Busboy

When we lived in Denver, Potager was our favorite restaurant. Glad to hear that it continues to prosper and to serve great food. (We lived almost around the corner, too, at 7th and Marion).

That's the problem with these things. I think it is safe to say that no one country or culture has a lock on healthy cuisine or unhealthy cuisine. It's all good (and bad). I would also venture that a lot of food in restaurants of all kinds all over the world can be accused of having too many calories or too much salt or whatever. That said this so called report is not about fast food but rather restaurant food. They also say that they believe Italian and Mexican restaurant food are worse than Chinese Restaurant food. In fact, Chinese cuisine as I understand it is incredible in its scope--this is a very large and diverse nation so it would seem to me to be difficult to stereotype thee "Chinese" cuisine. Since this is dealing with chinese cuisine in some American restaurants then I wouldn't take it as a slap at what is served and eaten in China or even in all Chinese restaurants in America. The linked piece is actually one of the tamer efforts by the CSPI. Busboy--A little investigating will reveal that CSPI is about much more than just getting attention and disseminating information to consumers. They are very aggressive with lawsuits and threats. They also rely upon studies that are often dubious in methodology and results and they do not have very many scientists on board. Yes they have an agenda but they are pretty coy about it--that is what their real agenda is. ← You know, I never thought of press conferences and lawsuits as particularly coy tactics. I think the CSPI is pretty up-front: they hate everything and they're willing to sue people to get rid of it. Objectionable (depending on whose ox is being gored) but hardly secretive. I don't have the background to analyze their science, but if you have a link to someone who has done so, I would surely click it. Calling something "junk science" is such a standard tactic here in my home town of Washington, DC, that I assume that the person using the phrase has no actual evidence on their side and has resorted to name calling.

XiaoLing: I thought everyone was going Mediterranian cooking for a better way of life? To get one's knickers twisted because the CSPI cited General Tso's rather than "authentic" cuisine (in all it's rgional variations etc.) is to miss the point: for the vast majority of Americans, General Tso's is "Chinese" food. And the places that serve it aren't exactly serving up health food. Whatever the CSPI is, it's not a culinary institute, they have no real obligation to engage in legalistic definitions of what is and what isn't Chinese food. Their job is to reach people with a message that people can understand; taking offense over their use of the vernacular is bit absurd. Unlike JohnL, I don't think the CSPI is a scary group of vegetarian-led anarchists out to -- I can't figure out that they're supposed to be out to do actually, except change American diets which we probably all agree is a good thing. Apparently they have an "agenda," which makes them exactly like every other person, organization or institution on earth, so I can't get too upset about that. They do, however, have a bent for melodrama which is more than annnoying, and are probably not fun people to be trapped next to at parties, which I find to be a moral failing. Worse, though, perhaps, is that they're recycling their own material: they ripped the facade of Chinese (sorry -- Chinese-American) food back in 1993.

Couple of relevant threads here and here. The Washington Post restaurant critic, Tom Sietsema, suggests that Frasca, in Boulder, may be the best Italian restaurant between the coasts. Don't know what your budget and personal preferences are, but a few years back we said "screw it" and ponied up for one of the two tower suites at the Hotel Colorado in Glenwood Springs. We were travelling with kids, so the suite wasn't much compared to the two rooms we whould have had to rent, but I recall the cost being pretty reasonable. And sitting on that balcony, looking down the valley as the sun set, and listening to the trains go by... a pretty astounding moment. I googled the hotel ratings and the place gets a lot of 1's and 2's and a lot of 4's and 5's, so it's clearly not for everyone. Decent restaurant on the grounds, as well. On a side note, if you like sipping fine wine on hotel balconies, you may want to consider popping into one of Denver'swine shops upon arrival as, once you get into the backcountry, it can be pretty hit or miss, unless you're at the bar of a resort. Argonaut is right downtown, if you're staying there. And, because I love old hotels, I think everyone visiting Denver should have a cocktail in the lounge of the Brown Palace to just revel in its turn-of-the-century coolness; and martini in the deco "Cruise Room" of the Oxford Hotel. The two establishments are about six blocks apart on 17th Street in downtown; the Oxford being in the hip, renovated LoDo district. Oh, PS, if its still there, El Chapultapec's, the famed Mexican Jazz Club Caddy-corner from Coors Field, also in LoDo. Too loud to be a real temple of jazz, but fun as hell.

