Fat Guy

Depending on the publication, fact checking can be far more thorough than that -- and often is. Having written for the New York Times on a few occasions, I can tell you that every factual claim I've made has had to be substantiated by references provided to my editor. Definitions of culinary terms are exactly the sort of thing the New York Times fact checks rigorously, so my guess is that this one just slipped through the cracks -- perhaps because the story didn't get edited by the dining-section team (it seems to have come from the Rome bureau as a news story).

The black market for candy, as described in the article, illustrates two principles that those who seek to regulate what we put in our mouths would do well to bear in mind: 1. "Forbidden fruit." The principle that something forbidden becomes more desirable is well established in the social sciences. The phenomenon spins off into related territories as well. For example, there's plenty of evidence that alcoholism is less of a problem in cultures where young people are introduced to alcoholic beverages at the family table. 2. "Unintended consequences." Often, absolutist rules -- well-intended though they may be -- have unintended consequences that actually worsen the problem the rules were meant to address. People are complex animals, especially when they're in group settings. Everybody knows it's foolish to think the solution to childhood obesity (there's a whole 'nother discussion to be had on whether the problem is as serious as a lot of folks make it out to be, as well as a discussion about whether a "solution" is possible or even desirable) is banning certain foods in school cafeterias. But it may be just as foolish to think such bans will help even a little bit.

Without actually agreeing with the premise, one thing I'd propose would be to find a few ingredients where you can taste several examples at different rungs of the quality ladder. Things like mozzarella cheese and chocolate. When people come face to face with dramatic quality differences, it may help them to be more selective in their shopping. (At the same time, there are plenty of ingredients where paying more is a waste of money from a flavor perspective.)

Have you guys seen Tom Colicchio's book, "Think Like a Chef"? To me, that seems like a great theme for an intermediate cooking class: learning how to start thinking like a chef. Some of the best illustrations in the book are Colicchio's "trilogies," sets of three ingredients that form the basis for all sorts of different dishes and techniques. For example: lobster, peas and pasta. He has four or five recipes for that trilogy, ranging from risotto to ravioli. He also used to teach a class at Macy's where in just a couple of hours he did like six recipes with those three main ingredients. Another book well worth consulting is Gray Kunz's "The Elements of Taste." Again, this is a book that goes beyond standard cookbooks and starts getting much more into the theory of cooking. I'd also suggest some debunking of "old wive's tales" ala McGee as a helpful component of an intermediate class. In terms of nomenclature, I think "intermediate" is good for a course designation, but in my mind people who've got a decent grip on the basics but aren't going to go on the professional track are "advanced amateurs." That's how I'd characterize a very large segment of the cooks who are eGullet Society members, myself included.

There's an article in today's Wall Street Journal, by Eric Felten, about Erik and the "Stomping" topic: "Stomping Through the Savoy," from today's Wall Street Journal The link may not work forever. Journal links often expire after a short time, in my experience. So check out the full story now while it's still available.

Live lobster sashimi has been a signature item at the Nobu restaurants for a long time.

The table with the projection technology is, I believe, the one all the way off to the side in the private wine room. That room is available for private functions, and also contains lockers that wine collectors can rent in order to store their personal bottles. If you have a private function in that room, you can work with the staff to have custom menus and notes projected on that table.

I wonder why today's bags are so thin and crummy? Is it because they're trying to be environmentally friendly? If so, that would be ironic because the upshot of using thin, crummy bags is that supermarkets use three times as many of them to pack our groceries. The little-holes issue is also vexing. Those holes, which are ubiquitous, make it hard to reuse the thin, crummy bags as trash bags because the bags have built-in leaks. There's not much I can think of to do with them. (As opposed to produce bags, which are excellent for pet waste, diapers and such.) The idea of reusable bags is appealing to me on a philosophical level, but on a practical level the dealbreaker is pests. At least in my New York City apartment (which I assume isn't nearly as bad as the average Florida home), any bags left lying around with even a hint of an aroma of food residue inside are magnets for pests.

We can discuss paper v. plastic until we're blue in the face, however it seems to me there's a much more significant solid waste disposal problem at the supermarket: using a million bags. I've been traveling in the US South for about a week, and every time I go to the grocery store I'm amazed at how many bags are used to pack my groceries. Sometimes just one item -- and not a big one -- is placed in a bag by the cashier or bagger. Other times the cutoff seems totally random: I have eight yogurts, seven go in one bag, the eighth goes in a new bag. In all cases, there's room in any given bag for three times as much stuff as has been placed in the bag. Not to pick on the South specifically, this seems to happen at suburban supermarkets all over North America. It doesn't seem to be a problem in New York City, where I live, and I imagine that's because people in walkable cities often walk with their groceries -- so they're not going to accept the million-bags approach. Maybe people who shop by car just don't care?

