced the powers that be to hire me as the restaurant editor in NYC. I'd spent some time there since many of my friends lived there, but this was a whole new ballgame. I took my parents to Il Mulino, an old-line (I mean, they opened like 30 years ago or something) Italian restaurant where the pork chop "special" was $75 and my dad waited in line for the bathroom behind Phil Donahue. I took my three favorite housemates to dinner at Tavern on the Green (they owed me...I'd taken them to AWESOME places so...they owed me) where my friend Beth had a roach in her drink (SERIOUSLY) and my friend Doug got our entire (very unfortunate) meal comped. I treated my then-boyfriend, now-husband to Le Bernardin (overrated and stiff), The Modern (one of my favorite meals in NYC) and Yasuda (good but we were not transported, which should happen for $700 for two). I enjoyed a three hour meal by myself at Masa. I spent $440 that night and I wouldn't change a thing about it. It was heaven.
I probably would've been in NYC longer than 2 1/2 years if it hadn't been for Ed. We met at a party. He'd been set up, so when we met he actually had another girl's feet on his lap. Ed lived in Jackson Hole and I had been trying to convince two friends to make a trip out there.
I eventually convinced the powers that be that Jackson would be a great destination to cover for work, and therefore got the go-ahead to head out to Wyoming to eat and write about it. Seriously, it never gets easier to believe that that was my job. So I went, we ate, we drank, we laughed, we hiked (on our first afternoon we saw a 6-point elk from about 40 meters. my heart stopped) and we kind of liked each other. We weren't tired of each other, even after four days. I moved out to Jackson to be with him eight months later.
We got married 5 months after that, and now we're the proud parents of a very adorable baby named Ruby Mabel. So I'm back, to live, play and eat Seattle.
Technorati Profile
I was born in Ballard but my parents moved to Federal Way "for the schools." My sisters and I went to high school at Bellarmine in Tacoma. We'd been in public school before that so it was a little strange to be meeting kids who'd only been to private school. At the time I don't think I understood all the connotations of a private school education, I just knew that my new friends' parents had money. And they drank wine. And made pesto from scratch in the blender! So maybe only Mrs. Branson did that, but I was only 16 the first time I smelled it and it's one of the first food memories that really stands out. It was so aromatic and foreign. It was so "gourmet." My parents didn't and don't cook much. OK, my parents cook sometimes, but there's a difference between cooking because you have to feed the family and cooking because you can't wait to get lost in the chopping and the wonderful aroma of sauteeing mushrooms and onions. Somehow, I became a person who does the latter even though the rest of my family sticks to the former category for the most part.
So I went to UW for college and, though at the time I was crushed and I do mean crushed, the sorority I wanted to join didn't pick me. I became what the geniuses at UW refer to as a "goddamn independent." This was a gift from God. I ended up living in the dorms and then moved in with four other girls my sophomore year in a house off campus that we coined "The Shaft" because that's what we felt we were getting living there. It was a dump, but so much fun. And that's where I really started to cook.
I was horrid. I mean horrid. I had no cookbooks and no computer and no frickin' clue. I made caramelized onions using sugar (because caramel=sugar, right?), boxed macaroni and cheese with the exotic addition of curry powder (doesn't sound as bad as it was), and spaghetti sauce with sausage and vanilla. That last one wasn't throw-it-away-immediately bad. And so I started to cook. I had the idea that the longer you cooked a sauce the better it was, which was true with some and VERY false with others. But before you know it I was considering dropping out of college (psychology wasn't doing it for me) to become a full-time cook. On a whim I called on a pantry cook job for Il Bistro that I'd seen in the newspaper. I remember telling Sherri (Serino, who later opened La Medusa) that I had no experience but that "my roommates keep eating everything I cook." She took a chance on me and changed my life.
I worked for Sherri and her then-partner Lisa for a few years, getting my ass kicked by the guys in the kitchen, listening to the Mexicanos talk about their huevos and whatnot. It was an education. I learned on the fly. I was still really pretty bad for a few years, but then something clicked and I became decent, maybe even good. I cooked for Peter Neal at CaterArts for a few years (some of my dearest cooking memories, actually. what a f*ing fun kitchen that was) and worked retail to make ends meet. And then I got the opportunity of a lifetime.