Are you calling me insane?

I intensly dislike watermelon. And all melon. And especially fruit salad with those sherbert-colored melon balls for breakfast at restaurant in the Holiday Inn.

I actually like the taste of Evian (and actually prefer Vittel, which I have never seen in the States) and DC tap water is notoriously bad. Barring the evidence of the water table in Savoy falling based on U.S. consumption of thier bottled water, I can't get too upset about the environmental consequences. On the other hand, I rarely pay for water when dining out and when I buy stuff for the house, it's those gallon jugs of Poland Springs which are cheaper and just as tasty. The odd thing about this pro environmental move is how quickly it becomes absurd if the logic is followed further. First an end to proscuitto; French cheese and all wines from beyond California's borders (check out the wine list -- not a single domestic sparkler...must we no longer drink the stars Chez Panisse?). Then the fish: was that Ahi caught in Atlantic waters? And Bronzino or Loup de mere-- the horror! What about condiments and spices? Soy sauce; pink salt; saffron, capers.... And, while we're at it, beef production is an environmental disaster between the manure in the groundwater (or turning the Chesapeake Bay into an algae-choked swamp that supports neither oysters or crabs) and the acres of Iowa farmland growing chemically-induced corn that demands petrolium resources and again leaves groundwater and soil semi-poisoned? Even sustainable cows poop and fart greenhouse gasses, and demand natual landscapes be turned over to unnatural inhabitants. Altogether, and despite Waters' and Chez Panisses good intentions and acts over many years water seems an odd place to draw a line in the sand.

Best Places: Ethnic restaurants are definitely more kid-friendly. We used to eat at places where the waitress would crowd around and coo when we came in and take the baby to play with while we ate. (Any other DCers remember Katmandu?) Two smallish Anglo kids enjoying Ethiopian food always brought the owner by the table and even now, at 14, my daughter will usually drag a smile out of the server with the way she knows her wats from her tibs. A birthday party that brought six ten-year-old (including, appropos of nothing except the previous sentence, two Ethiopian girls) got excellent service. And so on... Worst places: trendoid yuppie places staffed by sneering punk (not fahion "punks," just punk) faux-sophisto 26 year-olds. It's hard to teach your kids to polite in restaurants when your entire being wants to scream "take the stick out of your ass and bring me a beer, my kid will be fine" at the waiter. Favorite place: A bar where we went twice when I was unemployed, my girlfriend was on maternity leave, and the Museum of American Art was a free way to kill an afternoon with a tiny baby. DC Space saw so many weirdos every night night that a daylight drop-in by a couple of frazzled parents looking like a cross between urban hispters and lost tourists attracted no attention at all, save chatty conversation from the bartender (though we chose a table over the bar, so we weren't complete degenerates) about how tough it was for her to get used to her first kid, too. Bartender, by the way, last seen at Lucky Bar, and still fun.

Our family always hung out in the kitchen so it was natural for the kids to eggs or stir or whatever. For some reason they've never really decided to become serious cooks, but now that they're teenagers they both have specialties -- sausage tomatoes sauce ofr spaghetti, chocolate mousse, whatever. We let them play with the knives and the oven relatively early, maybe eight or so with the warning that sooner or later they'd cut or burn themsleves and that it hurt but they would get over it. They of course agreed and my daughter promptly burned herself her first time at the "sautee station." "I burned myself but I didn't cry," she reported. The boy was a little older when he taught himself how not to slice tomatoes and ended up with a few stitches. When your family is genetically clumsy, these things happen. We've taught basic knife skills but I foresee a few more slices (though, hopefully, not stitches) before the logic gets through.

It did not have any fruit or nuts, and it wasn't really a boule -- much closer to a largish cylinder. Reminded me of a loaf of brioche I once made in a coffee can, only on a much larger scale, and I remember wondering what it had been proofed and baked in.

