Busboy

More than the reviews of the individual restaurants, I thought the interesting part of the article was was Richman's thesis that Las Vegas -- in becoming a faux fine-dining destination in which (absentee, highly paid) brand name chefs; architectural overkill; brutally expensive place settings; and 90-minute 5-course meals were the rule -- was screwing up the restaurant scene elsewhere. By creating strip-mall four-star spots, Las Vegas sends the message to big spenders (who mught be persuaded to support good restaurants outside of Vegas) were being taught that an 8-story wine atrium with the name of a famous chef in neon stuck on it was "class," as opposed to excellent restaurants that succeeed merely on the quality of their cooking and their service. I haven't eaten at the big name Vegas spots (save Le Cirque a couple years back), but it's easy to look at the restaurant scened there with a jaundiced eye. I'm curious to hear what others think.

Old Ebbitt fills many holes in our lives -- burgers after the symphony, brunches after First Communion, a good martini any old time. Tickets for their annual Oyster Riot went on sale today; if anyone's interested, they sell out fast. I haven't been (yet, got my tix for this year this AM) but I understand it's all the bivalves you can eat, all the white wine and beer you can swill. I have no love for chains (thouhg I do have a soft spot for Clyde's which counts OE as part of their local mini-empire) but Clyde's deserves at least a modest brass plaque for rescuing the bar and the animal heads from the old Old Ebbitt Grill, a smaller, smokier and divier place around the corner from the present location in a building that has since been torn down.

GQ's Alan Richman, who I very much like, took the time this month to take apart the celebrity-chef-driven Vegas dining scene on a philosphical and culinary level. I was pleased, in that it confirmed all my baseless prejudices, and it means that I never have to back there again. An interesting read for you next airplane ride. THE GOOD: Restaurant Guy Savoy: "Put a gun to my head -- not all thact common in Vegas any more -- and I'd be tempted to call Vegas the better of two [the other at Guy Savoy in Paris] superlative meals." Aureole Daniel Boulud Brasserie: "I'm not sure the radical concept of simple food overseen by a celebrated chef at a reasonable price [$48 lunch special] can catch on in Vegas." Bartolotta Ristorante de Mare THE OK Craftsteak: "a steakhouse imitating a restaurant imitating a steakhouse...Each dish was well prepared except the Caesar Salad, terrible in more ways I can list...The wine list is badly overpriced, but nobody cares." L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon Spago Bouchon: "The problem with Bouchon is that a thousand other places run by chefs not named Thomas Keller are just as good." Michael Mina Emeril's New Orleans Fish House THE LOUSY Alex: "I asked for a $131 Burgundy. He shook his head and pointed out a $180 Burgundy. I countered with a $114 Burgundy. No, only the $180 bottle would do. Nearing defeat, I suggested the $90 wine pairing. No, the $180 bottle. Finally we agreed on soemthing red for $100." Mix in Las Vegas: "I hated the hostess...I hated my table...I hated the butter with peanuts on it...I hated the sommelier...I hated the view...This place isn't merely Ducasse's worst idea. It may be the worst idea ever."

This sounds dubious to me, especially given that what I'm usually drinking is water, not the most difficult to digest of substances. And, indeed, the cravings for cold drinks are generally accompanied by signs that my body is, far from worried about getting back UP to temperature, in fact eager for whatever help in can get in cooling down -- sweat glands in overdrive, for example, or delirious visions of vacationing in Lapland.

I was a little surprised not to see this mentioned in the many previous posts, but smooshing a good set of frites through the Bernaise sauce from your steak is a pretty good way to spend an evening. Especially my Bernaise, with capers and pickles chopped in.

I've been reading through some past restaurant reviews in the Indianapolis Star (a perk of having university connections and a research librarian husband ) and, yes, almost all of them use the headings. But the other reviews seem to be from more food-experienced people. That being said, the articles feel more like reports than reviews: I went (once) with a couple of friends and this is what it was like which, I would guess, is the newspaper's editorial stance. Personally, I've got no problem with that. I don't think I can paste in any entire reviews (legal issues?), but here are a few bits from one in particular: Foodie-licious - New Broad Ripp * * * * ← Are the reviews by a variety of different writers?

