Showing posts with label food critics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food critics. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Don't call me a food critic



There is an aphorism: if you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Would that every restaurant owner paid heed to this advice.

I am not a food critic. Anyone who calls me a food critic is terribly mistaken as to what the term "food critic" actually means. I write for multiple publications about the food and restaurant industry; yes. I also have this blog for funsies, in which I get to indulge my love of story-telling and rabble-rousing. I do not, however, critique food. Which is probably for the best as I feel that that's probably the least interesting part of what I do and I usually find myself acutely bored when having to give detailed descriptions of dishes, but that is neither here nor there. I am a food writer; not a food critic. It is a distinction that needs to be made. Here's why.

I'll let you in on a little secret: I don't actually love everything. I know. It's, like, you'd think with how much I try to support all these many, many different businesses through my various media (traditional, social and web) channels that I must think that every last one of them is the cat's ass. They're not. Most aren't. Hell, here in metro Detroit the bar is set so excruciatingly low that places that rank among THE BEST is a purely relative positioning: the best of what we have is far more accurate. That being said, readers probably wouldn't be keen to read every post here and on Facebook bookended with, "It's really only just okay, but it's the best we got so whad'rya gonna do?"

But readers aren't the only ones who wouldn't appreciate that. No no no no no Jesus on a mother-ing pterodactyl no. I can't tell you if this is a phenomenon entirely unique to Detroit (we do like to think everything is unique to us; it's not, but in this case where every association is a matter of the two degrees of Detroit there could be some of that small town self-policing mentality at play), or if the pandering to advertisers and business owners' egos is more pandemic, but I can tell you this: you can't say anything remotely critical without being A BIG MEAN MEANIE WHO DOESN'T SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESSES.

It's true. The three times a year that I'm not blowing rainbow-colored, candy-scented smoke about some local restaurant I have to deal with a business owner with a butt-hurt getting all pissy-pants on Facebook.* Owning a business is hard. I get it. But this pitiful expectation that all people absolutely must be blindly, unquestioningly supportive of your business in perpetuity solely by virtue of the fact that you exist isn't just ridiculous; it's insulting. Then there's always the old go-to: "We do some much for the community!!!" Oh, well, in that case, your product and service can suck (or your business ethics be downright criminal) so long as you donate food to fundraisers. And the violins played on.

Yes, I see the logic there. Look, I do a lot for the community too: I put asses in the seats of your businesses and get people to spend money at your establishments which ultimately enables you to stay open for all of your community-supporting martyrdom. And I do all of this for free. YOU'RE WELCOME. But let's not argue the color of red herrings.

In addition to business owners with butt-hurts, there is also the almighty ad dollar to contend with. I'm going to let you in on another little secret: everyone caters to their advertisers. Everyone. Without exception. EVERYONE. Some publications just happen to be more forthright about it, and that might just be the only real honesty left. The death knell of undiluted critique in the media** rang a long, long time ago; we just forgot to have a funeral. There may have once been a time when the sanctity of critique was valued over the necessity of ad revenue, when advertisers were easily replaced but reputations weren't (and actually mattered), when the editorial department actually dictated content. Those days are dunzo.

In a compulsively litigious society in which all egos are precious and value is measured in ad dollars, there simply is no room left for criticism. Traditional media outlets (I'm specifically referring to print pubs here) have been downsizing en masse over the last decade. Circulation is down, advertising is down, therefore employment is down. As the old guard struggles to adapt to new media (IT'S CALLED THE INTERNET), there really isn't an effective money-making model currently in play. Print pubs hemorrhage money and the best thing we've come up with for online revenue generation is click-through advertising, which is kind of like trying to move a car by pushing it WITH YOUR MIND even though the keys are in the ignition and the engine is running. In their panic, publishers cater to the advertisers they can keep. And so much of journalism has become mere PR.

At the end of the day, I'd rather dazzle with prose than with my knowledge of quinoa; the New York Times, that one-time monolith of journalistic integrity, would rather wax poetic on pesto. Maybe the death of critique doesn't really matter; maybe it's fallacious to believe it ever really existed in any kind of pure form in the first place. (After all, the only reason newspapers and broadcast media exist is for advertising, and that isn't so much a sweeping statement as it is the subject of countless volumes of critical media theory.) But whatever you do, do not make the mistake of confusing food PR with food criticism. Print might not (yet) be dead, but the role of the critic is.