I've long maintained that the children in restaurant problem is exaggerated, though I have no doubt it exists. On the other hand, I was living, dining, waiting tables (sporadically) and having kids in DC long before any of that was considered desirable by most people, so maybe there just weren't any kids around (besides mine) to be disruptive. Are you promising your restaurant owners anonymity? What you really need to do is find out where the servers hang out on Saturday nights and buy a few rounds. Then the stories will come out. Not really a tantrum story, but along the lines of "kids say the darnedest things:" Years ago, when I was a busboy and not "Busboy" I worked at a neighborhood place in Columbia, Md. whose name now escapes me. Some kid came in with his dad and there was a modest etiquette tiff centering on the kid ordering a little rudely and mispronouncing "Delmonico," asking for a "Dalmatian" steak (interesting thought). After a little half-serious, half-affable auntie lecturing from the waitress, the kid (maybe 6 or 8) said "well, if you're mean to me I'll get the gun my daddy keeps under the seat of his car." At which point the the dad laughed nervously, shut the kid up quickly and dinner proceeded apace and without further incident. (It was a simpler, we were not worried about the kid shooting up the joint, but the look on the father's face was pretty priceless).

Give me a Michelin guide. A couple of stars, or a smiling Bibendum (aka "The Michelin Man") or maybe some pocket chnage in the margin next to the restaurant. A little dog if dogs are allowed, a bunch of grapes if the wine list is distinguished. One sentence about the ambiance, another about the chef's specialties. After reading restaurant reviews faithfully for 30 years, that's about all I need, certainly all I want. Is there anything more tedious to plough through than a full-lenth restaurant review? All those adjectives. Catty comments on interior design. Reviewers who might be (and often are) pretty decent writers tying themselves into knots trying to make this review sound different from the 80 thousand other reviews they've written and succeeding far too rarely. (And this is the big dogs: try reading the smaller town or community papers where the reviewers are seemingly all either shills for the local food scene/advertisers or pseudo gourmets trying to prove how sophisto they are). The forced bon mot . The cute alliterative phrase. The revealing anecdote, usually involving a server's ignorance or snobbery, or an ill-prepared morsel of fish. The family tree of the owner and chef. The "on the one hand, on the other hand," formulaic attempts at fair and balanced reporting. And I guess I'm just stubborn, but I'm just not the type to memorize the review to the point where I'm going to sit down, weeks later, and say to myself "the pike, pork belly and potato souffle are wonderful, but the turnips soup, tournedos of beef and truite amandine suck." I say, free the Frank Brunis (or, in deference to his many critics on this board, fire him) and Tom Sietsemas of this world from their daily beats and let them write about food, and dining and big picture stuff. Something interesting. Something more interesting than: "Varietal isn’t just a restaurant. It’s an epicurean Advanced Placement exam, with a dollop of Oscar acceptance speech." (bon mot and alliteration -- a twofer!) As for me: "Two stars, sleek modern decore, specializes in fish with excellent vegetarian options," is about all I need.

I've always thought that that rule of thumb must have arisen when you could get Grand Cru Bordeaux for twenty bucks and a decent village Burgundy for ten (ie in my culinary youth). When I make duck braised in Sauternes (note to self: braise ducks in sauternes this weekend) I'm hardly going to throw a hundred dolars worth of sticky in the pot when I can get a nice Greek Muscat for eight bucks a bottle. It always seemed off to me that people who would argue the proper temperature at which a wine should be served almost down to the exact degree and who would be horrified to hear that it weas stored in an unconditioned warehouse, would not expect that boiling the wine wouldn't have a negative effect on the flavor. (If I recall correctly, one of the raps against Kosher wine is that it has to be heated, which kills of a lot of the nuance.) Nice article.

Oh, you New Yorkers arealways whining about how tough you have it. When you're not bragging about how good you have it. Anyway, that overbooking thing plays out a lot different in a smaller spot (which I gather Joe Beef is) than in a larger spot (which so many NYC places seem to be). If you're running 12 tables, overbook two and everyone shows, you have a problem. If you don't, and two tables no-show, you have a problem, as well. If you're running 40 tables, statistically speaking the overbook/no show thing is more likely to even out on any given night and you have a little more freedom to work your customers as you see fit.