I broke down and paid to read it. My favorite line: "Next Time: I would be braver and try a fish entree." That, and the fact that she ordered beef medium well, tells me that she is not a food writer and has no pretensions of being one. I have a question: given the somewhat stilted format of the review -- rather than being written like a traditional review, it has a variety of headings ("The Service" "The Price" "Next Time") each winning its own few sentances beneath -- I wonder if the premise of the review is to send "regular people" to the restaurants in order to show a more populist view. Or, did she get a plum (ha ha) assignment for doing good work elsewhere, while the regular reviewer was on vacation? I tried to find the menu on line but could not. I'm still wondering if it read "foie gras" or "pate foie d'oie," which is a more obscure phrase (I was a waiter in a French restaurant: everyone knows "pate;" "foie gras" and "canard" are more obscure; and only French people know what "oie" is. Finally, has anyone considered e-mailing this woman to get her side of the story? As long as journalistic principles are being discussed, giving the other person an opportunity to respond seems just.

All bird livers aside, yes Chicago is on another planet from the rest of Ilinois and definitely from all of Indiana. ← Keep in mind that a pate can be made of goose liver, and not contain a gram of foie gras. Long as we're getting uppity on this woman's review, we could keep our own jargon straight -- "foie" and "foie gras" are two different items.

No IHOPS downtown that I know of, but the American City Diner isn't too far off. I've never actually eaten there, though. You've got a pretty tall order to fill, especially given the price point. I could kill myself for suggesting this, but Bucco de Beppo, a mediocre chain Italian place on Connecticut Avenue near the Hilton (south of Cleveland Park) does busloads of tourists, generally early in the evening, you might be able to work a deal with them. How are you travelling? Some very good ethnic just across the District Line in Silver Spring, check this thread. Also check out Washingtonian's list. Looking it over I'm thinking that Zorba's would be a fun place for out-of-towners -- you line up and order your own stuff, but you get to eat it outside in a great downtown setting. Wine -- how young are they? -- is dirt cheap and the people watching is great. Have you considered food court options? Yes, I know, but if you're seeing any of the sites you can just pop in and everyone can find SOMEthing they can choke down. There's one in Union Station near the Capitol, one in The Old Post Office and Press Club building near the White House.

It's a couple of weeks off (OK, six), but you might try the St. Mary's County Oyster Festival in mid-October for fired or raw. If you get into DC, Johnny's Half Shell (seafood joint) and Firefly (yuppie joint) are both well-regarded for their oysters, fried and otherwise.

I am quite comfortable asserting that phosphates have nothing to do with it, as I've noticed it when I was brining at home, sans phosphates, and at several locally cherished restaurants which I would never accuse of adding insidious substances to their birds. I am willing to entertain a theory, however, and offer one of my own in return. The explanations of brining's effects that I have read are different from yours -- it's not that the proteins retain more water when they are cooked, so much that as it's that the cells actually absorb more liquid in the first place, thus transforming them (to my taste) into millions of little over-inflated balloons which, cumulatively, give the bird a rubbery feel. Just for fun, here's a look at the science of brining that quasi-supports my theory. ETA another look at brining that supports the overstuffed balloon theory of poultry texture. Note the distended cell wall in the second graphic, which is certainly based entirely on scientific observations and not on some graphic designer's fevered imagination.

It's not the taste I object to so much as the texture. Regardless of whether or not it is sugared, spiced or whatever, brining changes the cell structure in poultry (which is why brining is different from marinating or pre-salting) in ways that give the bird what I can only describe as an unfortunate texture which strikes me as uncommonly similar to that of a child's red rubber ball.

Now that's something I don't recall ever reading on the eG Forums! ← A bit tongue in cheek there.

I like to drink too much and then wander into used bookstores -- reason enough to pick up yet another couple of cookbooks. My wife does, too. Also, we have wayyyyy to much room in the kitchen.

We just got back from three weeks in the south and, except for breakfasts at the bar-tabac, were surprised how few Frenchmen we saw lighting up. I'd almost expect cigarettes to be more of a problem (if you consider them a problem) here in Washington, D.C. than in France.

