I loved reading S. Irene Virbila's write-up of her two visits to Seattle, particularly because she seemed hell-bent on finding something interesting to eat, but also because I find it refreshing to see the city's restaurants through the eyes of an outsider--I think it helps put things in perspective.
Take a look at her report here. Made me hungry.
[where: 98101]
Showing posts with label Restaurant Critic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Restaurant Critic. Show all posts
Monday, April 28, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
The Surly Gourmand makes my day
Some people's idea of a mind-blowing foodie moment is, apparently, going to see Tony Bourdain do something on stage for 2 hours at the Moore (seriously, does anyone know what a chef can do on stage to earn $50 per person for tickets? Talk? Make jokes? Flamenco dancing? I don't get it).
But today! By chance! My mind-blowing moment occurred because a certain foul-mouthed food writer deigned (10 points!) to comment on this very blog! Head over to this post to view the comment in situ (46 points!), but I'm also pasting it here:
Oh happy day!
I am a huge fan of doctor surly, mostly because he says exactly what I wish to God in heaven I could say but am not allowed to by the powers that be (aka, the people who pay me). In fact, I recently had such a total piece-of-shit (and expensive, dammit!) meal that I actually said to Ed, in the car on the way home, "I should email the Surly Gourmand so he can come here, eat that crap food and write about it like I wish I could."
That's my long-winded way of saying thanks, your Surliness, for bringing the funny (and the truthiness) to food writing in this town. And please re-publish that Quinn's review, because it's friggin' perfect.
[where: 98118]
But today! By chance! My mind-blowing moment occurred because a certain foul-mouthed food writer deigned (10 points!) to comment on this very blog! Head over to this post to view the comment in situ (46 points!), but I'm also pasting it here:
Hi and thanks so much for the glowing praise! And I must say I'm flattered to have as my "new #1 fan" the dining editor for Seattle Magazine. Holy fuck I've hit the big time. Can I have a job?
You should know, Allison, that the usual way to show your appreciation to me is with naked pictures of your mom. These can be sent to surlygourmand@theseattlesinner.com. High resolution jpegs please.
Anyway, to the guy who complained about the old posts not being listed on the Sinner's web site, I'm in the process of resurrecting my old blog, which I haven't written on in 3 years. All the old stuff will be posted there. Stay tuned.
Your friend,
the Surly Motherfucking Gourmand
PS here's some gossip: did you know Gypsy closed? Seems the feds finally fingered them, and not in the good way.
Oh happy day!
I am a huge fan of doctor surly, mostly because he says exactly what I wish to God in heaven I could say but am not allowed to by the powers that be (aka, the people who pay me). In fact, I recently had such a total piece-of-shit (and expensive, dammit!) meal that I actually said to Ed, in the car on the way home, "I should email the Surly Gourmand so he can come here, eat that crap food and write about it like I wish I could."
That's my long-winded way of saying thanks, your Surliness, for bringing the funny (and the truthiness) to food writing in this town. And please re-publish that Quinn's review, because it's friggin' perfect.
[where: 98118]
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Rebekah Denn leaves critic job at Seattle P-I, Seattle yawns
Where's the outrage? OK, maybe outrage is too much to ask for in Seattle, but where's the sorta-loud-buzz within the foodie community? Yesterday Rebekah Denn, the first Seattle writer in who-knows-how-long to win a James Beard journalism award (for her restaurant criticism at the P-I) decides to quit writing restaurant reviews less than a year after she's awarded that prize. And it's like a big ol' tree falling in a big ol' forest.
Hello?
Anyone out there?
Buhler?
Denn has decided to step into the food-writing chair left vacant by her former colleague, Hsiao-Ching Chou, who resigned earlier this summer. And in her "coming out" piece yesterday Denn talks about some of her inclinations and her points of view, but what struck a chord for me was what she says at the very end of the article about the collective inferiority complex that Seattle diners and chefs have about their city's food and restaurant scene.
Having lived there and having reviewed restaurants there for three years, I feel very qualified to say that this is absolutely true. But what I find more interesting is that the very indifference, the underdoggish attitude Denn so rightly points about our city is clearly illuminated by the reaction to Denn's resignation.
When the best critic in town quits and nobody seems to care, one might find they've revealed the answer to the question: Why wouldn't she quit?
[where: 98101]
Hello?
Anyone out there?
Buhler?
Denn has decided to step into the food-writing chair left vacant by her former colleague, Hsiao-Ching Chou, who resigned earlier this summer. And in her "coming out" piece yesterday Denn talks about some of her inclinations and her points of view, but what struck a chord for me was what she says at the very end of the article about the collective inferiority complex that Seattle diners and chefs have about their city's food and restaurant scene.
On a visit to New York in May to attend the 2007 James Beard Awards, I found many of the nation's foodnoscenti talking about our fair city with enthusiasm and pleasure, expressing none of the apologetic we're-not-New-York-and-we're- not-even-Vancouver inferiority complex we affect. Yes, we do have a disturbingly large supply here of the phenomenon known as the Mediocre $22 Entrée -- but the same is true in other large cities, New York included. And, lucky us, we have a rich selection of high-quality restaurants if we want to avoid that mediocrity. The food served at the Beard Awards was fabulous and exciting and creatively enlightening, but it was not, with a few exceptions (read: the remarkable Marcus Samuelsson), from a different universe. Our top chefs could have held their own at the dinner tables.