Today's New York Times has a large "Escapes" feature titled "The United Plates of New Jersey". It uses the New Jersey Turnpike as its organizing principle, with mini-reviews of road-food-ish destinations running from north to south. White Manna gets a shout out, as does Edison. There are also a bunch of places covered that haven't been mentioned here.

You think producers don't take extra care that the wine they provide to critics is in pristine condition, stored under ideal conditions until the hadoff to the critic, etc.? Of course there are things that can be done. In addition, as I mentioned on the restaurant reviewing comps topic, comps and non-anonymity are not necessarily linked. I gave the example of invitations I've had that came in the form of cards/certificates that don't need to be presented until the end of a meal. I've also had several restaurateurs email me with instructions to the effect: "Come, eat, and then when you get the bill just ask for Mike the manager and he'll take care of it." Needless to say, this is a minority occurrence, but then again so is any major critic not being recognized. The important point, though, is that equating the issues of comps and anonymity is a fallacy that muddies the discussion. They're two separate issues.

To ensure proper disposal of the red envelopes, please send them to me. Thanks.

There is certainly not universal agreement about whether it's okay to accept bottles from wineries. Needless to say, some of the premier wine critics -- Robert Parker, Robert Finigan -- would say this is a conflict of interest, just as Consumer Reports believes it's a conflict of interest for newspapers to accept cars, stereos and computers for review rather than buying them in retail stores. But if we took that position we'd effectively destroy or severely limit the enterprise of wine journalism. The most important rule is that the critic should tell the truth. Whether wine, travel, hospitality or information is provided by the producer or purchased by the critic is irrelevant to the ethical critic. Any other guidelines aren't really about ethics. They're about 1- protecting the writer from his or her own weakness, and 2- avoiding the appearance of impropriety. The solution in each case is not to create a system that makes it impossible for any but the most elaborately funded ventures to engage in wine journalism. Rather, the solution is disclosure. I don't find those distinctions the slightest bit compelling. So if a food critic spits his food and works very, very hard then comps are magically okay for food critics? That seems like a nonsensical outcome, and I think the reason it's nonsensical is because the distinctions themselves are without substance, kind of like the old "but I didn't inhale" excuse.

I don't see a problem with soliciting comps. It's standard procedure in other forms of reviewing.

One of the problems with the status quo -- I'd describe the status quo as "the overwhelming majority of food writers take comps but they're ashamed to admit it because no-comps is held out as the ideal" -- is that it has prevented a much-needed dialog about how to behave ethically when comped. Accepting a comp is, in my opinion, an ethically neutral act. Of course, if you believe that comps are by definition corrupting, then you won't see them as ethically neutral. But given that comps are routine in most areas of journalism, it seems that there's a strong argument to be made that they are ethically neutral. Rather, ethical concerns arise when a writer is unduly influenced by a comp. Given that comps are here to stay, I think the ethical and the pragmatic need to work together if there is to be a meaningful set of guidelines. My suggestion, and this is how I try to conduct myself, is as follows: - First and foremost, writers should say what they believe to be true about the places they cover -- regardless of the presence or absence of comps. - Comps should be disclosed. This can either be specific disclosure in an article, or general disclosure in a policy. (Ideally, both.) - There should be no quid pro quo. Publicists and others who hand out comps should be told that there's no quid pro quo (unless they already know). Publications that allow their writers to accept comps should have no-quid-pro-quo policies. - Comps should be regular and customary. In other words, a comp at a restaurant that serves a US$25 prix-fixe menu should not include a $1,000 bottle of wine. - Coverage of comped meals should be exactly the same as coverage of paid-for meals. A wide range of rules would be acceptable here. For example, a "no negative reviews" policy (in other words, "if we don't like a place we just don't write about it") is not inherently problematic, since many publications exist primarily to provide recommendations. It's only problematic if applied to comped meals but not to paid-for meals. (Unfortunately, I know several writers who have a comp-specific "no negative reviews" policy and will only write negative reviews of non-comped meals -- that's not okay.)

There's actually one British food critic, Michael Winner of the Sunday Times, who personally foots the bill for all his meals. Although, he doesn't make his living from food writing either. He's a film producer and director, and I think he comes from money to boot.

My experience supports the suggestion that there are regional variations. For example, in the New York City area lamb is plentiful. The supermarket near my mother's house has really nice looking leg of lamb for $2.99 a pound this week. Meanwhile, when I go to supermarkets in Middle America, I sometimes don't see any lamb at all or there's just a token quantity of wilted lamb way down at the end of the meat case. Which is not to say that, even at my mother's supermarket, lamb comes anywhere close to commanding as much shelf space as beef, chicken or pork. No way. Also, every Costco I've visited in North America -- and I've visited a lot of them -- has had lots of lamb, typically from Australia.

