Nadya

This actually looks tempting. I will consider. Will there be before-and-after bikini shots? Interested mostly in afters. That could be another item in the DR.com store should we ever decide to brand: "DR.com's weight loss plan: "Eat Your Heart Out, Keep Your Scales Proud."

I am with LW here. Cultivating an amiable interaction/dialogue between restaurateurs and diners online is like this line from a Sum of All Wisdom, This is Spinal Tap - "there's a fine line between stupid and....clever." Too little, and the chef comes across as an indifferent ass. Too much, and it kills all other discussion inside a threat like a dinner party guest with a case of tertiary syphilis. I've been on both sides of the dialogue. And what I've learned (surprise!) is that most chefs feel very personal and sensitive about the food they turn out - to the degree that dispassionate assessment of their product is as likely as proud mother agreeing with the flaws you point out in her 8-year old's rendition of Concerto #2. Unless they don't care, which is a different discussion altogether. Which is why I personally think that the best manner of chef participation in their restaurants' threads is to monitor quietly, to say something very occasionally, and keep it as un-advert-like as possible. Not to get into a prolonged debate about the food. And if over half the posts in the restaurant threads come from the owner or chef, well, that's just a turn-off. Why are you the only one talking? I am not sure there's anything a chef/restaurateur can say to a diner who disliked something on the menu beyond "yes, ma'am." If the food sucked, you say yes. If you disagree, what are you going to do? Argue that it didn't? To what end? This is why I learned what to say to customers who complain about their food on their way out. Not "but the tasting menu is MEANT to be small." Not "our trout supplier is the BEST on the East Coast." Not "WE think these flavors are unique." It's "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll let the chef know. Goodbye."

Well. At least there it comes true every once in a while.

Reality. It's like Restaurant Week, but full-priced. Look. It's not the lacking quality of food and service. It's the glaring schism between expectations of a Special Night Out and realities of high-volume dining. Unless you are renting a restaurant out, you and your high expectations will be dining cheek to jowl with other sets of identical expectations while the kitchen! is churning plates out at top speed, and the waiters! run around between you and twenty other tables, and the bartender! is growing blisters from uncorking three bottles in ten seconds. That's not to say you shouldn't go. If you want to, you should go. But leave the expectations of a magical night in your bedroom.

Didn't Slater at some point post a list of ways to butcher that...you know...fwah grah or something?

The new menu at BdC kicks arse. I can see how the chef is trying to work within the confines of what existed, but cunningly introduces a bit more refinement and substance. Last week my arse was to be found perched on a BdC chair not one, not two, but four times. The last time I had veal cheeks that could have been easily served at Corduroy or any of the finer dining establishments around here. Luscious, silky and decadently gelatious, I loved the mushroom-specked saucing so much I even ate some of the mashed potatoes on top of which it was resting - despite the everlasting repulsion toward mashed spuds. Four times in one week, four times the word "arse was used in this snippet. Oh, it is actually three. Never mind. Veal cheeks are found at the opposite end from arse. Now it is four.

Camping Is For Yellowstone - Can You Make Them Leave?

Hmmm, I think the chairs were mine. Mesh metal?

Amazingly, review of Bistro Bis still sports the picture of Cathal.

What if the choice isn't rooted in an argument of ideology (it has meat!) or aestheticism (it is beautiful!) but the argument of pure pleasure? The joy of sinking your teeth into a juicy steak, a deliciously fatty pork belly, a flavorful lamb roast, a crispy roast chicken? What if your philosophy of food is like mine, the unadulterated, unabashed, unbridled hedonism? I eat them because it tastes so damn good? My personal resistance to vegetarianism or veganism is not that I question their morality (to each their own). It's that their life in food seems joyless. Not completely unlike sleeping with someone because it's a good idea while your corpuscles remain entirely untouched. The cerebral enjoyment and passion for food is something that all chefs can relate to, and I should think that when you force them to abandon so many delightful tastes, any chef will at least grumble. Yes, a good chef can recreate the sensations of fat, juicy, animal protein through culinary cunning. I suppose. But why, when nature provides its own so well?

Luckily, we do not have to make educated or less so guesses about what it is that chefs live for, or what their true feelings are about having to prepare a vegan menu. Luckily, there is quite a number of living, breathing chefs reading this board. Why not inquire how they feel about vegans? if anyone actually dares to speak their mind.

If I were you, I would call the restaurant and ask him.

