Steve Plotnicki

Cabrales-Regardless of how good that chicken still might be, we are talking about what used to be considered the greatest classic casual restaurant in France. Compared to that description, you'd have to admit that the place has fallen a long distance. And if you think about it, there is no reason for it. They cook simple food there. How do you screw up pan sauteed lamb chops and a potato gratin? Yet they have seemed to do exactly that.

Bux-The only reason I know it's potatoes is because of my sensitivity to wheat. So if I'm served anything that might include bread as a binder I ask in advance. I learned the hard way by eating taramosalata and having headaches for the next two days after. Romesco sauce in Catalonia is also tricky. Sometimes the binder is torn bread and sometimes chopped almonds. Anyway as to Rouille, I have found that potato is the standard binder they use in Provence. So far, every top restaurant I've asked uses it. Only the cheap places use bread. And when I'm in a good place and ask if they use bread, they make a face like they are saying give me a break. If you think about it it makes sense. For a bouillabaisse they steam up lots of potatoes. While making the rouille, it's easy to grab one and work it into the mayonaisse. Robert-Thanks. I do love that place and I guess it shows. It's a shame there aren't more places like it. Every day they stumble from their glory like La Mere Brazier. I mean how difficult is it to roast a chicken and serve a gratin? Yet the places in France that still do a great job are becoming fewer and fewer. That's why Loulou, and Eric keeping up the tradition is so special.