Having lived there and having reviewed restaurants there for three years, I feel very qualified to say that this is absolutely true. But what I find more interesting is that the very indifference, the underdoggish attitude Denn so rightly points about our city is clearly illuminated by the reaction to Denn's resignation.
When the best critic in town quits and nobody seems to care, one might find they've revealed the answer to the question: Why wouldn't she quit?
[where: 98101]
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Jane and Ali's excellent dining adventures part 1
My friend Jane Tunks (a recovering Citysearcher who's made the big-time now: she works for the SF Chronicle!) sent an email today and it reminded me of all of our amazing meals together. Boy, there've been a few.
The first time I met her Jane had just been hired as the first LA Restaurants Editor. The LA site didn't launch when the other major markets did, it launched probably two years later, so Jane had a ton of work on her plate. When I inherited the Seattle site (after sidewalk.com turned into citysearch) I had hundreds of reviews in the coffers. Jane had a big old zero. So the powers that be decided to cart all of the restaurant writers from around the country to come in and write some reviews for her. YAY! Free trip to a sunny place.
My first night in LA I had dinner with Jane and our San Francisco editor, Stephanie Rosenbaum. We were going to some uppity hotel-ish type place. Totally forgettable. I think Jane was in charge of writing the review so it was a nice break for me to not have to think about and remember everything we ate in order to write about it later.
Anyways, on the way there, Stephanie and Jane started talking about the jobs they'd had in the past. Nonchalantly, Jane starts listing them, including her time working for porn king Larry Flynt (apparently doing some copyediting, if I remember correctly). Of course, being the dork I am, I start asking all kinds of, "so you were looking at naked cooters all day long?" questions. Then Stephanie chimes in with her stories of, well, lets just say she'd made some "interesting" films. So here I am, feeling like a first-rate pollyana in the back, saying, "um, welp, I worked in a kitchen store for a while."
That dinner was the beginning of a goofy friendship. Mostly it consisted of us IM-ing each other during dull, hour-long conference calls during which the powers that be would drone on and on about how everyone wanted to use Citysearch to find plumbers and electricians, even though the stats and readership evidence pointed toward everyone using the site to find restaurants, bars, and spas.
For a while there the only thing we wrote each other was, "DO YOU LOVE IT JANE?" "THIS IS A STROKE OF GENIUS, ALI!" "THE FUTURE OF CITYSEARCH IS PLUMBERS! I LOVE IT!" to try to get through the insanity.
The next time I saw Jane was in NYC a year or so later (probably pre- 911 2001?). Brian Miller (yes, that Brian Miller) had been hired on as the Czar of Restaurants for Citysearch. He'd been the restaurant critic at the NY Times for several years so when we met for the first time I was a complete drip. I was star-struck and nervous. Kind of like how I yelled out during a meal with Beth and Doug, "DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS?" (they turn, then turn back shaking their heads) "THAT IS WYLIE DUFRESNE FROM WD-50!" They later said that that's how they'd react if they saw Bono or Oscar de la Renta or something. Anyways, Brian kept telling Jane and me that if we came out to NYC he'd take us to the four-star restaurants. We'd probably heard him say this 10 times. Then finally I got a wild hair and made Jane meet me in NY. And Brian came through! We'd go to three four-star restaurants in four days. God help us all.
We started out with Daniel. In the cab there I was so nervous I was shaking. I was wearing a pretty Banana Republic shirt-dress and black pantyhose and my friend Courtney let me borrow her Prada shoes. Those shoes were the only things that felt at home in Daniel. Anyways, when I arrived the current NY Restaurant Editor at the time, Dan McAlvanah, and Brian were waiting in the bar. Jane and I were supposed to ride together but that got messed up so we arrived separately. Of course, somehow everyone in Daniel knew who Brian was. That rumor about all the smart restaurants in NYC having a picture of the NY Times critic in back is probably true. It's also possible that Brian gave up trying to be annonymous. I don't know. I do know we got the royal treatment.
So we had a Kir Royale or something (can't remember because I was still too excited) and then we were seated right smack-dab in the center of the room. And then the insanity began.
Daniel was in-house and we were told he would be "cooking for us." OK, WOW! He was making four separate dishes for each course.
And I'm just guessing there were 12 courses (before dessert). So slow down and think about that. That's 48 dishes we tasted that night! (of course we passed each plate four times so we'd all get to try everything). Are you kidding me? This was the thrill of a lifetime.
DUN DUN DUUUUNN. And then they wheel the cheese cart over.
I really wish Jane could just take it from here, but I'll do my best to tell the story. However, lets all keep in mind we'd had myriad courses and, naturally, wine to match! So by the time the handsome cheese guy comes slithering my way, I'm feeling no pain. (I'd gotten up to use the restroom towards the end of the meal and prayed the whole way that I wouldn't fall in my fancy heels.) Anyways, legend has it I made it pretty obvious how much I loved cheese! Oh, yes, doesn't that sounds AMAZING! OOOH! AAHHH! The few who haven't seen me tipsy out there simply won't be able to imagine that I might actually hit on the cheese guy at Daniel, but apparently it is so.