Firstly, I take great pleasure in being friendly, and EXTREMELY nice, on the job. And, I can guide anyone to that place, while they maintain their own identity, pride AND passion. All they need to bring to the table is a desire to succeed at their passion, and a willingness to work at their passion, I can teach anyone the rest. And it doesn't involve any 'bland friendliness', either. That's a falsity put out by people who are too lazy to do the work involved in learning how to be nice. It doesn't come naturally to many people, we are all chained to our own personal histories, and that brings a lot of ego to the room. And egos are easily bruised. That is what makes for 'verbal fisticuffs'. Finally, A) No one on this planet would ever accuse ME of 'bland friendliness', and B) I have QUITE a "personality", like it or not, you can't disagree! I maintain that all of that matters not one whit, when you are speaking to a customer. Nothing matters but your business, and it's reputation. If you lose your temper, YOU lose. ← I'm not disagreeing. I'm just saying that it seems like there's a lot of finger-wagging going on over a single incident in which the proprietor was understandably irritated. It's nice that you're nice without being bland. But I think a restauranteur has every right to run his or her place exactly as they see fit, and if they want to give themselves the right to speak harshly to someone -- well, the market will determine whether their virtues overbalance their failings and the restaurant stays in business.

I continue to maintain my original position, that scheduling a 3-year-old for a good restaurant after a long day of cold-weather touring was a bit optimistic, and that not noticing the imminent breakdown until virtually the moment of the reservation was, as has been said of other actions, the triumph of hope over experience (and I speak as a loving dad, not one of those kidz-free folks). I can see why the proprietor of a small place that lost a table at the last minute would be pissed off, though I do not defend what was clearly an unprofessional and inhospitable response. But, as approbation is being heaped upon the head of Mr. Beef, let me ask this: Is there a history of him being a jerk? Did he make one mistake or is he driving customers away in droves with wild outbursts and sneering phone conversations? Are any of us perfect? And, more to the point, isn't it better to have a few restaurants with personality and passion -- even if it sometimes goes bad -- than to be subject to the bland friendliness that is the hallmark of the modern restaurant trade? There are a couple of restaurants here in DC where the owners/chefs are known to have "personalities." Not surprisingly, their restaurants do, as well, and I am much pleased to have them around, even if I personally had a verbal fisticuffs with one owner (at a previous establishment) and the other chef goes off on bizarre rants with local newspaper columnists and posters on other food boards. It's good that some people can go decades in the restaurant business without losing their cool. I couldn't. But the -- until a pattern of customer abuse is established -- I think the self-righteousness over a single incident is a little cloying.

My experience in small French towns is that, more often than not, the baguettes suck. I assume that they are bought pre-fabricated from a wholesaler and merely finished in the bakery. I have much better luck at the markets, where a better, regional baker will truck their wares in, though decent bread will occasionally appear off the beaten track. While we're on the subject, anyone ever stumble across "pain de vigneron?" The version I bought in Uzes (in a boulangerie whose baguettes were mediocre-at-best) was a two-foot (.6 meter) cylindrical loaf with a diameter roughly equal to a dinner plate. It was immense. The crust was thich and rustic, the mie almost creamy and bubbly, possibly sourdough, and probably a mix of white and whole wheat flour. You ordered it by the inch (or the centimeter, I suppose) or, really, by holding your thumb and forefinger the apprpriate distance from one another and thet sliced off a round that resembled nothing so much as a cross-section from a largish pine tree and sold it by the pound. Excellent stuff. Never saw it before or since.

I stumbled across a hysterically funny (and illuminating, but I am a guy) review by Sandra Tsing Loh of Joan Sewell's I'd Rather Eat Chocolate: Learning to Love My Low Libido, in a recent Atlantic Magazine that contained this passage regarding a couple of Loh's friends: "Teri and Pat have had a special Monday-night ritual. They order an extra-large cheese pizza," While they wait for their pizza, "they settle in on the couch with large twin bags of Doritos. Each chip is dipped first in cream cheese and then in salsa. Cream cheese, salsa. Cream cheese, salsa.... The Doritos are finished to the last crumb, and then, upon arrival, the pizza as well." A junk food tube-out! Not every night, but not only enjoyed, but ritualized -- inscribed as an essential, quasi-religious part of their lives and their relationship. And, by prior arrangement, guilt free! What a concept. And then I realized that my family has a similar ritual (though not, I hasten to add, as a substitute for other types of familial interaction). It used to be called "anarchy dinner" and generally involved a rented video. Then it was "House" night, since "House" is the only TV show all four of us really liked since The Simpson's jumped the shark, and now it's "Ugly Betty" night since we can't have two pathetically TV-oriented meals in the same week and "House" is on late ebnough to actually cook a real meal. I pick up the pizzas, which must be from Vace and re-crisped on the pizza stone, and then the four of us do our own special add-ons -- from garlic powder to truffle oil -- and head downstairs, crowding onto the futon to watch that spunky Queeens Latina save that poor little rich boy's butt one more time. (Then I hustle my daughter upstairs before greys Anatomy comes on!). And, as with Teri and Pat, it all comes guilt-free. (Though it is indeed the frisson of guilt which liftes the experience from good to great. Also, if there's some especially bitchy dialogue). Anybody else out there ritually abuse the concept a "proper" [family or otherwise] meal like this, just for the cheap thrill of it?