I’ve been eating at Loulou since 1985. It was the Gault Millau review back then that made my eyes light up. They said that Loulou had a magic grill or something to that effect. And then in the Courvoisier Guide to the “Best” in the world, Andrew Lloyd Weber raved about the place. I just had to go. Well Loulou turned out to be better than I ever imagined. And since the time of my first visit, I must have eaten a few dozen meals there. And as I sit here, I can’t think of a bad one. Sure there were ones that were less good, but most of my meals there have been great. The restaurant sits on a highly commercial strip of the Bord de la Mer (coast road,) 7 km east of the Nice airport. It's an easy place to miss. Since the Bord de la Mer is a fast road, one can easily whiz by it as it sits on a corner just one block after the mini-tunnel emerges. The place itself is fairly non-descript. Not much different looking than dozens of places on the coast. Originally it was called La Reserve "Chez Loulou" but now it has been reversed with a large Loulou sign and the subname "La Reserve" printed on the awnings over the windows. Some white tablecloths, and a few modern light fixtures are the giveaway that what's in store is going to be a more refined experience than the you usually find on that strip of the coast. When I started eating there, Loulou Bertho was a man who appeared to be in his late 40’s, early 50’s. Every night he would man the grill at the front of the restaurant. You can’t miss the grill. When you walk in the front door it’s immediately to your right. Loulou would always be there doing the cooking. He was sort of half cook, half greeter. The grill itself is a long narrow brass contraption with thick grating. It’s not like any other grill I’ve ever seen and that suited Loulou well. You see Loulou wasn’t exactly like any other guy. Loulou knew how to do things just one way, his way. Here he was, running one of the more successful restaurants on the coast and he was closed on Saturdays and Sundays, the busiest night and the busiest lunchtime of the week. Someone with greater aspirations might have shut Sunday dinner and all day Monday. That’s when the tourists go home. But Loulou marched to his own drummer and his closing idiosyncracies even extended to his being closed for July and August. That’s right, during the two busiest months of the year, the months that the entire restaurant industry on the Cote D’Azur depended on to make enough money to last them the year, Loulou’s doors were shuttered. Dependng on one’s point of view, he was either a man of great integrity, or a little crazy. Having had a number of conversations with him, it was probably 80% the former, 20 % the latter. Just my kind of guy. Then one day I arrived for dinner and Loulou wasn’t anywhere to be found. Thinking he took the night off, or maybe ill, I just ate my meal and figured he would be there the next time. Then on my next visit he was still missing. This time I asked my waiter “Ou est Loulou?” and he told me that Loulou was no longer at the restaurant. He and his brothers had bought the place from him. And then I realized that the three bothers, Le Freres Campo, who had started working there about a year and a half earlier weren’t just helpers. Loulou had so many personal changes, sort of an oddity in France, that I figured this was just another crew. But what was really going on was the time-honored tradition of “trying a place out” before a place changed hands. Like the way people used to sell corner luncheonettes in Brooklyn. Later that week, I asked Josy Bandecchi, the wonderful hostess at Josy Jo in Haut-des-Cagnes, a terrific restaurant in its own right, and who also happens to be the sister of Loulou’s wife what happened to him. “Loulou est fou” she said half laughing and half showing disgust. Then she started telling us something in French that we couldn’t quite understand but after a while we figured out she was telling us he had gone fishing. It seems Loulou wasn’t working, and that was a bit scandalous in the Bertho/Bandecchi family. Then a few months later, I read that Loulou was consulting some new seafood restaurant in Paris, and that he was flying there every week. And that was the last I had heard of him other than each year when I visited Josy Jo, asking Josy how he was. For some reason, she never remembered I knew him back in the day and each time I asked her she would be surprised by the question. Now usually this is the end of the story. It’s so typical in France, or anywhere for that matter. A classic restaurant, typical of the best a region can offer changes hands and deteriorates into a shell of its former self. How often we have all seen that happen. But this happens to be a story with a happy ending. Fortunately for us, Loulou’s diligence extended beyond going to the market every morning to buy the best fish. He made sure that his replacement would continue what he had started. Eric Campo can’t be more than 35 years old. But he knows his way around that funny brass grill like he’s been cooking on it for 50 years. He’s someone with a glint in his eye, a real sparkle. Especially when you ask him if he wants to go to the U.S. (he’s never been) and he tells you he wants to go to Hollywood and be a movie star, “comme Robert DeNiro.” He runs the restaurant with his two brothers. His oldest brother who could be about 45 acts as his assistant chef. And the middle Campo brother who runs the dining room and takes care of the wine list must be about 40. Like Loulou, he is always standing at the grill ready to greet you, beaming a smile of recognition while wiping his hand on his apron so he can shake yours. Eric’s ability to pick ingredients is impeccable. If he arrives at your table and tells you he has “belle sole” do not hesitate. Or if he happens to be holding a plate with some dorade or chapon on it, just go with the program. One time he appeared at my table with a sea bass that must have been more than 2 feet long. He was holding it in his hands, without a plate. The way one might be holding a live snake. “La” he said as he presented it to us. At first we were a bit taken aback by its size. I asked him if it was going to be good and he began banging his right fist on his heart as if to say trust me. And since there were only two of us who wanted fish, I asked him how he expected us to eat something that large. “No problem” he told us, “I give you from here to here, drawing two imaginary lines across the fish which signified a section of the fish that was about a quarter of its length, from the middle of the fish to three quarters of the way up. The best chunk of it. About an hour later, long after our appetizers were gone, our waiter appeared with two plates filled with abundant portions of beautifully white flesh, slightly doused with virgin olive oil and sprinkled with gros sel. The flesh so firm, so white and snowy, with the consistency of a good pudding was clearly the best poisson I ever ate. And while the place is famous for its fish, some terrific grilled cuts of meat lay hiding on the menu. The Cote de Boeuf of Simmenthal Beef, supplied by the famous Bucherie Marbeuf in Paris is a cut to be reckoned with. One time we were a party of four and we all wanted steak. We told Eric and he disappeared into the kitchen. About 10 minutes later he appeared with a Prime Rib that must have been a good 4 inches thick. After getting the requisite oohs and ahs from our table, he cooked the thing for near an hour, cooking it on all six sides. We sat there amazed when he had it cooking the long way, on its end, tail up. Eric uses thick chunks of natural wood charcoal. And the grilltop sits high above the coals, heat being captured in the thick slats. What you end up with is a perfectly cooked dish, only slightly charred because the coals are so low compared to the location of the grill top which keeps it moist. Yet it has an intense taste of being cooked on a grill over wood. Now who do you think owns the patent on that thing? The net result of all of this is that there is hardly an occasion where I am on the Cote D’Azur that I don’t pay Eric and his freres a visit. Fortunately, there are a number of trade shows each year that I attend there. And that is how I ended up at Loulou for dinner this past Friday evening with fellow eGulleter Robert Brown and his wife Susan who to my good fortune, were spending 10 days at the lovely house they own in Nice. When we arrived, the place seemed much busier than usual. In fact there was a small white “Complet” sign hanging on the inside of the front door. In all my visits there, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sign before. We wondered why the place was so busy on a Friday in mid April. The one thing you can be assured of at Loulou is that the menu never changes. The only thing that’s different is which fish happen to be fresh that day. But this wasn’t going to be a fish night. We were on a mission for meat. It seems that Robert, even though he had dined at Loulou a number of times had never tried the meat there. It was something we were intent on correcting. But I knew that our mission was not without risk. The thing about meat at Loulou is that the cote de boeuf isn’t always available because they run out. But to our good fortune, when we placed the order the waiter sort of went into a French rapture that we understood to be saying “boy is the Cote de Boeuf good tonight.” Some things simply transcend language. Well save to say our meal was superb. Susan and Robert both enjoyed their appetizers of Fresh Anchovys that were lightly fried and a half dozen fresh oysters (Fin de Claires Robert?) Susan especially made lots of small satisfactory sounds while telling us on at least 3 or 4 occasions how good the sardines were. And my Soupe de Poisson was just superb (after an initial incident where it had to go back to the kitchen for reheating,) served with a terrific Rouille with a slightly gummy consistency that comes from the fact that Eric uses potatoes as a binder. And it’s a copious portion you get as well. The turreen they brought me had enough soup in it for three full bowls, which got Robert a bonus course as the soup was so rich I could only eat two. As Susan wanted to eat light, she had the Steamed Crevettes for a main. I didn’t really pay much attention to them. But Robert and I split a Cote de Boeuf that I can only describe one way. Close to perfect. When we start talking beef at Loulou, a few issues come into play. One, there’s the effect that magic grill has on the way the meat cooks. Two, the whole issue of French beef versus American beef comes into the picture as well. Second issue first. I don’t think I was ever served a piece of meat in France that was anywhere as well marbleized as what we get here in the U.S. I think even their best cuts, even when raised perfectly are simply leaner. I think that in order to raise beef in France the farmers have adopted a different strategy than their American counterparts. And I say this with no specific knowledge about how one might go about raising cattle. I say this from my gut, both literally and figuratively. Seems to me that what makes U.S. beef so good are long fibers in the meat that are slightly chewy. “Beefy” seems to be the term most often used to describe them. Those fibers are surrounded by strands of creamy fat. And if you get a cut of meat with the right ratio of meat to fat, and the fat is distributed amongst the meat evenly, you get yourself the perfect American steak. A French steak on the other hand will never have the benefit of that type of marbling. So it seems to me that the people who raise cattle there have adopted a different strategy. They try to make less fibrous meat, so even with a smaller ratio of fat to meat they achieve tenderness. I think that describes our fine cut of Simmenthal beef that we had at Loulou Friday night. We were both served about a half dozen slices of steak that were deadly rare with my plate having the bone on it. The surface of the meat was slightly charred, cooked to maybe a half inch down from the surface on each side. But a bite found an intensely smoky and grilled taste. It can only be that magic grill that gets so much grill flavor proportionate to the amount of char the steak has. The center was slightly warm, but basically cool. And the texture was quite another thing. To say that it was tender in a foie gras like way is a cliché that is used too often to describe a steak’s tenderness, as in the creaminess one finds from the quality of the marbleized fat. But I use it here to describe the softness of the meat, which still had a beefy quality from the small fibers running through it. It was really excellent, and a completely different dining experience than the excellent Cote de Boeuf of Aberdeen beef I ate at La Trompette in Chiswick just 2 nights before. Another thing that is unique to Loulou is this sort of steamer/pressure cooker contraption that sits just to the left of the grill. I’ve been watching them use it for years and I still can’t figure out what it is. They cook a number of different things in it. For an appetizer, they steam some Supions (local baby squid) with some olive oil, garlic and herbs. The steamer/pressure cooker brings out the natural broth of the supions like no other preparation I can think of could. And each main course comes with potatoes that have been cooked in that thing. The potatoes become so soft and moist and so yellow in color but still holding their shape. And the outside of each potato sort of browns a little at the edge. Some of the edges are so brown, a small crust forms and it separates from the rest of the potato like cheese that is broiled would do when a crust is formed. Each diner gets a small plate of those exquisite potatoes with a little olive oil and gros sel sprinkled on them. They are creamy and sufficiently starchy with a little bit of crunch added in from the browning. Yum. And for dessert, Eric makes some individual fruit tarts in the steamer, which makes for perfectly softened fruit served with a scoop of ice cream. At the end of the night Eric came to visit our table. He felt comfortable enough to grab a glass from the next table and pour the remainder of our bottle of Faively Mercury into the glass. We chatted about how business has been (bon) and a little about his nine year old son. I prodded him about coming to the U.S. to pay us a visit. But he seemed in no rush to leave the coast, which isn’t a bad thing even though it’s selfish of me to say that. I don’t want him getting any funny ideas, like staying in Hollywood and trying to become a movie star like his hero “Bobby.” Where else am I going to get is such a delicious and authentic meal, sans pretension? The answer is, much to my disappointment, nobody. You see we really do have a lot to thank Loulou for. Even if Josy still doesn’t know it.