I'd been bitching a few months earlier to my friend Steven about the state of restaurant reviewing in Seattle. At that point the Stranger was letting Riz Rollins (a music writer/DJish type) write about restaurants and it pissed me off more than it should've. To me it was the ultimate job and having him just sort of do it on the side seemed like a waste. I'm sure I'd gone on some classic Ali margarita-fueled diatribe about it to Steven. Anyhoo, the short version is that Steven ended up becoming the EIC of Citysearch in Seattle a few months after said diatribe. And when he was hiring he called me to see if I wanted to put my money where my (big, loud) mouth was.
Shit. I had to try to write a restaurant review. Actually, shit shit shit, I had to try to write three. So there I was, a broke retailer-slash-catering cook without a computer, trying to write restaurant review clips. I took about three weeks to write my clips (by hand!! seriously. I still have the originals) and then I faxed them to Steven.
Who the hell knows why he hired me but he did. I didn't even ask what the salary was when he offered me the job, I just said "YES!" as quickly as I could. And at the age of 24 I began writing about restaurants professionally.
OK, so what does a 24 year old know about food or restaurant criticism? Especially a broke one? Good point, so in the beginning I read entire books on, say, sushi or Spanish regional cuisines before my reviews. I remember reading Jeffrey Steingarten for the first time and just loving him. And of course Ruth Reichl, who gave me hope. She didn't seem elitist or snobbish...I could relate to her. I've read everyone from Calvin Trillin to Pat Conroy to Jim Harrison (thanks to my husband) on food since then. And I never get tired of it. Restaurants make me happy. The bad ones don't, but the really good ones more than make up for it.
I spent three years writing reviews here in Seattle. I sat across from my dad, kind of loving the fact that he rolled his eyes at the rose foam he was served at the Herbfarm. I got upgraded to the private room at Salish one night because I think they thought my boyfriend and I were getting engaged (we weren't, but that was REALLY fun, and no, they didn't make me for a reviewer. On the second visit my table got treated like complete shit. We didn't see our waiter for 45 minutes). I got to take my three favorite people to the Space Needle for $14 strawberry shortcake "cocktails" and horrible shredded Safeway-grade parmesan-encrusted steak. It was one of the worst meals I ate during my tenure, but also one of the most fun.
And then I convinced the powers that be to hire me as the restaurant editor in NYC. I'd spent some time there since many of my friends lived there, but this was a whole new ballgame. I took my parents to Il Mulino, an old-line (I mean, they opened like 30 years ago or something) Italian restaurant where the pork chop "special" was $75 and my dad waited in line for the bathroom behind Phil Donahue. I took my three favorite housemates to dinner at Tavern on the Green (they owed me...I'd taken them to AWESOME places so...they owed me) where my friend Beth had a roach in her drink (SERIOUSLY) and my friend Doug got our entire (very unfortunate) meal comped. I treated my then-boyfriend, now-husband to Le Bernardin (overrated and stiff), The Modern (one of my favorite meals in NYC) and Yasuda (good but we were not transported, which should happen for $700 for two). I enjoyed a three hour meal by myself at Masa. I spent $440 that night and I wouldn't change a thing about it. It was heaven.
I probably would've been in NYC longer than 2 1/2 years if it hadn't been for Ed. We met at a party. He'd been set up, so when we met he actually had another girl's feet on his lap. Ed lived in Jackson Hole and I had been trying to convince two friends to make a trip out there.
I eventually convinced the powers that be that Jackson would be a great destination to cover for work, and therefore got the go-ahead to head out to Wyoming to eat and write about it. Seriously, it never gets easier to believe that that was my job. So I went, we ate, we drank, we laughed, we hiked (on our first afternoon we saw a 6-point elk from about 40 meters. my heart stopped) and we kind of liked each other. We weren't tired of each other, even after four days. I moved out to Jackson to be with him eight months later.
We got married 5 months after that, and now we're the proud parents of a very adorable baby named Ruby Mabel. So I'm back, to live, play and eat Seattle.
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