*Some will assume this comment is referencing a specific business in light of recent events and is therefore a personal attack. It is not. While this post is inspired by a recent encounter, it has more to do with a culmination of experiences and observations over time, and something I've been wanting to say for a long, long while. If anything, said recent encounter was of the most pleasant sort possible given the circumstances.

**For the purposes of this post I am specifically speaking of traditional restaurant criticism when speaking of "media" and "journalism," though one could certainly make a case for this "journalism as PR" motif being much more rampant and wide-spread across the whole of journalism, though sometimes the word "advertisers" would need to be replaced with "political parties," "special interest groups" and "lobbyists." But that's a different rant entirely.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Reveling in Reveillon: Eating My Way Through New Orleans

Laissez les bon temp roulez!

On a recent trip to New Orleans, much of my pre-trip reconaissance work was dedicated to a thorough background check of New Orleans cuisine. I had an extensive list of places and dishes I wanted to try (truth be told, a bit too extensive...I only had a grand total of 48 hours to cram it all in)--among my must-haves were anything with satsuma (check), turtle soup au sherry (check), gumbo (check), and beignets (check). On the list that didn't make it were po' boys (the Louisiana version of a sub or grinder, made with their unique baguette bread and usually filled with seafood and deep-fried), a muffaletta sandwich (akin to our Italian subs, made on a Sicilian flatbread similar to focaccia and layered with Italian meats like capicola, salami, and mortadella, as well as provolone and emmanthaler cheeses and a marinated olive spread, which orginated in New Orleans's Central Grocery), Andouille sausage, crawfish etouffee, and Louisiana-style pecan pie with rum caramel.

Hey, I did my best.

With the help of Lousiana-based food critic Robert Peyton, who has since become my favorite foodie blogger (he makes sarcastic-like, which I like), I whittled down my enormous and ungainly list to being simply ungainly (he wished me luck with that; he's a funny guy, and was also not wrong). In between forgetting our pre-printed passes to check out the Prospect.1 New Orleans art installation, ambling through the French Quarter, arriving too late at the infamous above-ground cemeteries to be able to walk through them, touring the Oak Alley plantation (where Interview with the Vampire was in part filmed), taking the St. Charles Streetcar out to the Garden District only to decide not to have brunch at the Columns Hotel's Albertines Tea Room, and generally just trying to soak in the vibe of all that which is New Orleans in an extremely limited amount of time, we were also able to enjoy both the old and the new in New Orleans cuisine.

Night 1: Bar UnCommon and the Bombay Club
At Robert Peyton's suggestion, our first (attempted) stop after landing at 9:00PM was over to the Renaissance Pere Marquette Hotel to check out Bar UnCommon. Peyton informed me that Chris McMillian is the best bartender in the city, and my trip would not be complete without a Sazerac from him. We beelined straight there only to find an empty bar with the bottles already removed from the shelves. It was then that we learned in the wake of Katrina, many places don't hold the same late-night hours as they once did. Which is unfortunate, as Bar UnCommon is exactly the kind of bar I would have liked to sip a martini and have a leisurely evening at.


We attempted once again the following night, only to have the same results.

After a comedy of errors in finding another bar to suit our sophisticated drinking needs, we ended up at the Bombay Club. We were presented with a menu featuring some 70+ martinis, all of which sounded absolutely decadent. We were also served by a bartender who is a part-time pirate (he goes to conventions and everything). Our tour of New Orleans dining and drinking was off to a good start.


Until we discovered Jean Lafitte's Old Absinthe House on Rue Bourbon. The place has been open and in its same location since 1807 (save for a spot during Prohibition), and is once again legally serving absinthe, a black-licorice-flavored liquer made with wormwood (amounts of wormwood are controlled nationally by the FDA so there are only trace amounts in legally imported absinthe). Collectively we decided that this experience would be a good and necessary one. We were wrong.

However, this did increase our enjoyment of Bourbon Street, which is an otherwise vulgar place.