I'm not sure of the exact timing, but early fall is when the Cretans make their raki for the year. Raki is similar to grappa, distilled from what's left after the grapes are pressed for wine. Sometimes it's flavored -- a lot of the raki that makes it to the U.S. anise-flavored, the Cretans and other Greeks use anise, but other flavors as well, especially honey -- sometimes it's just bottled as straight rotgut. Anyway, if you get there at the right time, it's apparently like one huge backcountry block party, a probably well worth additional nosing around to see if there is any part of it you can crash.

As for wanting an icy Coke, well, here I have to say that the other American peculiarity is a taste for something made from diluted icky-sweet syrup to sip while eating Salade Nicoise or Pizza Margherita. Italians have their iced teas flavored with a cloyingly sweet peach juice, but these cold drinks are served on their own. The difference between the glass of cold water and the one with ice cubes is technological. When you look at the way this thread is unfolding, don't you detect a bit of the Kitchen Debate in the air? Or Ronald Reagan during his days as spokesman for General Electric? Does the habit of putting ice cubes in our drinks stem from a Post-WWII campaign to promote the glory of the nation as reflected in the way technological progress serves the American Home? In a belief in the superiority and democratic accessibility of our refrigerators and the nifty, modern ice cube tray? (N.B. Please trust the ironic tone. This is a call for more cultural history, not a challenge.) ← America's taste for soft drink and iced tea with meals surely has legitimate roots in our somewhat arms-length relationship with alcohol. Until lately, only a tiny fraction of American homes poured wine or even beer at dinner, the drinks that were served gained little nuance from being less-chilled. We Yanks do love our appliances, and we're much more inclined to change our environment than adapt to it (that's how most of us got here -- we have malcontented DVA). But any appliance-oriented discussion should also take into account more mundane factors such as the fact that the U.S. is much hotter than most of Europe: New York City, for example, is as hot as Rome, hotter than Nice and significantly hotter than Paris; try comparing LA and London, or Moscow and Miami on this website. I wonder what the urban/rural population breakdown in, say, 1960, between the U.S. and Europe.. When I think of ice and air conditioning, I think of the difference between living stacked up in an apartment building and living in a house or one of those well-adapted "European Brownstones"* that open up for the evening breeze. *A small-town dwelling, or in an older section of a major city: two or three stories tall, thick stone walls, tile roof. Enter a dark, cool, cave-like loggia. Find two or maybe three dwellings per story, characterized by high ceilings and a good number of shuttered windows on two or three sides, allowing for a nice cross breeze. Is there a technical term for these besides "old apartment houses?"

If you go to The Musee D'Orsay (and you should) there is a lot nearby for food. Amongst others Le Comptoir is not far. It is also a great area for chocolates, pastries and Marie-Anne Cantin, a lovely cheese shop, is not far if walking towards the Eiffel Tower. It was just about one year ago that I was last there. I miss it and envy you. ← If you follow Doc's advice and head towards Marie Cantin, there is an excellent boulangerie roughly between the Museum and the cheese shop, Poujauran, 20 rue Jean-Nicot. If you have a warm day/evening and are considering a picnic in the Orsay/Tour Eifel neighborhood (the 7th) you might consider Poujouran, M-C and the Rue Cler Market which may not be Paris' best (if I know about it, it must be "discovered") but which is around the corner from the two shops and not far from either the Tour or the Musee. The Cafe du Marche on the corner makes a fine watering hole, as well.

There are many sources of bad bread in Paris. A good guide will be a great help.

It's going gradually out of date (though you can get it at the remaindered price on Amazon, so it's likely still worth the investment), but a great supplement to RaisaB's aimless wandering strategy -- which I heartily endorse -- is Patricia Well's "Food Lovers Guide to Paris." Its great advantage, to me, was its arrangement by arrondissment, so if you found yourself feeling a little peckish in the 9th, you could pick put anything from ice cream parlors to fine dining restaurants to satisfy your cravings. Plus, it's pretty complete, including eating establishments at all levels, specialty shops (pastry shops, cheesemongers etc.), cookbook stores and kitchen supply shops. Well worth a look.

Last trip to Southern Md. for the year last weekend. Sonny's was inconsistent, I like JB's more and more, the ribs but especially the pulled pork.

