On Being a Food Writer

This past Friday night, I had the privilege of visiting a local, high-end eatery as a media guest for a special event.  Being a restaurant's guest is a decision that is hotly debated among freelance writers and web sites.  Some feel that the writer's opinion is necessarily compromised - which I understand - as a result of comp'ed meals.  Others feel that freelance writers make little enough as it is that the occasional free meal is a great bennie.  I get that, too.

I am food writer, not a "critic" or reviewer.  My philosophy, to date, and going forward is, "If I can't say anything nice, I won't say anything at all."  A few people have questioned that, because they believe food writers have a duty to report bad food/service to the public. My response is that if you give me a FREE meal don't write about, something's gone horribly wrong.

Here's where I stand:  If I wanted to be a restaurant reviewer/critic (I hate that word), I would follow the Ruth Reichl model.  Go in disguise, pay my own way and visit at least 3 times before writing.  The amateur "critics" on yelp.com and other such sites who pan a restaurant after one visit are being incredibly irresponsible.  Restaurants are discretionary spending and incredibly vulnerable to the whims of economic flux.  If a respected writer says, "this place sucks, don't go," it can be the beginnings of a death knell that puts the livelihood of dozens of people - servers, bussers, sous chefs, etc. - into a tailspin.  To do that based on one visit to a place - especially if one has not worked in the industry - borders on libel.

In any given restaurant, on any given night, things can go horribly wrong for one table or for one whole service -- and it might not even be the restaurant's fault.  A supplier doesn't fulfilll his promises.  An oven breaks down mid-service.  Three servers call in sick.  Or the customer walks in 10 minutes before closing and wonders why she gets surly looks over the course of her 90-minute meal, when all the servers want to cash out, clean up and go home - but can't, because she's holding them all hostage.

I've worked in food service.  I've been a server, a busser, a volunteer cook, a manager, a finisher in a pastry shop, a wholesaler, and a delivery driver/wedding cake consultant.  I've also worked catering.  My sister's been a server; my mom owned a restaurant.  I know what can go wrong and how easily.  I know from razor-thin profit margins, good and bad ingredients, sanitary practices that would make you queasy, yelling in the kitchen and what it takes to put out a good, hot meal in volume.

On Friday night, the people at the restaurant knew me and knew I was there to write about them.  I became the 800-pound gorilla.  The manager, the hostess, the waitress, the sommelier - I got to see them all, and all at their nicest, most professional behavior.  To top things off, I requested a table at the counter in front of the open kitchen.  If I'd have given it any thought, I wouldn't have.  Here I am, "The Food Writer", pad and pen in hand, staring right into the chef's eyes.  Fortunately, this particular chef was confident with good reason.  He runs an immaculately clean and organized kitchen where people enjoy what they do.  There was yelling, yes, as the tickets churned out a la Anthony Bourdain in Kitchen Confidential, but there was also laughing and smiling and real joy.

A low - and high - point came right after I was seated.  Two women at the same counter where I was seated had clearly been waiting more than a few minutes to place their order.  I almost immediately got bottled water and bread with dipping sauce.  I felt horribly guilty, because I knew why I got served first.  I turned to them and offered my bread and sauce, "Would you ladies care for some bread?"  They declined, but my server overheard and immediately she swooped in and made it right.  I emerged from the evening sated and, quite honestly thrilled by the attention -- but with a sobering understanding of my responsibility both as a journalist and to the community of businesses I serve.  I need to be honest, but also as undemanding as possible (my poor server had probably a half-dozen other tables, but I never saw her sweat as she patiently answered my questions - I did see her scurry off quickly to care for her other charges, though).

I thought I'd give you a glimpse into my (new) world, as I'm learning to understand it.  It's quite something.  It's quite a ride, and I am loving it like crazy.

Thanksgiving

Remember Thanksgiving?

