bourdain

She lurks here now and again.

Finally, the US exports some GOOD junk food. The Krispy Kreme donut is indeed junk. It's gooey, sloppy, sugary, cheap, and thoroughly delicious. The drier, staler, more mainstream Dunkin Donut pales by comparison with these Satanically heart-clogging, thigh-inflating pillows of pure pleasure. Their jelly donut is the paragon of cheap, who-gives-a-fuck self indulgence. At the original Krispy Kreme in Atlanta, obsessive admirers line up outside to eat them still hot and un-rested, the gooey carbo-bombs flattening and sagging like deflating tires as they sink their teeth into the barely cooked, sugar-covered dough. Unlike the two stages of the Dunkin Donut (fairly fresh and stale) the Krispy Kreme has three distinct stages of enjoyment: a) Still screamingly hot (as above) b) Fresh--sugar still maintaining its structural integrity. c) soft, wet, and still delicious (the sugar having melted into a runny, sugary sticky mess) All have their virtues. If you don't like Krispy Kreme donuts? You're just not smoking enough weed.

No. He's got his own chef gig on 46th Street--and doing very well with it.

Very dismaying. And tragic.

Les Halles was packed busy long long before I arrived--it's success having nothing to do with me--or my later publication/television thing. I changed nothing and nothing has been changed as far as the steaks, and most menu items. The meat is dry-aged C.A.B. (Certified Angus--from De Bragga--nuff said--and surprising that anyone would find French rumsteak of superior quality)Hype? I can hardly think of a more hype-free restaurant. Since day one the place has never been prettied up, remodeled or even painted...no celebs hang at the bar--and if models ever come, they're dressed in dirty jeans and no make-up. Most of our customers are regulars and have been coming for years. Yes. It IS a little busier now sometimes. Yes, it's loud, dark, crowded--and always has been. Yes. Brunch is/was a relatively quiet shift.Sorry mogsob has such bad experiences. The assertion that Po (now no longer a Batali operation) made it on Mario's celebrity is as clueless and wrongheaded. It was Mario's first restaurant. Before the show and the books. The celebrity grew OUT of the restaurant--not the other way around.

Bragard.

Harry's meat pies are unsurpassed. I recommend the "Tiger" variety. Bigger, fresher, plumper--without the empty space or sagging of many of the British pub variety, they're topped with a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes with a small "well" impression in top and a volcanic flow of bright green pea "sauce". We shot a segment at Harry's (which sadly appears only in the international version of ACT)--and shooter/producers Chris and Lydia became immediately addicted/enslaved. I think Chris was up to three of those bad boys by the time we left. Definitely a Sydney must-visit. Traditionally, I believe, the idea is to get "pissed" at the pubs--then swing by Harry's. One orders, then sits, legs hanging over the water's edge, and scarfs. I want one now.

YIKES! Oh. man. I got some serious ballbusting to do...

Chefs are indeed--and always have been--"hustlers" of a sort. You hustle your product, your own image, your operation. Fine. Many chefs hawk products they may or may not believe in to varying degrees--in order to pump capital into more close to the heart ventures (Adria, presumably Keller). Adria quote: " For six months a year, I am an artist. For the rest, I am a prostitute." (El Bulli only breaks even on receipts) Many hawk products cause the money's good, they don't look too bad selling whatever the product is, maybe had a hand in designing the stuff, nobody ever thought they were saintly paragons of integrity anyway--and the product is fairly decent. (Emeril cookware) They sell a branded product: (Boulud, Kunz et al) Why not? But to sell a product you KNOW to be utter shit..in direct contravention of your previously stated lofty principals is queasifying--it's selling out the very essence of your credibility. BK wanted Bayless and was willing to pay precisely BECAUSE he was such a prominent spokesman for "freshness" and "Authenticity" As far as a "step in the right direction"? That's like Rob Reiner selling Pall Mall Lites. I'm not even talking about "ethics" or "principles" as the central issue here. Chefs are rarely artists. They're not even doctors or lawyers. For me it's solely and entirely a question of "How the fuck does Bayless wake up tomorrow and look at his stupid face in the bathroom mirror and not want to projectile vomit?" It's a quality of life question. How do you live with yourself knowing you're the new "BK Guy?" I mean.."Astro -Glide" may be a fine product--but DO YOU WANT TO HAVE YOUR PICTURE IN THEIR ADS? Probably not. " Hi, I'm Alice Waters..Here to tell you about an exciting new product from Pringles!" " Hi, my name is Susan Sarandon--Maybe you know me from such films as..and I'm here to tell you about the next generation of fighter bomber from General Dynamics.."