Friedel-I have been too busy writing a thesis on Loulou (which I hope to post soon) so I haven't had time to respond here. First of all, I've been buying the Guide Gantie for years. In fact I picked up a copy of the 2001 guide in nice this past weekend in Nice. I wish the 2002 was out but, for some reason they release it late in the year. As for Bacon, I thought lunch was fine. My foie gras was delicious, and my St. Pierre en papillote was good too, if a bit overcooked. Still, as much as I can say that I like Bacon, I also think that in many ways it is the most overrated restaurant on the coast, if not one of the most overrated in France. And this extends to their bouillabaisse as well. I tasted the broth and it was fine and rich. But it was missing the real oomph that I like in my bouiilabaisse. I'll take Loulou any day of the week over Bacon.

Roger-All you have done is to point out that you got a bad table at Le Bernadin, and the reviewer got a good one. I fail to see how you have proven that the reason was the reviewer was recognized. From about 1982-1992 or so, my wife and I celebrated our anniversary at the old Le Cirque on 65th Street. We were married at the end of August, and since we typically spend our weekends in the Hamptons, we would usually celebrate the week leading into Labor Day weekend. Each year the table we were given was sort of pot luck. It would range from the next best group of tables (the best group was along the far wall,) to the worst tables near the bar. Strictly a function of whomever else was there that night. But one year we went on the Saturday night of Labor Day weekend because we had a wedding to go to on Sunday night. The whole town was desserted. When we got to Le Cirque, they led us to the absolute best table in the restaurant. Against the back wall, smack in the middle. my wife and I side by side. I looked around the restaurant and forvgive me for saying this but, everyone else looked like they come from, no worse than Jersey , Wyoming. All the hip people were out of town. Now why couldn't that have happened to whomever was reviewing Bernadin? Why do you have to draw the conclusion it was because they were recognized? I agree with Fat Guy. I think the entire anonymity issue is a red herring. It's used by publications to make them appear to credible, which in turn sells papers. The public believes that if a brick wall exists between the restaurant and a reviewer, it makes for better reviews. And while it's possible that is the case, it doesn't have to be the case and you clearly haven't offered any evidence that it is absolutely the case. And like Steve says, for it to be the case, it depends on the assumption that restaurants are inherently dishonest which I happen to disagree with. I think they are basically honest. I think that the issue of restaurants cheating is even less likely in todays chef driven environment. I mean people's egos and reputations are on the line. Bad press for any reason can kill a chef's reputation. It isn't worth taking the chance you are describing because if you are exposed just once, it's curtains.

