Sneakeater

So she really IS the Frank Bruni of Indianapolis.

[missed a point]

I dunno. It all sounds plausible to me.

Yeah yeah, exactly!

I'm not saying it's modified and inferior. I'm saying it's modified and different enough as not to be really comparable. It's like Franny's pizza v. Grimaldi's pizza (in Brooklyn). Franny's uses fancier ingredients and cooking techniques and is a lot more expensive. Grimaldi's is traditional coal-oven not-by-the-slice pizza at a very high level. I'm not gonna say Franny's is better. Or that Grimaldi's is better. (Although I could imagine people arguing both those positions.) I'm gonna say they're different enough to respond to completely different cravings. Sometimes I'm in the mood for one; and sometimes I'm in the mood for the other. And I don't mind paying more for Franny's, cuz I understand that the fancier ingredients etc. make it a more expensive product. And, as I said, to my mind it's sufficiently different from Grimaldi's that I can see the added value. PS -- How does "not always better" translate into "inferior"?

Hey, wait a minute. This thread wasn't supposed to be about foams and emulsions and the latest gimmicks and crazes. It was supposed to be about a food writer who didn't know what pate de foie gras was. And who's grossed out by the thought of eating goose liver.

Though to be fair to me, I thought I used that analogy this time in way that had nothing to do with whether a piece of music (or a restaurant) improves after a year, but rather dealt with what you should or shouldn't expect from what might pompously be called an esthetic experience. (Don't need to draw out the rest of this stuff any further. Thanks for responding.) (Although based on my own experience -- which concededly is so much less than yours as to be incomparable -- I think you underestimate the chances of restaurants' changing for the worse or just disappearing in less than a year.)

I think my disagreement with you, then -- and I hope it isn't necessary to state that I offer this with the greatest possible respect, verging on awe -- is that I think you define "culinary reasons" too narrowly, and err in your emphasis on the "best possible meal." Let's take Gilt again. As I keep saying, I didn't go there because I made a policy decision to "support the avant-garde". I went out of curiosity. Having only eaten at WD-50, and not being a regular travelor to Chicago (or ever expecting to win the El Bulli reservations lottery), I wanted to see what a luxe version of "avant-garde" cuisine would taste like. (And it was clear from the start -- and certainly after Frank Bruni's two-star NYT review -- that the enterprise might not last long.) To me, that seems like a "culinary reason". I don't think it's the senseless knee-jerk pursuit of novelty you sometimes seem to suggest that people who go to new restaurants indulge in. I also disagree with your emphasis on getting "the best possible meal" every time you go out. You might instead want to get an "interesting" meal, or a meal that has parts that are fabulously good in a way that really appeals to you even if other parts of it are only ordinary. The music critic and composer Virgil Thomson called the point of view to which you seem to be subscribing the "masterpiece syndrome." Every work doesn't have to hit a home run. It can be inconsitent but compelling. It can be imperfect but, for some reason peculiar to you, incredibly moving. It can be minor, but very appealing. I'll further note that you have strongly advocated viewing cuisine as art. I think most art lovers -- I mean real art lovers, not the cadavers who populate the first tier and orchestra of the Metropolitan Opera -- approach art with the spirit of curiosity that I'm advocating, rather than the spirit of maximizing returns that you seem to be advocating. Which is why I've kept harping on "people on who are really interested in food." I think it's pretty clear that, in the totality of your behavior, you may not follow your own advice. Your journalistic and other activities must get you out to a number of meals, maybe which you don't pay for, that can satisfy your culinary curiosity, so that you can rely on safe bets without missing out on too much when you're spending your own money on your own time. (I mean, if you almost never go to restaurants that are less than a year old, how do you know that you like Paul Liebrandt's cooking? I may be wrong on the facts, but I don't think any of his efforts in New York have made it to the one-year mark, or at least not much beyond it.) But if you assume that your readership here (as opposed to in the Law Journal or of your book) is almost as interested in food as you are, then why disparage their motives for being as curious about unfamiliar experiences as you are, or discourage them from indulging their curiosity? If we're willing to risk our own money on new experiences -- despite the risk that, if we gave them more time, they would probably get better if they don't disappear instead -- that seems to me to be a justifiable choice for us to make.