There is no explanation. There is no defense. This goof doesn´t have enough money? He`s gotta pimp for the Evil Empire? In one stroke he´s negated everything he´s ever said, everything he ever claimed to stand for. Next he´ll be doing lap dances at corpórate functions

New Orleans is the absolute leader of the pack in the Dive Bar category. Snake and Jakes, Vaughn's and the Circle being some personal faves. Is the Hummingbird still open?

Just loving this! Truly some balls-to-the-wall, close-to-the-ground, way-off-the-road professional quality travelling. And great pictures. I can smell the room in some of the photos. Great work!

A fine, fine and really enjoyable report. Hardcore!

Whatever the "thruth" about AW--or what people may say, or who did what, or whether she is in fact the cook she is credited with being, Chez Panisse, a place she created, was indisputably, the "cradle of the revolution". Her importance, her place in history is assured--and well deserved. The restaurant--while no longer as relevant as it once was--is still very very good, I think. And if it has been surpassed--that is largely due to its own wide-ranging influence.

Tower refutes even that.

You MUST eat at SIN HUAT Eating House in Geylang. Don't order (there's no menu I know of anyway) just ask Chef Danny Lee to "make me everything." Do not miss the "Crab Bee Huen" (sp?), the "gong-gong", or the spotted cod. In fact, don't miss anything. One of the great meals anywhere. The Singapore version of Spain's now-legendary RAFA'S of Roses. For the definitive guide to Hawker Stands--buy a copy of MAKANSUTRA, KF Seetoh's maniacally thorough exploration/guide to the subject.

Good luck. When I watched him make the stuff, he was working with a chemist--who was constantly checking PH. And even then--it looked VERY tricky, with some batches not coming out. The rig they've got set up at the restaurant--unless you've got a whole load of clean syringes and a workshop--would be difficult to recreate. I think the product falls under the "Don't Try This At Home" category.

Indeed: I got a very nice communication from Alton--via an interested and trusted third party--and my pique over an imagined snub quickly evaporated. For the record: I always thought the show was pretty decent--and filled with useful and even enlightening information.

Bob "The Publicist's Friend" Lape is "reliable" , alright. Reliably worthless. Makes Sheldon "Eat For Free" Landwehr in the Post look like Pulitzer-bait.

Never. Ever.

Allow me to congratulate corporatemofo author (the link Jason posted) on a truly wonderful-and frighteningly well-written account. You want to know what the NYC restaurant world can TRULY be? Check it out. The real thing--shockingly, scathingly and fearlessly portrayed. Beautiful.

If indeed the joint was not paying their cooks anywhere near on time there can be only one explanation: good "drama". And it's unforgivable. Real people who have to pay real rent to real fucking landlords take it in the twins to make it more exciting for the principals? Shameful if true. My hard and fast rule as a line cook--and for line cooks: Cooks show up five or six shifts a week on time--and give it their best. In return, the house, ONCE A WEEK (or as agreed) pays the agreed upon amount. ON FUCKING TIME. Cooks are not lenders, nor investors--nor stupid enough to operate a business where they can't pay their help. They should get paid--and don't give me any of that wait-until-the-banks-close-on-Friday-so-I get to kite checks for the weekend shit either. You're late with my money? Fine. Just know that the next time, I won't complain, I won't ask, I won;t beg--I'll simply take off my apron and leave. And if you are Jeffrey fucking Chodorow and are drowning in cash and own half the restaurants in the Western world and you're late with my money? You are getting my foot solidly up your ass.