John-You sort of said the same thing I said, only slightly different. Sometimes, money is the best judge of success, other times it isn't. In my experience, opinions are often impassioned when one can point at cost not being relative to quality. Your point about a 3 star restaurant being an adult experience actually goes to that point. The experience is both hard to understand, and pay for. Tony-The reason that critics in Britain don't wield power is they don't use a numerical system . Don't you realize the forcing people to read reviews is elitist? Fat Guy-I think restaurants should give free meals to reviewers. Especially that reviewer Plotnicki. McShane-So far in this thread, despite all the things that could go wrong from a reviewer being recognized, has there been a single story of a restaurant that skewed the average experience for a reviewer so that the review wasn't an accurate recounting of a meal? I mean in my almost 30 years of fine dining I can't recall any instances of it happening. And if it did, it can't be that often. It's actually suicidal for a restaurant to try it. Can you imagine if a reviewer found out and wrote about it? Who would ever go there?

Martin et al.-I do not think that art can be created by the people looking at it. Yes they can interpert it, but they can't create the art. That is where objectivity comes to a screeching halt. When the Brooklyn Museum had their Sensation show, I took my family to see it. Now we all stood in front of the picture causing the controversy (I forget the name), and one of my 13 year old sons was smart enough to say, "if the artist called it something else, no one would know." And he couldn't have been more correct. The painting the elephant dung surrounded didn't look the the Virgin Mary, it was just called that. It could have been called Woman in a Field with Dung. But look at the difference changing the name is to your perception. So "art," is the aesthetic experience the artist wants you to experience. And taking that back to the original question, that is where the line is drawn. When I go into a BMW showroom to look at motorcycles, th designer isn't asking me to only view it aesthectically.

I think Bux did a better job articluating one of the points than I did. It doesn't make a difference if bias is a function of lack of anonymity or because the reviewer is enthusiastic about a certain style of cooking. They both shade reviews. That's why the ultimate test has to be the personal smell, and taste test. If someone keeps reviewing places and their opinion is constantly off, you just won't pay any attention. That's like Grimes and I. Maybe he knows what he's doing, but it doesn't express my sentiments about food. And the reason we differ is irrelevent. Regardless of the cause, the result makes him of limited use. As for music and reviewers, music criticism is problematic. Artists just mean too much to people. I find that music critics consistantly refuse to see things objectively. People's tastes in wine is simlar. Coversations about food on the other hand are not as volatile as ones about music and wine and I have a theory why. There isn't any correlation between the best recording and the biggest commercial success. It's very easy for music critics to take a position (and most often correctly so) that an album that costs $20,000 to record, is better than one that costs $1,000,000. Wine is the same. Easy to argue that a $40 bottle of Cote Rotie smokes the pants off of a California Cabernet that sells for $250. But food is different because the best chef in the world can't get around the difference in quality between a steak that costs $5 a pound and one that cost $20 a pound. (This point also goes to the food/art thread too.) A second point about music review is that many reviewers refuse to acknowledge that there is a difference between REM and Brittany Spears. If one cannot see Spears as well-done music of the strictly pop variety, regardless if you like the style or not, one shouldn't be reviewing those types of recordings. But in response to Andy's point about reading the music trades which included complaints from readers, what makes you think that the controversy you described doesn't sell more magazines? John-The problem is you have to go to L'Astrance and Stringfellows in the same evening. Just make sure you go to L'Astrance first. Tony-Go Arsenal Go Arsenal . If

"Now, your suggestion of reducing the number of fine dining experiences I have is a viable option. But, I'm afraid, that it would leave me eating pastrami a bit too often for my taste" Ajay-There are two issues here. Part of the problem, and it goes to the original point, is that the basic meal you get at most top restaurants these days is mediocre. In my estimation, more than 2/3 of the meals I have in top places are medicore beyond belief. And to me, the standard used by critics in general perpetuates that mediocrity. But in their defense (the critics and the customers,) my standards are much higher than theirs. But part of the reason my standards are so high is that I have been fortunate to have had a number of special menus that allowed me to recalibrate my palate. Which brings me back to your quote. Because if you had a few special meals under your belt, you would gladly eat more pastrami because a mediocre three star meal (like you experienced at Apege) wouldn't satisfy you. As for the Rioja, I put together a tastiong of old Riojas I had accumulated over the years and I am posting a link to the tasting notes. Hope you enjoy them. Rioja Tasting

"My main point is that the stipulations being advanced are arbitrary (which is not the same as wrong). A Guggenheim curator might say that the motorbikes displayed surpassed their functionality and should be regarded as full asthetic objects." Wilfrid-But they aren't arbitrary. For them to be arbitrary, what is art and what isn't is in the eyes of the beholder. That's wrong. Art is a statement made by an artist. That is why a dead cow isn't art but a dead cow put between two plates of glass is. The latter contains the the artist's statement and the former is just nature. This distinction doesn't change because something was manufactured like a suit or a motorcycle. When Armani makes a suit, his statement is that it's functional, not that it's aesthetic. Now a suit with three arms and legs, that would be art because the intent would be aesthetic, not functional. Unless you would wear that? I think there is a subtle distinction here that looms large which is, a curator can't be the person to put glass around an Armani suit and call it art. Only an artist can do that. And even if you took Armani suits and set them up in the most artistic display, that wouldn't be art. That's what window dressers do. And the difference is what they are expressing. A suit with three legs, made for display between two sheets of glass expresses something about life. While a suit on a mannequin in Barney's window expresses something about the functionality of the suit.