They don't, actually. But they should. My boss took me to Layalina for a celebration recently, and I thoroughly enjoyed. To my dismay, we were a second table in an otherwise empty dining room. Why is that happening when the nearby Potbelly and lord knows what other class of establishment are jammed with khaki-clad crowds, is a mystery I will never comprehend. The trouble with dissecting the food you were raised on is that it never really feels like dining out. It feels like home. Like eating in your friend's mama's kitchen, where you expect no Michelin-style perfection but a heart-warming meal, not crisply elegant service but plenty of good cheer. That type of food, you simply can't critique. So I will just say that it felt like home to me. The dining room looks just a hair width away from the Middle Eastern theme park, with every class of gong and trinket occupying every bit of wall and corner space. What would look garish elsewhere feels endearing here because see above, you don't expect perfection. Layalina is obsessed with pomegranate seeds and juice and ladles it on everything on the menu, from which it mostly benefits. The food, let's see, roast eggplant with walnut and parsley and pomegranate extract was divine, packing all the requisite smokiness and richness of eggplant flesh accented with pomegranate tartness and crunchiness of nuts, check. Stuffed grape leaves, a classic and never wavering, check. Kafta bil jawz, they say it's an ancient Syrian recipe, but really who can tell who got there first, we are still steaming over Azeris stealing out dolma primacy, anyway, check, kafta was delicious, a touch dry but flavorful grilled chunks of mincemeat, if there were walnuts and bulghur in the mix, they must have been ground into submission. It came with a generous side of tomato slices, onion rounds and greens, and no one at home ever worried you need to go to your next meeting with onion breath, and what kind of sissy are you anyway to be concerned with these things, and the salad that could have been very generic was made special by a sprinkling of tart, sour red ground spice I couldn't place at first. "Sumak," said an elderly gentleman who kept a languid eye over the dining room. You know the type, heavy-lidded, unhurried, commonly found in abundance on porches and courtyards of Levant or Maghreb, playing sheshbesh, sipping tea, dispensing life wisdom. "It's called sumak. Would you like a bit?" He strolled in and out of the kitchen and handed me a small container full of reddish powder. "Try it. If you like it, Halalco has it." Just like your friend's mom will hand you her dog-eared recipe. I hope they do a brisk business for dinner because I would love them to stay in business. I don't feel like home very often.

А вот кому еще статейку почитать! http://www.dcist.com/archives/2006/09/28/i...hous_6.php#more

Well, the only reason I know who is Rachel Ray is the fact that Food Network channel, #56, is next to HGTV, #55, and sometimes one's fingers wander. And to contribute to the actual substance to the discussion: Pimpin' ain't easy, But it sure is fun. Why does it still surprise y'all that people want money? And will do things for it? And things they won't do for money they will do for a lot more money? Honestly. I thought this was a free market society and all that good stuff.

Many tried. Yet many more talked. Only one was chosen. Last Saturday, my aversion to mashed potatoes has been finally broken as I tucked into a plate of scallops on garlic, you guessed it, pommes mousseline, and chardonnay sauce. This was the first time I tried the famed scallops as it's not easy holding self back from lamb, and this time turning away from tried and true didn't bring any regrets. Luscious scallop flesh, just sweet enough, just firm enough, and so not enough to be shared. Said mashed potatoes were wiped clean from the plate along with the sauce. Shows you that talent and skill can turn the most stubborn around by making the previously revolting into the delectable. Mind you, I still love the lamb. But we'll catch up later.

My favorite part of the article is how operating in the developing world allows you to write sexy, edgy, out-there ads that would have NEVER EVER run in the neutered U.S. sissy-TV environment. Reminds me of home and early ads of fax machines. On billboards. All over the city. Yes, it played on exactly what it sounds like they should have. Anyone who wants our ad of condoms that ran in Kenya, PM me.

Are you people really up at 9 am on a Sunday? Seriously? Voluntarily? When most normal people are stuck with head down the toilet? Don't think I ever woke up before 9 am on Sunday voluntarily. Oh goody.

Komiiiiiiii! I miss you. I love you. Take me back.

Oh Eve. How you taketh and taketh and taketh from Bis. Our executive sous chef Josh Hutter left us for Eve. We are sad. Eve's the winner. Josh hails from Citronelle, is uncommonly good-looking, ridiculously talented, and more importantly, has unflappable good spirits and calmness in the frenzy of your typical restaurant kitchen. Say hello next time you're there. Good for Eve.

Love it. Adore it. Wish had talent to write same in same hit-home fashion.