The reason I didn't quote that one is that, to tell you the truth, I can kind of see a grain of truth in it (although of course the writer's naive expression of it was laughable). And for the little it's worth, New York Times restaurant reviewer Frank Bruni seems to feel the same way -- and for the incredibly LOT it's worth, so does oakapple. Instead of saying more on this topic, let me quote oakapple, then: ←

I guess that one of the points that I was trying to make, though, is that the shake-down process can cut two ways. Sometimes after a few months the restaurant drops items or even whole concepts solely because they weren't economically feasible, either because the ingredients and/or process turned out to be more expensive than they had realized or because the appeal of the concept or item was too specialized. Now of course sometimes this just means that they're recognizing and correcting a folly, and we're all better off. But sometimes it means that something was too much of a good deal for them to continue to offer it (and so it's not such a great thing for you, as a consumer, to have missed it). Or sometimes it means they've had to drop something that really appealed to you in particular, but the appeal of which just wasn't wide enough to justify retention on the menu (I'm thinking here of the many offal dishes, and the offal tasting menu, originally offered at Omera in New York). I guess what I advocate is what Simon_S said above. More a balancing test than a bright-line rule. Of course, I now understand that that's more what Fat Guy has been advocating all along as well.

Not yet having been to Ssam, but having been to Momofuko, I think what David Chang is doing is what Chinatown Brasserie claims to be doing: adding value to what is to us in New York an ethnic cuisine by using vastly better ingredients and more schooled cooking techniques. What Chang does isn't always better than the originals -- but it's sufficiently different to be worth the extra money if you're in the mood for what he's presenting.

Florence Fabricant reports in today's Times that Cornelius Gallagher has left Oceana to assume the position of executive chef with a catering company. http://www.nytimes.com/2006/08/30/dining/3...html?ref=dining Probably a big improvement in his lifestyle, but too bad for us.

Although I hope it doesn't mean you disappear in the end.

If you're trying to argue that I'm not really interested in food, you may be making the least persuasive argument ever to hit the screen around here! ← Ya know, I can see how the comment you responded to came out wrong. Obviously, it would be absurd to question your interest in food. I was (or meant to be) questioning whether your advice (as I then understood it) was really as applicable to the hardcore types who habituate boards like this as to the law associates or general reading public to whom I assume it was initially addressed. I wasn't sure if even you thought it was. I now understand that you do. Although I still question whether it is.

Don't think I don't understand that. That's why I was surprised at what I misunderstood to be the absolutist version of your advice.

I'm (genuinely) sorry for misunderstanding, but I thought your position was more absolute.

So that's a difference. You might wait until Thirteenth Blackbird are in their fifth season and have been covered with critical accolades, and I might go to see them in their first season, just because what they seem to be trying to do looks interesting. You know, I took your approach to the Encores! series at City Center. I waited until the third season to subscribe, when the positive critical reception had become overwhelming. But it had seemed interesting to me from the start -- and I've got to tell you, in retrospect, I'm really sorry to have missed those first two seasons. (I'll also note -- and this is perhaps a more fundamental point -- that, if you're interested in new pieces, you frequently have to go hear untested ensembles, because that's frequently the only way to hear those pieces. Sure, this is only done by people who are really interested in music. But this forum is directed at people who are really interested in food.)