"To the extent that a critic describes a dish that is just not available to other diners, a diner's ability to use the information to get the same treatment is mooted. If Patricia Wells got special dishes from Robuchon, I doubt that a diner (even knowing what those dishes were) would have been able to demand them and get them prepared in the same way." Cabrales-I don't agree with this. It is rare that I know about a special dish in a restaurant where they won't make it if I ask for it. They mightnot have the ingredients on hand, or there might not be sufficient prep time. But it is my experience that if a restaurant has a certain dish in their repetoire, they will gladly make it for anyone who asked. And in my wine story, Arzak obviously keeps a reserve wine list that you have to ask for. Forcefully too. How would one know to ask for it if they didn't offer it up voluntarily to an anonynous critic?

Cabrales-How else would you know about off-menu dishes in advance of eating there? When you walk into a restaurant, they present you with a menu. And unless somebody tells you about things that aren't printed on the menu, whether voluntarily or not, how would you know to order them? Whether I get the information from a reviewer, or a friend, makes no difference. I just want the info. Three years ago I went to San Sebastian and had dinner at Arzak. In advance of going, I spoke with a good friend of mine, who happens to be expert in wine about going there. He told me that they had 1958 Marquis de Riscal Rioja Gran Reserva there for not much money. When I got to the restaurant, the sommelier gave me the wine list. I looked it over and the '58 Riscal wasn't anywhere in sight. So I called the sommelier over and said to him that a friend told me it's on the list. Does he have any in his cellar that maybe isn't on the list. Well he hemmed and he hawed but I was held my ground, insisting that he answer the question, yes or no? After a good 60 seconds of him trying to convince me not to push it, he shrugged, turned around and gave me a different wine list. This one had bottles of rioja going back to the 20's. And the bottle I wanted, which is probably the best bottle of rioja ever produced was $45. Well cutting to the end of the story, the wine was more than fantastic, and since then I've bought near 2 cases at auction. Now you tell me, how would someone who was treated to the "average" experience know to tell me about that bottle? It's the same thing with Ajay's experience at Arpege. If I was the regular there instead of the person I dined with, and Ajay told the captain at the beginning of the meal that he had heard from me about these special surprise menus and he wanted the same treatment, he would have left smiling instead of unhappy. So if you don't know, how are you supposed to ask for it? Ajay-Fine. No offense taken. Sometimes inference and subtlety don't come cross on the Internet. In addition to some of the other aspects of 3 star dining I've been pontificating on, I think that my view of 3 star restaurants changed when I decided to allow them to serve me whatever they wanted to serve. Now I understand that this isn't affordable to everyone but, my advice to anyone who is on a limited budget is to eat less three star meals, but make the one you eat be an over the top experience. If I can ascribe a value to this concept it would be like this. The surprise menu at at a place like Arpege for 300 euros is usually more than twice as good as the set menu for 150 euros. And I think there is a fundamental reason for this. If you go to Arpege and eat off the menu, the egg with maple syrup, the lobster in sauternes, etc., the kitchen makes those dishes all of the time. It's not fresh for them, nor challenging enough in the way you want them to be if you are looking for cutting edge. But if you ask them to make a surprise menu, my experience is that they usually (not always, sometimes it's a dud,) rise to the occasion. And I can assure you, that by ordering in this fashion, and asking to speak to the chef at some point in the meal so you can personally kiss his ass and tell him his roasted turnip tasted like god picked it that morning, you will be treated like a first class citizen, instead of merely American riff-raff who wants a 3 star meal when they are in Paris. My salmon at Daniel was overcooked, three times before they got it rght. As an aside, many chefs seem to have a problem knowing what raw salmon means. More than half of the time it is overcooked and I send it back for a new one. Then the next one comes out almost raw, and it goes back for a bit more fire. Fo some reason, there is no consensus among chefs as to what "rare" salmon means. As for sending back my food in a 3 star, well I can think of 3 out of 4 dinners sending their food back in Pyramide last May. It's only a two star, but it has the pretensions of a 3 star.