All though the phrase "vintage wine" is sometimes used to denote a wine of superior quality or one that is worth aging, rather than ready to drink right now (Frank Sinatra: "Now the days grow short/I'm in the autumn of my years/And I think of my life as vintage wine/from fine old kegs...it was a very good year") the vintage is just the year in which the grapes were harvested and most still table wines. "Vintage" does have a different connotation for true Champagnes and Ports, as Champagne makers and porters release "vintage" champagnes or ports only in what they consider exceptional years. From a New York Sun article on Dom Perignon's winemaker: "Vintage Champagne is made from wines produced in a single year exclusively, while a majority of Champagnes are non-vintage and consist of a blend of wines from different years. Dom Perignon is vintage Champagne exclusively, and made no more than six times every decade." And, from Wikipedia: "Although it accounts for only about two percent of production, vintage port is the flagship wine of all Portugal. Vintage port is made entirely from the grapes of a declared vintage year. Not every year is declared a vintage in the Douro; only those when conditions are favourable to the production of a fine and lasting wine. The decision on whether or not to declare a vintage is made in the spring of the second year following the harvest. The decision to declare a vintage is made by each individual port house, often referred to as a 'shipper'. The port industry is one where reputations are hard won and easily lost, so the decision is never taken lightly. During periods of recession and war, potential 'declarations' have sometimes been missed for economic reasons. In recent years, some shippers have adopted the 'chateau' principle for declarations, declaring all but the worst years. More conventional shippers will declare, on average, about three times a decade."

Not to excuse the gentleman on the phone but it's almost a guarantee that at a popular restaurant on a busy night he'd had more than a couple "I know it's the last minute but have you had any cancellations?" calls. Turning down potential paying customers, only to lose a table at the last minute in (it appears) a small place has to hurt. Not that yelling is an appropriate response. I'm a little in awe of the posters who've gone years and decades without losing their temper, and who have the perfect restaurant business plan -- the one where you're able to manage everything from the space you rent to the how the weather affects your mid-week walk-in revenue -- so that losing revenue on a big night doesn't hurt. Being imperfect myself, however, I'm not inclined to run the guy out of town for the occasional outburst -- especially when he has a right to be more than a little pissed.

I believe Ridge is located in or near Santa Cruz, if you're in the mood to get your Zin on, and I have been to the always-interesting Bonny Doon just outside of town. If nothing else it's worth stopping by just to pick up the poster that accompanied "Grenache Village," a spectacularly viniferous variation on Ginzberg's "Howl" illustrated, of course, by Ralph Steadman. Wine's pretty good, too.

I heard that men make a fetish of it, trying to reduce a soulful art to an ostentatious science.

Always.

I end up feeling rushed, but not rushed. In other words, I feel that I haven't savored dinner as I might have liked to, but I don't feel that they're making a special effort to push out the door. Of course, this happens in other types of restaurants in what is probably a far more calculated fashion, but I'm an old pro at putting the brakes on in Western places. I just curious about the etiquette in Asian restaurants nad curious to see if this was SOP. (Next question: how to eat those crabs.)

I think you will definitely enjoy it. We're headed there pretty soon ourselves. ← Robert40: Note, if you haven't already, they they are now all-tasting menu, all the time, which is great, just don't figure on a dinner-and-a-movie night out. (Although, on a nice night, living it up at Komi for about three hours and then cabbing over to the monuments for a self-propelled night tour is a pretty good way to walk off dinner.)