Day 1/Night 2: Galatoire's and Iris
Once again on the suggestion of Robert Peyton, we headed out to Galatoire's in the French Quarter for a long, leisurely lunch. Galatoire's is another historic spot in the Vieux Carre, having been in its Bourbon Street location since 1905. It has also received various recognitions from Wine Spectator and Zagat's, being most recently voted by Gourmet Magazine one of the top 20 restaurants in the country. I was told that this is a "New Orleans institution," I only found out later what that means.


The first sign that something wasn't right was the fact that it took nearly 10 minutes for us to be greeted by our waiter, and when he did finally vaporize he uttered hardly a word of apology and none of explanation (to be fair, I had not seen him milling about prior to his sudden appearance, and can only assume he was unaware he had been seated and was attending to some bathroom/phone/cigarette-smoking business in the back). I then asked for the server Robert had recommended to me, and was informed he was not there that day. Suddenly our service became helpful and attentive. They even gave us complimentary garlic bread.

For my meal, I chose to start with the gumbo (one of the many items on my list of must-tries). It was mildly spicy with a thick brown broth. As good as something you would order from a local diner and say, "That was pretty good." I then moved on to the Godchaux salad, a pile of iceberg lettuce topped with large, generous lumps of boiled shrimp, lump crabmeat, and a Creole mustard vinaigrette, topped with pinenuts and anchovies. The seafood was cooked well and all was served cold; the occasional remnant shell aside, I was satisfied with it. I then opted for the Poisson Meunière Amandine (rhymes with "bland"). To say I was disappointed would be a gross understatement. Greasy deep-fried flavorless fish with a handful of sliced almonds on top in a light (as in barely there) browned butter sauce (nothing else, just liquified butter). Bland. Boring. And really just not that appetizing.

In the meantime, we were surrounded by old, wealthy (and wasted) New Orleanians. We found out later that one does not go to Galatoire's for the food. One goes there for the experience. It was confirmed that indeed their food is not that good, but that people go there for the experience of going there (a "see and be seen" scene for old New Orleans families dating back generations). And also, if you ask for a menu, you are immediately targeted as one "not from around here" and are treated as such.

Had I known that I could have saved $120.00...or at least have put it towards a better meal.

Ah, but the wine list: of all the commendations they've received, this is the only one I can agree with. Pages and pages and pages of wines, with a heavy focus on French (some very old...some very expensive). The Big Five are all here: Latour, Lafite, Mouton, Margaux, and Petruce, all with their requisite $1,000+ price tags. Second to the French presence is Napa Valley, and all the big 'uns from that way (Opus One, etc.). But there is also a nice mix of Spanish, Chilean, Australian, and Argentinian wines, as well as some Italian heavy-hitters. While most are rather pricey, a discriminating wine drinker can still find a value. Just don't bother eating there.

After a foiled attempt to visit Martinique Bistro, we ended up inside our very own hotel, Bienville House, and the recently-relocated Iris.

Iris was formerly located in a tiny house Uptown, and has since moved to this much-more-spacious location in the French Quarter. Initially they were a BYOB destination, but just in time for our arrival they now have a full bar and wine list. What began as a quick stop for coffee when it seemed every cafe in the city was closed ("This is New Orleans, no one gets coffee after noon") quickly morphed into a full meal.


And what a meal it was. In my early research I had come across some glowing reviews of this place and was excited to see it was located in our hotel; however, I assumed that I would shun this place in favor of more well-known, glitzier establishments and didn't think I would end up having my best meal of the trip on an utter whim at its polished oak bar.

We began with the Kaffir Lime Guacamole, made with mint and olive oil and served with root vegetable homemade chips. The guacamole was superb, with large chunks of tomatoes and a nice hint of garlic, but it was the root vegetable chips, perfectly salted and full of contrasting flavor, that made the dish.


Next up was the Rabbit Spring Rolls, served chilled with peanut sauce to dip. The dough used to wrap the rolls was so thin I could actually see through it (an impressive feat to be able to work with what is surely such a difficult dough). Inside was all the typical carroty crunch of a spring roll (all raw), with tender, chilled rabbit meat to balance the bitters of cabbage and sprouts.