I find flaws in Wilfrid's arguments about Motorcycle's, Armani etc., and his arguments about disappearing which include substantial portions of StefanyB's argument. First, when the Guggenheim displays motorcycles or Amani, they display them as functional objects where enough aesthetic has been included in the DESIGN. It is similar to the Metropolitan Museum having an exhibition of Richard Avedon photos that were shot as advertisements for fashion magazines. No matter how much Avedon intended that the photos be art, the art was COMPROMISED by the need for the pictures to serve another purpose, i.e., they were not purely aesthetic. So that would make a difference between a Rietfeld chair, or one made by Philippe Starck that you can sit in, and a chair made by someone like a Warhol that is merely for looking at. This obviously raises the question of what happens when something is designed for a PURPOSE and over time, the usefulness or functionality ceases to exist. Rietfeld is a perfect example because if you are fortunate to own an original chair, chances are you would only display it, and not dare sit in it for risk of damage. But all that point expresses is a statement of value. And that's because the Rietfeld is worth so much money that the value significantly outweighs the function. And to prove this point, after the Guggenheim's motorcycle exhibit is over, and after the Armani exhibit ended, donors drove off on their motorcycles while wearing their Armani suits. Quite a different reality than someone taking something away from the museum that hasn't any function. Unless, you have seen someone wear their Van Gogh as body shield. As for diappearing art, there is no such thing according to the definition that John Whiting and I are using. To restate it for clarity, art is something without functionality that is created purely for aesthetic purposes. So anything where an ending is written into the art, qualifies as part of the artists purpose for the aesthetic. So music, books, movies, etc., their ending (or disappearing the way people are using it,) is created as part of the aesthetic. It's not a function of the audience in any way. This aspect reaches to conceptual art as well. As I said about Christo, when he wraps the Pont Neuf, it isn't intended to last for ever. And when it disappears, it disappears in reality, not in concept. He can always wrap it again. But it never ever disappears as a matter of function. It doesn't wear out from use the way a motorcycle, suit, chair, or entree for that matter does. So nobody is disputing that art can exceed any boundry that we can draw for it. But that boundry is limited by what artists can define as purely aesthetic. And so far, the food I've seen that is art is not for eating. It gets sprayed into permanance. Then it becomes art made out of food. Otherwise, it's merely food and it gets eaten, even if it has an important aesthetic to it.

Ajay-First of all, I do not understand why you keep calling me Mr. Plotnicki? Everyone here calls me Steve. In fact, that is what I post under. Do you have a problem with me? Your posts have an edge to them that I would decribe as argumentative and personal. It's as if, because you are of certain economic means, you find it offensive for me to state my opinion that I want a reviewer to offer up the best, and most in detail report of a restaurant. Let me say that when I used to be in a different financial position, I still felt the same way about it. I always thought that "voting with my feet" was the right thing to do. Even when I couldn't afford to do it. In fact, I'll go even further. I would rather read about a perfect aesthetic that I couldn't afford than to experience a mediocre aesthetic I could. I have absolutely zero motivation to experience the latter. I'd rather eat a pastrami sandwich. So I think that looking at a restaurant review as a consumer guide is a waste of time. When I get the Times each Wednesday there are only three things I want to know. How many stars, what type of food, and are there any special dishes? Anything less than three stars better have a good story attached to it. But anything that does get three stars is almost a no-brainer that I will go at some point, REGARDLESS OF THE DETAILS. As for three star restaurants, I have no problem sending a dish back. In fact there is a famous story of my sending back my salmon three times at the original Daniel. As for wine, in NYC I almost always bring my own. And in Europe, I go in expecting to be ripped off. But I hardly ever let the sommelier choose for me. And quite often, I find that their knowledge of wine isn't any better than mine. In fact, I find that quite often I am more knowledgable. As for a critics job, what I want them to do is to ferret out the best information. I want to know about a dish that is so volcanic that it explodes in my mouth. And I do not care if that dish is on, off, or atop the menu. And if it isn't written about, how would I know to ask for it? And if a reviewer wasn't offered the dish because they were anonymous, how would I get the information about it?

"He, however, was more interested in being obsequious to the adjoining table of Frenchmen." Ajay-I'm not really sure what your argument is here. I mean I go to restaurants and recieve less than the best food and service all of the time. But my instinct is to try and improve my experience, and I'm not particularly choosy as to how I do that. And quite often, I accomplish it. But for some reason, this is something you seem to be saying you are unable to do. Maybe you need a new hairdo? I often find that it is hard to impress on the staff of a restaurant that you know what you are doing. My meal at L'Ambrosie last May was full of perfunctory treatment. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't impress upon Madame or the Sommelier that I knew what I was doing. The end result was that my meal turned out poor. And maybe even if they "got it" and were charming it still wouldn't have been up to standard. But maybe if their attitude towards our table changed, the night would have worked out better for us. But getting this back to the point, I don't see how I could discern any of that by reading a review. If the review had spoken of surly service, yet still had given it three stars, I would have gone anyway.

Hey I like being on the same side as William Morris! StefanyB-Gee it sounds like you know much more about art than I do. But I will bet you that centuries from now, nobody will remember art that has disappeared And I take exception with your statement that music disappears. Ending, and disappearing are two different things. Christo wrappings disappear but they are still art. Fortunately, they don't disappear during the time they are intended for display. So I will stick with my definition of art being something that isn't functional. Meaning, not intended by the artist for any use other than pure aesthetics. So music, films, books, paintings scultpture, dance, and a few others are art. But food is well, food. You eat it. And maybe the best analogy is the difference between dancing you watch, and dancing you actually do like the cha cha cha. And no matter how mean I do the cha cha, it ain't art. Dancing that is art is performed by "artists" who I watch, not participate with. And that is because what they do is purely aesthetic. What I do is sort of klutzy. And I think that your point about Warhol's soup can being iconography, i.e., not functional, seems to bolster the point that his intent was purely aesthetic. And Campbell's cans are purely functional. Or maybe you can educate me about something here. What stops me from trying to sell a Campbell's can of soup to a museum?