So, Acadiana. They've been opened long enough to have their act together, and last Friday, I finally got my bottom into gear to try them out. During my eight years of music lessons that no girl from a good family in my part of the world can do without, they taught me many things. The scales and keys may have become a distant memory, but one bit of wisdom stayed forever. "Make sure your beginning and ending pieces are strong. Then no one will care if you messed up in the middle," my teacher intoned, reaching for a ruler. "And practice these goddamn scales." Acadiana seemed to have gone through the same finishing school. The opening act delivered the requisite bang - I loved the layout of the bar and the dining room. Somehow they were able to combine the airy feeling of tall ceilings with dark, sophisticated colors of the room. Loved the elevated position of the bar and substantial, comfy barstools on which one's bottom rests comfortably while tossing back drinks and watching the diners, in fact, can imagine self doing just that at this very moment. Loved the row of booths along the street-facing window, not that I got one - with no reservation and a torrential rain, was just happy to be indoors. The service at Acadiana bears the stamp of Ten Pehn & Co. with too many people minding too many things. We were greeted by no less than three people doing things to our table before the actual server showed up. Throughout the meal, there have been times when we felt distinctly alone in the dining room - I would have preferred fewer people and more attention from a designated minder. The bang-up opening act continues with the arrival of biscuits. These as a concept I consider to be a great accomplishment of American cuisine that I proudly throw in the face of fellow rude Euros who make the mistake of going on their American food-bashing bender in my presence. "Screw tarte tatin, make me a biscuit." Acadiana's are terrific, rich and flaky, and so addictive they probably have crack in them. There is a distinct danger that you will load up on these and mess up the rest of your meal. I'd be tempted to make a meal just out of these babies, along with their butter/jelly dealio spread. The actual dishes were...well, they were a middle act. There was nothing distinctly wrong with them. There was nothing stellar, either. My corn chowder with crab meat tasted like corn, had lumps of crab meat in it as advertised, but didn't deliver that sharp, pure flavor to be found, let's say, at Firefly. Competent, but didn't sparkle. My soft shell crab had a pleasantly plump middle (you will never hear me say these words again), but the sauce was like a provincial orchestra where you can hear the violins, the cellos, the piano separately and the sum of parts never emerges. I could taste the corn, I could taste the cream, I could taste the bacon. The whole of these parts, I did not taste. So we asked for more biscuits. Ordering dessert, believe it or not, was an exercise in discipline. I was nearly bursting at the seams at that point. But not trying dessert at a new restaurant seems, well, like a waste. Must order dessert. So we split a pecan tart which was everything I want in a pecan tart - amazingly rich, crunchy, with a creamy scoop of ice cream on top. I could hear the mounting crescendo notes as I gobbled it up. The tutti frutti finale was delivered by an act of graciousness from our sometimes-missing but as it turned out, underestimated server. By way of an apertif, I ordered a Sazerac, which I never tried before, and never will again. "I'm sure it is perfectly made," I said to him with a smile. "I just discovered I don't care for Sazeracs. That's a valuable experience in itself." The check made no mention of Sazerac. "You didn't like it," he smiled back at me. "That's on us." Polish, baby, polish. My heart melted. "Tip well," I said to my friend. So, Acadiana definitely has the makings of a great performance. I can see myself whiling the night away at their barstools, filling up on biscuits, watching the scene, licking clean my dessert spoon. Parking is easy, home is less than a mile away, so there really isn't any reason not to. Let's pay attention to the middle now, and you too can be a star one day.

Like death and taxes

Megz, come to my house anytime. On the original post, I am not sure I understand the point. Sounds like you went out and didn't enjoy food or service. That happens to every one of us, and we dissect it online in excruciating, graphic detail if it was bad enough, and enjoy every single moment of that dissecting. I am not sure what is to be gained from keeping the name of the restaurant out of this discussion. If there was something you needed done, I'm sure if you spoke to the manager they would have done it for you. Just like at NB, I'm certain you would like your guests to bring their grievances to you, right? As an "insider", do I feel like going out isn't perfect any more after I've done time in the industry? No. I feel more compassion for the service glitches. I would never take it out on the server because it's unfair to take my frustration out on the only element of the restaurant equation with whom I have eye contact - ten other people could have fucked up, but I didn't see them, did I? The hostess may have brain damage, the sous may be snorting coke, the decor offends my sensibilities - and the server has nothing to do with any of it. Do I feel I have to let people know who I am to get princess treatment? Who I am? Er...apart from using the word "marry" to describe flavors in food, that would a podium contender in the pretentiousness Olympics. Restaurants that fuck up habitually aren't gonna care who "I am" anyway. Anyway, I'm sure you had a bad experience and you are frustrated; that's understandable. I feel for you, particularly if you had company you wanted to have a good time. I just feel like being or not being in the industry has zero to do with it.

Sorry, darling pumpkins, can't make it....damn work. Enjoy!