I then sampled the quail salad, served with a boiled quail egg, house-made vinaigrette, and shaved parmesan. The tiny quail legs were difficult to manage, but worth the extra effort. The salad itself was exploding with flavor, deceptively simple yet simply delectable.


From there I moved on to the Veal Cheek Ravioli, made with wild mushrooms, veal jus, parmesan, and cream. This was amazing; the veal jus-cream sauce was rich and full of tangy condensed flavor, balanced perfectly with equally rich parmesan and slightly bitter mushrooms. The ravioli themselves were firm yet tender, with tender shreds of veal meal tucked inside. This is the kind of dish you don't so much eat as savor, and I savored every drop of that decadent sauce.


My partner had a peppercorn-encrusted seared tuna, served with organic greens and a house-made balsamic vinaigrette. The tuna was seared to perfection and the peppercorn crust added flavor and kick; his only complaint was the excess of balsamic vinaigrette on the tuna (but I thought it was fine).


The wine list is still modest, but they do carry one of my favorites: Punto Final Malbec from Mendoza, Argentina. Mixologist Alan Walter also offers a host of specialty cocktails which utilize ingredients such as the locally-grown satsuma, sasafras tea, mint, and chicory. I guarantee that you have never seen a cocktail menu quite like this, which takes "creative" and mixes it with an upscale organic grocer. (See "Cold Snap": Brandy, Green Mangoes in White Balsamic Vinegar, Spiced Rum, Lemon, Proseco.)

Chef Ian Schnoebelen has achieved a masterfully playful and unique menu which fuses a variety of different culinary traditions in a light, clean presentation and atmosphere. Iris wins in both food and ambiance, and the service is both personal and friendly. You feel like you're at the neighborhood deli but you're eating like you're at an exclusive California-style 5-star. Owners Schnoebelen and Laurie Casebonne will also happily come out and greet you, in between joking with their staff and ensuring that everything is being handled exactly how they wish it to be. Their approach is very hands-on, and it shows in all the personal touches and the welcoming environment.

On one of our server's recommendations, we then went to another New Orleans "institution," the revolving carousel bar inside the Hotel Monteleone. The Carousel Piano Bar & Lounge slowly revolves, which can confuse patrons who have had a few too many and return from the bathroom to find their friends "gone." If you like Blackstone wine and butchered renditions of "Piano Man," this is the place for you. Note the sarcasm.

Day 2/Night 3: Cafe Beignet, Reginelli's, and Martinique Bistro
Just as we're starting the get the hang of it, we're already on our last hoorah.

We started the day at Cafe Beignet, were I sampled another New Orleans "must"--the positively sinful beignet, a French-style pastry much like a doughnut served piping hot with powdered sugar, is a singular New Orleans experience. It is a soft, airy, pliable pastry with a slight crunch on the outside, light to the touch but heavy in the stomach. It's best to toss away all pre-conceived notions of "healthy dining" when in New Orleans, because the city's love of all that which is deep-fried and loaded with meat and dairy will do you in. Luckily, I am a lover of animal by-products, so I was in artery-clogging heaven.


Later we found ourselves in the Garden District on Magazine Street, and decided to stop in a place called Reginelli's Pizzeria, a Louisiana pizza and sandwich chain. As much as I love pizza, it was the Baked Brie Calzone that caught my tongue, a mini calzone stuffed with ripe brie cheese. Fab. They also have a great list of tasty pastas, salads, focaccia and pita sandwiches, and specialty pizzas. Their wine list was by the glass and presented on a printed list taped to a wine bottle on each table. Cute, and cheap. And once again, my Punto Final Malbec!


But that evening was what itI had been waiting for all along: experiencing Réveillon in New Orleans. Réveillon is a French dining tradition of a long dinner or party held on the evenings preceding Christmas and New Year's Days, which typically features foods of an exceptional or luxurious nature. A multitiude of New Orleans restaurants were participating in Réveillon and offered special prix fixe menus throughout the season. There were, once again, a number that I was salivating over, but the one I ultimately decided on was Martinique Bistro.