ajay-You have made me even more confused. You said, "but I still want the critic to comment on the experience as I am likely to find it, not the experience the restaurant is capable of." Huh? The experience you are likely to find is the one that you ask for. If you do not have someone who discloses a special experience to you (whether it be friend, captain or reviewer,) how would you know to ask for it? :confused: In fact your "ordinary" experience at Arpege happened to you because that is the one you asked for. It might never had happened had you read my review before you ate there and asked them to provide you with a different experience. Mebutter-You are still are saying that having a conflict is inherently bad. But that flies in the face of my experience that biased information IS BETTER than non-biased information. :confused:

I feel like we had this discussion before but here goes. For me the issue starts at the end and works backwards. Food that is intended to be eaten is not art. But food that is intended to be displayed IS art. The Cambell's soup can makes this point perfectly. A museum does not want to display a can of Campbell's soup that I just bought at a supermarket. That is for eating. Nor would anyone pay a few million $$$ for an Andy Warhol soup can and attempt to eat it's contents for dinner. So whomever said it is whatever the artists intended is correct, save for one large caveat. The intent has to be aesthetic, not functional. The tests for chefs is whether the food is delicious. And in order to measure deliciousness, the food has to be eaten, i.e. disappear. And as hard as I can think of it, I know of no disappearing art. Logic would dictate that it wouldn't have much market value. So if I start with the assumption that what a chef does is functional, and the aesthetics are subsumed (I should say consumed) within the functionality, I can't proclaim that their final product is art. On the other hand, so much of what chefs do is artistic, that the use of the word art in the context of what they do feels natural. But it is liking saying a surgeon practices his art well. Or that Tiger Woods' swing is a work of art. Neither surgery, nor golf are art. And while surgeons and Tiger can both be described that way, neither one are "artists." So when we say that chefs are "artists," we don't use the word in the same way we speak of Picasso. All we are expressing is that a HIGH LEVEL OF AESTHETICS are being practiced. Not that what is being practiced should be considered art.

Steve Klc-But why should the appearance of impropriety be given any weight at all? I certainly don't give it much weight. And in my own methedology of evaluating whether a critic warrants my attention, I wouldn't reach impropriety unless I was able to first make a determination that something was wrong with the review. The only reason papers need to give the appearance of propriety is that the readers deem impropriety a fatal flaw. That's the part I don't get because nobody has shown me any evidence that impropriety INDEED IS a fatal flaw. I keep asking the people who disagree with me the same question and it doesn't get answered. If a restaurant reviewer had a relationship with a chef, and/or was a known personality around town so that restaurant personel recognized them, how would that in and of itself taint their review and opinion. Nobody has offered up any corrolation between the two. Only the inference that the dynamic necessarily taints it. But how would you know it's a tainted perspective unless you a)read the review and b)eat the food? Wilfrid-I've been meaning to comment on you being a music writer but got busy with other things. NO wonder your point of view about so many things is so screwed up

Excuse me for saying this because I mean no one harm but, I find this whole issue about a critics anonymity and lack of personal relationships to be an aggrandizement by the trade of their importance. It is a shifting of the threshold issue from it being about good palates, to it being about who has the most integrity. And the people who support those rules act as if the integrity that someone acquires from following these prescribed set of rules insures anyone of anything. I keep asking this but, how exactly DOES a personal relationship skew someone's opinion? I understand that it might be the case, but why is it absolutely the case? And even further, why does everyone discount that a reviewer can go on a junket and still have the utmost integrity? Or why does an artificial bias (like taking favors) have a larger negative impact than a natural bias? If a reviewer dislikes a certain type of dish, shouldn't he be discredited? Should reviewers that like game be discounted as unreliable because they are biased towards game? This all comes down to the truth being the truth, and a lie being a lie. And the only way I can evaluate one from the other is by firsthand experience. Unless someone wants to tell me why a bribe is only associated with a lie? Can't it be that someone got paid off IN ORDER THAT THE TRUTH BE TOLD? Now I can understand if we were discussing morality, that a critic who goes on junkets etc. could be branded a wrongdoer. But if he writes the gospel about a place, and we all benefit from it, what and where exactly is the problem?

"So they depend on the critic to offer an unbiased opinion." Simon-I just don't see this as relevent. The ONLY way to test a critic's opinion is to eat the pudding. You can't tell if they are biased or not in a vacuum. But suppose you ate at Bruce's and found out that Andy got it all wrong. WHY he got it all wrong isn't relevent. The only thing that is relevent is did he or didn't he. We can argue all day long about is it because he's buddies with the chef, or he did it for more nefarious reasons, or he did it because of cleft palate. That is a discussion about Andy, not the restaurant. I'm only interested in the latter. Especially after meeting Andy. Sheesh.