So, I don't know how it works in Miami, Philadelphia or Tel Aviv, but let me just try to paint a picture of how it works in New York City. Maybe this will help provide some context. Most every major restaurant opening in New York City follows a predictable pattern. There are a few exceptions every year, but this is the standard procedure. The restaurant either hires a PR firm or is part of a restaurant group that has in-house PR capacity. As the project takes shape, the publicist tries to buy elite media coverage by granting an exclusive. For example, the New York Times will be given the information first in exchange for Wednesday dining-section coverage, then it will be announced to other media. Or New York Magazine will get it. It depends. The top publications will often refuse to preview restaurants unless they're given exclusives. As the restaurant nears opening, the publicist works the media to try to drum up interest in various kinds of coverage. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't. It mostly depends on the chef's level of celebrity. When there's finally a restaurant in place and food is being prepared in the kitchen, a few things usually happen: first, there will be a preview week or so when some media get invited in; second, there will be an opening party; third, once the place is open, there will be "press dinners," which means media get invited in and eat dinner during the restaurant's normal service. Of course all of this is comped. Now, we can make that list, as suggested above, of the most journalistically reliable publications in this market that cover food. And I assure you that I can go down that list and testify that I have repeatedly seen writers for every one of those publications at previews, at opening parties and at press dinners. The New York Times? Sure. New York Magazine? Of course. Gourmet? Yep. To be sure, I never see Frank Bruni at such events. The New York Times has the luxury of a large food-writing team, so it can have it both ways: the Times can turn a blind eye while most of its food writers go out and hobnob with industry people, but can make high-handed moral claims because Frank Bruni himself remains cloistered. Of course the Times still accepts restaurant advertising, but no matter. Because Frank Bruni doesn't take comps and dines anonymously (not really, of course), the New York Times is morally superior. And yet, the restaurant reviews in the New York Times aren't particularly good and Frank Bruni certainly doesn't have the respect of the industry. Restaurant reviewing may indeed be at an all-time low, but that doesn't correlate with reviewers taking comps. At least not in the case of the Times, where restaurant reviewing is at an all-time low even though the reviewer still has a fat expense account. Meanwhile, the whole system of having a cloistered critic while giving free rein to the rest of your team is something that only works if you have a team. But a freelance food writer or a food blogger is a solo act. That person has to play the role of critic one day and the role of reporter the next day -- not that those role distinctions have much meaning in contemporary food writing. I have no idea whether I'm a critic/reviewer or not. The categories don't really make sense in the context of the kind of writing I do. A few years ago I did have a regular weekly reviewing gig, but that has not been typical of my "career." At present, I do some restaurant roundup pieces for Crain's New York Business, which are probably the closest things I do to traditional reviews, though they're collections of one-paragraph reviews and the nature of a roundup is that you only include recommended places. Crain's, by the way, reimburses me for those meals. Nice work if you can get it. I also write books about how to get the most out of restaurants, and I assure you my advances aren't large enough to allow me to eschew comps when I visit restaurants in the course of researching my books -- then again there aren't any reviews in those books. I post many, many restaurant-meal reports online. Are those reviews? Sometimes I pay for those meals, sometimes I don't. Some of the time when I don't pay, it's because someone else paid (a publication, a friend, my mother) and sometimes it's because the restaurant comped the meal. If the meal was comped, I say so. (Does the New York Times disclose every comp its critics get? No.) If anybody is offended enough by the comp to disregard what I have to say, that's his or her choice.

There has been a 9pm Wednesday reservation for 2 sitting there for like an hour now. Would somebody please take it?

That story has been done, most recently by the Wall Street Journal ("The Price of a Four-Star Rating"), and it didn't affect anything as far as I know.

I don't know. I'm not quite up at 300 pounds but in the 250-270 range where I've been most of my adult life I've never had trouble walking two, three or four hours around New York City, Paris or wherever. I can walk to dinner at Nobu no problem and often have -- that's about a 7-mile walk from where I live. And I don't consider myself particularly fit. (I can't power-walk home on a full stomach without feeling pretty awful, though.) And like I said, I know lots of guys in my size range who engage in a variety of strenuous physical activities from hiking to swimming to whatever.

Jason, I'm just saying that the people who did that study seemed to be able to find 25,389 men for it. Presumably half of them fell into the fit-but-over-30 category. I'll have to look up the primary source to be sure, but -- and I hate to go down the rabbit hole of anecdotal evidence -- I know lots of big guys who are quite fit. Not me, of course.

It sounds like you have a relationship with your doctor that works. However, there are plenty of people who in your situation would have been given a course of medication to lower their blood sugar. That's when the "epidemic of diagnoses" gets scary.

How many people have you diagnosed or observed in order to draw this conclusion? The study I saw cited recently in the New York Times involved 25,389 men:

My comments speak for themselves, but I thought it was a weak article. Kim Severson is the best food reporter at the New York Times, but this was a poor effort on her part.