Chef de Cuisine Eric LaBouchere blends French and Caribbean cooking traditions with a dash of Italian heritage, making Martinique Bistro a classically uncommon cross-cultural culinary tour as befits many New Orleans dining establishments. The interior is tiny and quaint, almost cottage-like, where the outdoor courtyard is lush and tropical. The servers are knowledgable and helpful, and won't rush you out even when you've stayed long past your welcome.


So why was I so fixated on this place above all other restaurants celebrating Réveillon? One word: profiteroles.

We began with the Pork tenderloin Noisette "au Grillades" with poached hen's egg and Truffled Eggs with prosciutto in parmesan reggiano profiteroles. The pork tenderloin was tender and OMFG THE PROFITEROLES. They were ultimately the main reason I chose this restaurant and they were everything I wanted and hoped they would be and more. A rich, thick, heavy parmesan cream sauce surrounded the airy profiterole. Black truffles and julienned prosciutto rounded out the flavor explosion of opulence and excess; the only thing I could have done without were the eggs themselves.


I was also able to sample Turtle soup with Amantillado sherry; it was spicy. The turtle meat was tender. Turtle meat is notoriously difficult to extract, and you must be careful where you venture to try the New Orleans traditional soup. This being my one and only experience with it, I think I picked a winner.


I also had the Belgian Endive with saffron and Riesling poached pears, candied walnuts, maytag bleu cheese, and white balsamic vinaigrette. Endive is exceedingly bitter and needs to be tempered with a lot of sweet and/or strong flavors; a dried berry would have suited this salad better than the understated poached pears, but the bleu cheese and walnuts worked wonders.


For our entrees, we selected the Crispy seared duck breast a la satsuma with a confit debris cassoulet cake and the Sauteed medallions of cervena venison with Poire Williams braised pears and a gingerbread demi-glace. I got my satsuma, but the duck was stringy and the cassoulet cake, a common French comfort food, was bland and a bit too "squishy" for my palate.


For dessert I had the Baked Alaska with chocolate cayenne ice cream, while my partner tried the sorbet sampler with flavors like Strawberry Banana, blueberry habanero, and mango mint. The house-made ice creams and sorbets are wonderful, popping with unexpected flavor combinations.


The setting is very romantic, especially when you're the last table on the patio. While not every dish was a winner, those that were so were amazing.

The next morning saw us on a plane at 6:00AM, and so ends my culinary tour of the Bayou. I thank Robert Peyton for his suggestions, and look forward to being able to be as leisurely as the locals the next time around.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Michigan Winery Makes Robert Parker's Top Producers List

Originally posted in D-Tales here.

THE Robert Parker. The guy who instigated the infamous 100-point scale for rating wine and probably the most influential wine critic in history (the 100-point scale he introduced in his wine conoisseur newsletter The Wine Advocate became widely imitated by such publications as Wine Spectator and such second-rate critics as James Suckling, who most will agree is a tool). He named Traverse City's Left Foot Charley as one of the top producers east of the Rockies in his 7th Edition of Robert Parker's Wine Buyer's Guide.

I fondly remember my own experience in their tasting room earlier this year, and I will once again encourage my foodie readers to make the journey out to Traverse City. I had such a wonderful time there being fully immersed in Michigan's rich agricultural traditions and exploring all of the wonderful contributions of Michigan's farmers, winemakers, and chefs. Traverse City is a feel-good foodie paradise; if Pinot is your passion and sustainable cuisine your battle cry, look no further than Michigan's western shoreline.

Parker's acknowledgement of Left Foot Charley is a first for Michigan wines, and will increase Michigan's wineries' visibility in the global wine world. Granted my palate is not nearly as refined as some, I can say that I have in my life experienced a wide, full range of wines (some that have even cost in the quadruple-digits--I can also say that just because something is expensive doesn't it make it the best) from regions all over world; from low-production farms on tiny specks of land to the big-wig palatial Californian and Italian estates; from all over the Americas including south of the equator to southern Europe to eastern Europe to the Far East to South Africa to Down Under. In my most humble and sincere opinion, Michigan wines can compete on a global scale.

FYI: I said it before Robert Parker did.

Congratulations to Left Foot Charley, Bryan Ulbrich, and Old Mission Peninsula on this prestigious acknowledgement.