Roger and Simon seem to believe that the public is worse off with "compromised critics." But neither of them has offered any proof other than in the abstract, how corruption and conflict are to blame for poor reviews. In Roger's examples of Patricia Wells, how is her being a famous face responsible for your palate not agreeing with hers? I eat at her recommendations all of the time and the results I have had vary. I followed her advice and ate at Helene Darroze and it was terrific. But I also went to Auberge Pyranees Cervennes and it was so ordinary that I could have probably done better preparing the same food at home. Is her lack of anonymity the cause? Is it the fact that she knew the woman who now runs the Auberge when she managed a place in Lyon? I keep failing to see the connection. Especially when Gault Milau gives the place 13 points and a toque, and Le Petit Leby named the place bistro of the year the year I ate there :confused: If we took the worst possible example, a chef was paying a critic money for a good review. Would you be absolutely sure that the reviewer is lying? Couldn't it be the case that they are corrupt AND the food is delicious? So Simon's point about it being expensive to "test" your palate against a reviewer's being expensive, holds true for both honest AND dishonest reviewers. I mean how would you know if you didn't eat the pudding? The only way to test honesty and integrity is to taste the food . You know when I read a political periodical, and an article is written by someone with a specific political view (could there be a bigger conflict than political leanings?,) their leanings do not mean they are automatically right or wrong. In fact, wearing their heart on their sleeve often makes their argument more forceful. And then by reading their, and competing opinions I have a better way of formulating my own opinion. I view Wells and Robuchon the same way. That her baseline is that he is the world's greatest chef is MORE information, not the less information that certain people prefer. And the more information at my disposal, the better off I am. That's because ultimately, the only one who can decide if it's good is me.

I find this topic to be a mishmosh of ideas, mostly intended to be virtuous but oddly affecting many reviews in the negative. I think the clearest conflict comes from what a reader usually thinks of as the perception of fairness, i.e., the reviewer is without conflict. Many readers set a threshold for their critics to maintain, that includes among other things, anonymity and not having any personal relationships with personel from the restaurant they are reviewing. But the more I read from people who require those things from reviewers, the more it doesn't add up how anonymity and a buffer on personal relationships guarantee anything but lonely reviewers. Unless someone can explain to me how those two things help write a good review? Or how the inclusion of those two things make for a bad review ? Isn't it something to be weighed on a case by case basis? :confused: On balance, I think this issue is more about free speech than it is an issue about conflict. From my perspective, I want a free marketplace of ideas. That is the only way that I get to properly judge a reviewers words. As long as there is adequate disclosure, I can put the appropriate weight where it need be. But if anything is covered up, even if it is for the benefit of anonymity etc., I have been cheated out of the real truth. That is why I find the original example used, Patricia Wells reviewing Joel Robuchon to be a prime example of how people place percieved integrity over the actual benefit of someone with approriate expertise doing a bang-up job. I mean is there anyone who can explain Robuchon to the public better than PW? And if she exagerates his greatness in any manner, is there anyone here who believes she is doing it for commercial reasons? Her integrity is well, and long established before it could ever become an issue. The other thing that motivates readers to demand anonymity etc. is that they want to insure that the reviewer ate the same meal they were going to be served. Diners are always suspect that they are being "ripped off" and served the sludge while good old Patricia was served the good stuff. I find this hypothesis to be sort of out on a limb and here's why. Restaurants are a word of mouth business. While critics drive business, nothing can dry up a reservation book than the first few waves of post-review diners proclaiming a place was awful. So if a place trumped up their food, and what they were really serving sucked, it would only take a few weeks before the word got out. And if it happened often, the reviewer would quickly lose their credibility. So if this game was perpetrated, it wouldn't be for long. There is another aspect to this issue that is lurking beneath the surface, which is the fact that people want a review to be representative of the average meal served at a place. Personally I can never understand this sentiment. I want a review to showcase a place AT IT'S BEST. And that is because when I go to a place, I want to know how to get them to perform for me AT THEIR MAXIMUM LEVEL. Why would anyone want the average experience if they can acquire the knowledge of how to get the best experience? :confused: Yet. that's what people seem to be fighting for. The topic often comes up about the wine critic Robert Parker's friendly relationship with the winemaker Michel Rolland. Quite often Parker gives the wines Rolland makes high scores. And from time to time, you hear the accusations of bias about the reviews. But it seems to me that the only remedy to that charge that makes any sense is to TASTE THE WINES YOURSELF. If the wines taste bad and you conclude that Parker is shilling for Rolland, you can forever discount his opinion. But if you agree with him to any reasonable degree, I don't understand what there is to complain about? Complaints should to be limited to actual, not perceived diminution.

John-Having eaten at The Connaught on two occassions (delightful) I fail to see the problem with renovating the dining room. It never struck me as that distinctive or original in terms of decor (have I missed something?) The comparison to The Four Seasons in NYC doesn't seem to be a fair one. Those are Philip Johnson designed rooms in a Mies Van der Rohr skyscraper that is considered the perfect expression (and first expression as well I believe) of a glass & steel structure. When was The Connaught done or what about it makes it so distinctive from any other place in town that expresses hotel or clubiness? If anything, it's the sitting room just in front of the dining room that is "classic" at The Connaught. The one with all the copies of Punch going back over 100 years. A friend of mine once described that room as where people should sit when a war is going on because it makes one feel that nothing can go wrong, i.e., it has the feeling of permanence.

Cabrales-We've moved over to the other thread. Would you mind reposting your last response there.