Television is a treacherous, capricious and hungry bitch-goddess--and I understand well Rocco's interest. He's a chef of significant accomplishment and experience, hitting the age where another 15 years behind the stove offers minimal attraction. A mechanism that offers the possibility of someday kicking back, cranking out cookbooks, running branded operations by remote control is a seductive one. And in Rocco's case, I think, well deserved. Yeah, of course many would prefer to see Rocco chained to his stove at Union Pacific (or their bedposts), but this is naive--even elitist thinking--that insists chefs are "artists" who exist--and should exist--only to feed us and our over-romantic assumptions about "integrity". It ignores the true history and nature of the business since Roman times. That being said, I think ROCCO'S and the show--THE RESTAURANT was a tactical misstep. Anyone who goes on televsion should KNOW--as an absolute truth--that sooner or later, we ALL of us--will find ourselves, making that final, inevitable Winkler-esque approach to the shark-tank. There is rarely a Pinky Toscadero waiting on the other side. One must ask oneself, " Once the beast has been jumped--what will be left?" In my case, I have the luxury of not giving a fuck. I was a turn-and-burn utility guy before--and when it all goes hideously sour, I will no doubt be one again. Making television, in my case, is fun . It's a means to an end, an enabling of my travel lust. I had no reputation really to lose. Rocco, on the other hand, had real credibility as a chef. Three stars. The world on a string. Television has its own imperative--to be entertaining enough to get you to sit through the commercials--and then hang around to watch yet more. Rarely does that imperative require that its on camera participants look good, or be portayed fully and honestly--or that at end of the day, when the cameras move on to the next car wreck, that the players be left with a reputation or a career. I root for working class kids made good who after years standing on their feet, working with their hands, put down a big score. But I'm uncomfortable with the Rocco's "theme"; post-ironic red-sauce-Italian.. And putting Mom in the kitchen of the ugliest, least homey restaurant in Manhattan seems crass--akin to making your wife bus tables at Carmine's. Rocco did really good work in his time at Tuscan. The guy can cook. He KNOWS how to make good Italian.The calculated dumbing down of Italian food at Rocco's doesn't wear well in a town where the Batali/Bastianich Posse are serving higher quality--yet still unpretentious--chow only a few blocks away (sans irony). "Irony"--as someone once said--"smells bad." I dearly hope that in the final episode, that we see Rocco look straight at the camera, give everybody the middle finger--and say, "This was a terrible mistake."

I think Tower makes a pretty compelling case--supported by documentary evidence--that the "revolution" would not have happened without him, (Chez Panisse menus from before and after are hilariously illustrative), that the "bounty" of NoCal was certainly not anything like it is today back in the 60's and 70's, and that noone was writing or producing menus like his before he arrived on the scene. (There are supporting quotes as well from notable grads).In fact, if there was a "genius" to Tower, it appears from the text to have stemmed from his truly creative menu writing and conceptualizing--and radical departure from French language, terms and ingredients. It would be silly-and ignorant to dismiss Tower's contribution to American culinary history--no matter how obnoxious you find him--or how egregiously he screwed up later. Stars--though a hideous, star-fucking trainwreck by most accounts--was an important and hugely influential trainwreck--and the number of chefs and cooks I know and have met who either passed through those doors--or were forever changed by the experience are legion. It would be dishonest and foolish to minimize that. Today, you can hardly pick up a menu without seeing its imprint. And while his self serving account is transparently skewed , one is still (to his credit)left with the relentless impression that working with or around Tower would be unpleasant in the extreme. Tower can't help but make EVERYBODY he describes sound like an asshole--including himself. Which is curiously refreshing--especially when you've sat through a few idolatrous Beard Awards. (Beard--though a Tower ally--is portrayed as a mean, bloated, catty, conspiratorial, vindictive, paranoid imperious gas-bag, awash in rent-boys, gluttony and self-importance). Michael Bauer gets the righteous back-hand--though John "thanks-for-the-free-hotel and-air fare" Mariani is left curiously spared. The insidious/incestuous relationship between food writer/critic and guru chef is mercilessly--and accurately depicted. (The Herb Caen connection is a classic of "how it works"--as well as "how it goes wrong").And as an explanation of celebrity chefdom--the why and hows, it's useful reading. The book is an emetic antidote to received history; not THE truth, but a valuable--if always self-serving version. Between the lines--somewhere--between what he said and she said and they said (and what is unsaid but obvious)is the real story of very important times. The name-dropping--particularly when describing the useless dipshit socialite/politico fashionista/entertainment crowd customers at Stars (who Tower was so clearly dazzled by and eager to please) is endless and painful to read. But for sheer nuts-and-bolts-who's-gonna-clear-the-sump-pump/oh-shit-we're-outta-lamb fun, it's well worth the read. Tower's casual description of cocaine's omnipresence in hotshot kitchens of the time was comfortably familiar--and in keeping with my experience (a useful reminder to those who'd like to rewrite history). The poster who described the book as vile and mean spirited is exactly right, of course. That's NO reason not to read it. There are few saints or angels or solitary geniuses in this business--and we forget that at our peril. Alice Waters--whose place in history is deservedly assured--has, I understand, taken this book in good humor--which speaks all the better of her. But to take the "Waters Version" (as published so far) as the only version would clearly be bad history. Hate to say it--but it's a gossipy, dishy, acerbic "must-read" memoir,all the better for the sand betwen my pages. And unlike other beach reads, I'm hanging on to my copy.

For a potentially hot topic of discussion, I suggest the poisonously entertaining Jeremiah Tower memoir, CALIFORNIA DISH in which Tower, while taking credit for nearly every important innovation in "new" American cuisine (with some justification), does some neat ( and very compelling) hatchet work on the Alice Waters legend--and enthusiastically proves himself--yet again-- an intolerable prick. Which is to say I really enjoyed the book.