Oh, and then we ate dessert! Four courses of it.
Brian Miller must've been so proud.
Next time: Jean-Georges and Le Cirque 2000.
The first time I met her Jane had just been hired as the first LA Restaurants Editor. The LA site didn't launch when the other major markets did, it launched probably two years later, so Jane had a ton of work on her plate. When I inherited the Seattle site (after sidewalk.com turned into citysearch) I had hundreds of reviews in the coffers. Jane had a big old zero. So the powers that be decided to cart all of the restaurant writers from around the country to come in and write some reviews for her. YAY! Free trip to a sunny place.
My first night in LA I had dinner with Jane and our San Francisco editor, Stephanie Rosenbaum. We were going to some uppity hotel-ish type place. Totally forgettable. I think Jane was in charge of writing the review so it was a nice break for me to not have to think about and remember everything we ate in order to write about it later.
Anyways, on the way there, Stephanie and Jane started talking about the jobs they'd had in the past. Nonchalantly, Jane starts listing them, including her time working for porn king Larry Flynt (apparently doing some copyediting, if I remember correctly). Of course, being the dork I am, I start asking all kinds of, "so you were looking at naked cooters all day long?" questions. Then Stephanie chimes in with her stories of, well, lets just say she'd made some "interesting" films. So here I am, feeling like a first-rate pollyana in the back, saying, "um, welp, I worked in a kitchen store for a while."
That dinner was the beginning of a goofy friendship. Mostly it consisted of us IM-ing each other during dull, hour-long conference calls during which the powers that be would drone on and on about how everyone wanted to use Citysearch to find plumbers and electricians, even though the stats and readership evidence pointed toward everyone using the site to find restaurants, bars, and spas.
For a while there the only thing we wrote each other was, "DO YOU LOVE IT JANE?" "THIS IS A STROKE OF GENIUS, ALI!" "THE FUTURE OF CITYSEARCH IS PLUMBERS! I LOVE IT!" to try to get through the insanity.
The next time I saw Jane was in NYC a year or so later (probably pre- 911 2001?). Brian Miller (yes, that Brian Miller) had been hired on as the Czar of Restaurants for Citysearch. He'd been the restaurant critic at the NY Times for several years so when we met for the first time I was a complete drip. I was star-struck and nervous. Kind of like how I yelled out during a meal with Beth and Doug, "DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS?" (they turn, then turn back shaking their heads) "THAT IS WYLIE DUFRESNE FROM WD-50!" They later said that that's how they'd react if they saw Bono or Oscar de la Renta or something. Anyways, Brian kept telling Jane and me that if we came out to NYC he'd take us to the four-star restaurants. We'd probably heard him say this 10 times. Then finally I got a wild hair and made Jane meet me in NY. And Brian came through! We'd go to three four-star restaurants in four days. God help us all.
We started out with Daniel. In the cab there I was so nervous I was shaking. I was wearing a pretty Banana Republic shirt-dress and black pantyhose and my friend Courtney let me borrow her Prada shoes. Those shoes were the only things that felt at home in Daniel. Anyways, when I arrived the current NY Restaurant Editor at the time, Dan McAlvanah, and Brian were waiting in the bar. Jane and I were supposed to ride together but that got messed up so we arrived separately. Of course, somehow everyone in Daniel knew who Brian was. That rumor about all the smart restaurants in NYC having a picture of the NY Times critic in back is probably true. It's also possible that Brian gave up trying to be annonymous. I don't know. I do know we got the royal treatment.
So we had a Kir Royale or something (can't remember because I was still too excited) and then we were seated right smack-dab in the center of the room. And then the insanity began.
Daniel was in-house and we were told he would be "cooking for us." OK, WOW! He was making four separate dishes for each course.
And I'm just guessing there were 12 courses (before dessert). So slow down and think about that. That's 48 dishes we tasted that night! (of course we passed each plate four times so we'd all get to try everything). Are you kidding me? This was the thrill of a lifetime.
DUN DUN DUUUUNN. And then they wheel the cheese cart over.
I really wish Jane could just take it from here, but I'll do my best to tell the story. However, lets all keep in mind we'd had myriad courses and, naturally, wine to match! So by the time the handsome cheese guy comes slithering my way, I'm feeling no pain. (I'd gotten up to use the restroom towards the end of the meal and prayed the whole way that I wouldn't fall in my fancy heels.) Anyways, legend has it I made it pretty obvious how much I loved cheese! Oh, yes, doesn't that sounds AMAZING! OOOH! AAHHH! The few who haven't seen me tipsy out there simply won't be able to imagine that I might actually hit on the cheese guy at Daniel, but apparently it is so.
Oh, and then we ate dessert! Four courses of it.
Brian Miller must've been so proud.
Next time: Jean-Georges and Le Cirque 2000.
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.
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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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