Ahh, but by the time we had that wonderful lunch, the cooler was a lost cause and, more important the mistral had blown away the canicule, life was good and we had no need to haul off hunks off ice. Besides, even if we gripe every now and again - heat will do that to us -- we do go to France to be in France and if ice comes in bowls a cube at a time; coffee comes in thimbles; and buildings come without elevators, we are happy to partake in the exotic customs of our Gallic friends. On the restaurant seating, one thing that occurred to us was that in Nimes we were dining in a "real" city, full of attorneys and accountants and whomever out on business lunch. When we had eaten at a similar restaurant in St. Remy (Alain Assaud), which is more of a tourist town, the dress was very casual, even we were there for dinner, rather than lunch.

A nearly universal misconception. They [we] drink draught ale cellar temperature, which is in the low middle fifties fahrenheit.Mass-produced [as opposed to artisanal] American beer, on the other hand, should be drunk as cold as possible, short of freezing it into a popsicle, so as not to be able to taste it. EDIT: My apologies to those who have already made this correction; I hadn't finished reading the thread. I've gradually come to the conclusion that we Americans are less prepared than the rest of the world to accept our environment as it comes. Our buildings are too cold in summer, too hot in winter; that's partly why, with five percent of the earth's population, we exhaust close to a quarter of its resources. Every slight environmental discomfort is over-corrected, whether it be the temperature of our bodies (both internal and external), the mode and speed of our travel, the effort of adjusting our TVs, or the inconvenience of preparing our own food, let alone walking to the market to buy it. In the unequal battle with boredom, sensations are boosted to their maximum: drinks must be bitingly cold, chilis searingly hot, music deafeningly loud. I came to Europe for the gentle life--with a bit of searching, it's still available. ← Words easily spoken by one who lives in a country where the hottest July day ever recorded was a mere 36.5 degrees (97.7). Where I hail from -- and where I ended up going on vacation -- we consider that sweater weather. A related question for the French and francophiles on board: We were in Nimes on what I believe was the hottest day of our vacation, well into the 40s, and after a morning scrambling around the Pont du Gard we changes into decent clothes as best we could in the car and headed into town for lunch at Michelin Bib Gourmand Aux Plaisirs des Halles. I was in shorts, but nice shorts, and a proper linen shirt and leather sandals,wife and daughter similarly, if not slightly better clad. Upon arrival, we were hustled through the air-conditioned dining room rapidly enough (given that French A/C tends to be subtle) that we didn't notice that it was air conditioned, and seated on the jungle-like terrace. At first we thought that we'd been shunted to a special hell for ill-dressed tourists, but then another table was seated next to us, one in which both members of the couple were on a cheek-kissing basis with the chef and la patronne, even though they were dressed more casually than we. So we thought maybe we were just being sent to the "shorts" section. Finally, it occurred to us that maybe, even on the hottest days,French rstauranteurs assume that you prefer the terrace, unless you ask otherwise. Any thoughts?

Diet Coke is the nectar of the gods (she says, downing the last of the can she started with lunch)! My thought was that electricity (and therefore, freezing things) is more expensive in Europe than it is here, hence the ice rationing. ← What, are you kidding? The French get something like 80% of their electricity from nuclear power. These days they can make ice at a fraction of the price of we fossile-fuel addicted Americans. I am half-convinced that they French actually have warehouses of the stuff, but you have ask for it in a particular way that -- like the subjunctive -- is almost impossible to master if you are not a native French Speaker. Three years ago, during the killer canicule of 2003, a friend of mine came back from France with what she considered an astounding tale of triumph. She had answered a bartender's rebuff of her request for extra ice ("this is France. In France you get one ice cube in your pastis") with "this is France, it's not supposed to be 43 degrees either," and won an extra cube for her 51.

Unless you're getting specialty bread and better wine that a picnic strictly demands, you might even be able to do a little better than that. I also like to go to the traiteurs when picnicing, to stock up on slightly more elaborate fare. Keep your eyes open for them , some of them serve excellent prepared food -- they remind me of those delis in NYC where everyone picks up sushi and salad on the way home from work (except that they have, say eggs in aspic rather than spring rolls). Don't forget pastries and pate! Just because you're in Paris is no reason not to have a well-balanced diet.