And of course another point to make is that it's not like Jean Georges and Gilt were equivalent experiences. Gilt was not a replacement for Jean Georges, and Jean Georges was not a replacement for Gilt. (I'm sure there's an economics term for what I'm trying to say, but I'm too much of an economics retard to know it.) So if you missed out on Gilt because you decided to hedge your bets and go to Jean Georges (yet again) instead, it isn't like you had "the same thing but better". You had a different thing that may very well have been better (but you can't know till you've tried the new thing), but is nevertheless not a replacement for what you missed, which you have now missed forever. Now you might say, "what's so important about having eaten at Gilt?" I guess I think that if you're interested in food (and that's the audience we have here), you'd be interested in seeing what someone like Paul Liebrandt is doing. You might say it's best to wait until a place like Gilt "takes" (the way Alinea has in Chicago) -- but you've also argued cogently elsewhere why a restaurant like that might never catch on in New York. So why should we deprive ourselves of fleeting opportunities?

I see your point, but what about Gilt? Would you be just as happy to have missed it? And that's not a case of "supporting the avant-garde" out of principle. It's a case of trying something because you think you might like it and will certainly find it interesting. Is there a risk it might suck? Yes. I guess I don't adjudge avoiding that risk to be as crucial as you do. Let's look at this passage: Now, I could just as easily say, "I love Beethoven's Seventh. There is no piece of music in the world that I am ever going to love more than Beethoven's Seventh. So all I should listen to is Beethoven's Seventh." But the fact of the matter is, I frequent performances of new music that I think it will be interesting. Not because I have made a decision to "support new music" out of principle, but because I get a charge out of living in my own time, and most of this stuff disappears after its initial performances. So it's now or never. And I don't demand that each new piece be a masterpiece that I am sure will "last". To be frank, I don't even think in those terms. Posterity can take care of itself; and as for me, I don't demand a constant barrage of potential classics, but only that I be compelled or diverted for a period of time. One difference, of course, is that concert tickets can be (although not necessarily) substantially cheaper than a meal at a top-level (or top-level manque) restaurant. So you're right that a lot depends on the value you place on each dollar. But I still think that your approach, while avoiding disappointments, also deprives you of the chance to experience too many worthy things you might otherwise be forced to miss.

Funny that I posted that last post while Jenny was posting hers. With that kind of convergence, we must be right.

Also, not all restaurants take a year to hit their stride. Some -- especially ones in chef-owned empires -- open strong and deteriorate rather quickly, as management turns its attention elsewhere. For example, Jean-Georges Vongerichten's Spice Market went from inconsistent-but-interesting-and-quite-good-at-its-best to nearly inedible within about a year. I don't taste it myself (I think it's about as good as ever), but some have claimed that JGV's newest New York restaurant, Perry Street, is starting to slip as it enters its second year. Now maybe it wouldn't have been such a big deal to have missed out on Spice Market when it was good. But OTOH, I had at least one good meal there. If I'd waited a year to go, and my second meal there had been my first, I'd have had only a completely unacceptable experience there, instead of one rather good one and one completely unacceptable one. Not a big loss, but a loss.