It's that holiday between Hallowe'en and Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa/Winter Solstice that's become little more than a turkey speed bump between costumes and presents.  More's the pity, because it's one of the holidays that has the fewest expectations laid on it.  You don't have to dress to impress (except maybe the turkey), buy just that right gift, or hide eggs from small children.  It used to be a lovely, relaxed day off, with another lovely, relaxed day off following right behind it, and then - joy of joys - there was still a weekend left!!  And all you're supposed to do is find something for which to be grateful.

Then somewhere in the throes of exposing historic reality (Native American invasion and exploitation, starvation, and all kinds of unappealing realities) and the rise of consumerism, the whole thing got thrown out.  Now it's a carbo load before we go shopping at midnight.  Do we pause and express gratitude for all we have as a nation?  No, quite the opposite - we express a felt need for more, more, and more. 

And by the way, those clerks at midnight madness tomorrow night?  They're human beings.  The ones who keep your drugstore open or are in your grocery store so you can pick up the nutmeg you forgot - they're people who maybe wanted the day off, too.  But do they get treated like people?  No.  It's just a matter of time until one of them is seriously injured as shoppers stampede to get a $199 flat-screen TV.  Just the one.  That's all there is.  And right now, on Thanksgiving Eve, there are tents pitched outside the store.  Never mind Occupy Wall Street - this is an Occupation that supports the very greedy retail corporate CEO's and shareholders.  Just because they're not banks doesn't make them nice.

The big-box stores are setting up a disaster waiting to happen.  You have (1) people on a sugar (or alcohol) high who have been up all day, eating too much and probably indulging in watching competitive football, getting all hyped up.  And now they're tired and a little cranky.  You have (2) a single TV for sale for an outrageously low price.  You have (3) a lot of retail clerks who are under 25, who maybe lack the judgment of seasoned adult employees - that's why they're there, after all.   The seasoned adult employees got the day off because they have seniority. The kids are working because they were threatened with termination - after all, there are 20 more out there waiting to take their place in this economy.  They're going to stay up all night and work.

At midnight, the stores are going to open.  If no one gets trampled or hurt in a fistfight over a gadget that will not matter 5 years from now, the kids get to work all night, sometimes more than 8-9 hours, and then drive home.  On Black Friday.  In ridiculous traffic.

Right now there's a blimp with an electronic sign. . .yes, I said blimp,over our shopping mall.

That's why this year I'm not going anywhere near those stores. (Full disclosure - I pour wine tastings at a California chain liquor store, BevMo, which will NOT open at midnight tomorrow night.)  They're abusing their employees because they can.  They're turning what used to be a beautiful, slow-paced holiday with loved ones into a stampede of greed.  And they're not getting one thin dime of my money this holiday season.  I'm shopping local and buying local.  I'd like if you'd think about doing the same.

And take a moment to be grateful for all you have - whether it's a roof over your head, a meal on the table, loved ones nearby, or just a great song on your iPod.  Have a happy, real Thanksgiving.

Until next time, I'll see you at the market!

Chard!

Hi all,

I know, I know. . .it's been over 3 weeks.  I was away for one of those weeks, and sans farmers' market.  I had to eat out on someone else's dime.  Sounds great until somewhere around day 5-6 when you say to yourself, "Geez, I coulda cooked this, and better, and not have given myself 3x the right sized portion."

So Saturday night I had steak with a baked potato and a side of chard.  Yes, chard.  Next time you're near the veggie counter or at the market, pick up a bunch.  To cook, first grab it by the fat end of the stem and strip the leaf off toward the top of the stalk.  Then slice what's left into strips and rinse it in a few changes of water.  Dry it in a salad spinner, if you have one.  If not, blot it with paper towels or kitchen towels.

Heat some olive oil in a pan and add a little chopped garlic (1-2 cloves for a bunch of chard).  As soon as you can smell the garlic, throw in the chard and start stirring.  Once the chard's wilted and tender to the bite, take it off the heat.  It should have about the same "bite" as cooked cabbage.  Add a little red pepper flake and some lemon juice, and you have a lovely side dish.

Hey, I'm going to try to better about posting again.  'Til next time, I'll see you at the market!!