In his EGCI Q&A on "How To Dine", Fat Guy said the following: I'm not sure I agree, and would love to know what others think. FG may be right that the best restaurants don't hit their strides for a year. But there are risks in waiting that long. FG seems to assume that if a restaurant closes (or changes) before a year has passed, you're just as well for having missed it. I may be wrong, but I think I detect a further assumption that if a restaurant closes (or changes) within its first year, that means it was unworthy of your patronage to begin with. I tentatively disagree with the first assumption, and strongly disagree with the second (if that was in fact his assumption). Here in New York, at least, the restaurant market is pretty tumultuous. A lot of worthy-seeming places don't last the year -- but that doesn't mean they were bad, or that you wouldn't have wanted to try them. They just fail to find a clientele for one reason or another. First example, Bistro du Vent under Laurent Gras. Not an earthshaking place, but good enough for its price, to my mind -- and unique enough in its category -- that I would have been sorry to have missed it. But probably because of its location, it never found its clientele, and now it's closed. For another example, I have a strong suspicion that Alex Urena's newish restaurant Urena may not last the year. It doesn't seem like it's the best place in New York, but it certainly seems like it's providing a unique style of food that's worth experiencing. Note that both those places are restaurants that serve food that you can't get elsewhere. There are no ready substitutes for either Laurent Gras's take on bistro classics, or Alex Urena's contemporary Spanish cooking. Both chefs will probably be back. But Gras will probably go back to haute cuisine. And who knows if Urena will be given as free a hand as he has given himself at this place? An even bigger risk than worthy-seeming places closing is their modifying their formats for one reason or another. The most glaring recent example here in New York is Gilt, which got rid of Chef Paul Liebrandt when his "avant-garde" cuisine failed to find a clientele at that location and price point. My meal at Gilt was not flawless, but I would have been very sorry to have missed it. And I feel sorry for those who missed out on the chance. Or take the example of THOR, where Chef Kurt Gutenbrunner left of his own accord within a year of opening, despite the restaurant's success, to avoid distraction from his core projects. Now it's being run by his sous chef, and who knows the extent to which it will deteriorate? (Even though Gutenbrunner presumably wasn't cooking there every night, he was still in charge of the menu.) I liked THOR a lot, and I would have missed out on a lot of enjoyment had I missed it. Another problem is restaurants changing their formats over the first year to something less idiosyncratic but perhaps more commercially feasible. For example, the New York restaurant Maremma. Now you might think its original "cowboy Tuscan" concept was stupid, or you might think it was interesting. But I would have liked to try it, and I'm sorry I waited now that Maremma has switched to being a normal Tuscan place. It might even be better now -- but I'm sorry to have missed out on the original quirky concept. Similarly, I understand that Scott Conant's Alto has slightly minimized the Austrian influences in its Sudtyrolian cuisine, becoming slightly more standard Italian. Again, if that's so (and my understanding might be incorrect), it might even make Alto a better restaurant in the end -- but I'm sorry I missed the chance to try what it originally was doing. I guess Fat Guy's point is that, with finite time and money, it's better to concentrate on surer bets. But I think you miss out on some rewards if you're not willing to take risks. What do you all think?

I went to Bondi Road twice in the last few days. Saturday night, with a couple of guys (one of them eGullet guy Nathan). We got there at 9 (actually I got there at about a quarter of), were told there'd be a wait till 9:30, and were seated at about 9:20. The place was a zoo. Crowded, noisy, etc. My younger dining companions didn't mind it, but I find that kind of scene a little hard to take. There were a few service glitches (as you could tell there'd be in a place that crowded), but the staff was friendly and everything ultimately went fine. The food is above-average, although not anywhere near the exalted superneighborhoodplace standards of a place like Little Owl. The fish is all swimmingly fresh-seeming despite having been flown in from the Antipodes, there are a few interesting varieties, and their frying is very clean. The prawns & garlic hotpot and the bloody oyster shooter are both strong appetizers. But I'm mainly writing this to report on my second visit, last (Monday) night. My date and I lost track of time at Milk & Honey, and wandered into Bondi Road, without realizing how late it was, at a couple of minutes to eleven. A guy who was either a server or a floor manager told us the kitchen was about to close (the bar stays open till late), but the owner immediately walked over and said he refused to turn people away and invited us to stay for supper. The bartender then recognized me from two nights before and sent over a pair of complimentary tequila shot cocktails (which were lethal, in that you could hardly even taste the alcohol). In other words, the people here are VERY NICE. Also, when the place isn't jampacked, it's very pleasant (although therese is right about the comfort issues with the seats). This is definitely not a destination restaurant of any sort, but it's much better than a place that is essentially a crowded bar that sells food has any need to be. So they get points for caring enough to put in the effort to be better than is required. I wouldn't tell you to travel to go there, but if you're there and not in the mood for Schiller's, it's a great alternative.

Gawker reports today (http://www.gawker.com/news/great-moments-i...a-la-197279.php) a restaurant review from the Indianapolis Star entitled "French Taste: Ooh La La" that said among other things: "The menu has many words in French, my undergraduate minor. But it's been a while, so I asked a waitress for a few interpretations. It's lucky I did. Otherwise I might have accidentally ordered goose liver pate as an appetizer."

Okra proves that even a green vegetable can be good, if it's slimey.