Todd Kliman

Tujague, FYI, the review was headlined, "A Culinary Roller Coaster; Jose Andres' latest adventure offers plenty of thrills -- and some notable chills." It ran in 2003. Reading it, I had the impression of a place that was still finding itself, with some really good dishes, and some not so-good. My sense was of someone who believed that Minibar was not among the very best restaurants in the city, but rather a wild ride of a place -- a place to go for a fun night out: an experience. The verdict reinforced this impression: two stars out of four. As for skewing young ... Youth is a state of mind as much as anything. There's an energy on this board, a passion to discuss and debate the issues of the day, an intense keeping-up with trends, that is very different from the letters (believe it or not, people still do write them) and emails I get asking for a restaurant recommendation or a place to buy bread or meat or fish, etc., or who have a question about etiquette, etc. These folks I just described see themselves as food lovers, but they don't keep up with blogs or message boards, they don't read chats, and they're generally not at all plugged into the sorts of things that seem to matter most to people on this site. They also tend to be older -- say, 55 and over

I don't think my piece needs to be defended or explained, and I'm not a big believer in continuing to write about a piece after you've published it, but some things need to be said. I'm not wrong about Blue Hill. Blue Hill's selection of local and regional wines is scant. The Stone Barns location has a small selection of NY state wine. The selection at Eve is also scant. I'm saying that local-conscious restaurants generally ignore local and regional wines, that the intensity of the philosophy stops short when it comes to wine. I can't account for "clifton." As was pointed out by leleboo, I did say that his proposed "boycott" is going to a ridiculous extreme. But then, he's an extremist in a lot of things. The notion of giving the restaurant a chance to respond: I don't understand this. What, exactly, is there to respond to? I have eaten at the restaurant, I have read the promotional literature, I have read all the may emails over the years that letter writers have sent me, possibly at the restaurant's urging, about their meals there. There is a serious and admirable commitment to local farms and sustainability, and it often shows in the dishes. If Virginia is a producer of quality products, if the commitment to support the land is there -- all points the restaurant itself makes -- then it is not being reflected in the wines on the menu. Lost in all this is that this is not a piece about Eve. It's a piece about the local movement. The cry of protest is not really about giving a chance to respond. It's incredulousness at my perspective. My perspective is not that of an insider, or a true believer; it's not reverent; it's outside and skeptical. It's not uninformed, and I have thought long and hard about the things I write about. What it is, is different. Not different for the sake of being different, or for trying to garner attention -- I don't need to do that. Anyone who has read my food writing over the last few years will notice that these arguments, these beliefs, are consistent with things I have written and talked about. Hypocrisy is not my word. The writer of a piece has no control over the headline or title appended to it. In my mind, it's not a piece about hypocrisy. I was writing about how the local movement is not as much about honoring the land and saving our bodies as it purports to be. Restaurants are businesses, and at the high end they're in the business of giving their customers what they believe is exceptional and exclusive. This is not new; this is what high-end restaurants have always done. But it is pushed as new. Once local wine gets more cache, it will begin showing up on restaurant menus. It doesn't lack for quality anymore. It lacks for cache. I salute waitman for reading my piece, and responding to it directly and thoughtfully, and not in the abstract. I see two things in Meshe's response, and they're contradictory. We buy local because it's the best, but we won't showcase items JUST because they're local. Local produce and meats are quality simply because they're local; wines have to prove their quality. The "Response to Todd Kliman" was posted on here without my first seeing it. In light of the argument that I ought to have contacted the restaurant before writing an essay that mentions the restaurant, I think this is curious at best. My status update. A general musing. Done to avoid entering this crazy fray and losing time that I could be using to play with my son or talk to my wife or write or read. My tweet. Another general musing. And my father's right: feedback is often distortion. This thread is a case in point, in many different ways. The final line of Ziebold's piece is a huge distortion. Chad Lorenz was not your primary editor, Don. I was your primary editor. I was the one who pushed for second and third drafts, I was the one who stayed up late at night polishing the writing, adding transitions, turning often rough ideas into a publishable column, I was the one who advocated for your work when challenges came from above. sheldman: Re: "combative tone." You call them combative, I call them musing. But still and all, why would you expect someone who is challenged to not respond in kind? I also think it's telling that you go and dig up a tweet of mine, but you don't appear to have taken the time to read the piece I wrote and respond to its points. I choose not to reply, in full, to that final bit of nastiness from Jarad Slipp, except to say that it's clear to me he hasn't read the book, and it's telling to me that his argument comes down to money.

Six months? That's ridiculous. At a minimum, we ought to wait six years. Seems to me the only fair and just thing to do -- to give a place the proper amount of time to settle in and find itself. Or close.

Well worth supporting. We have a piece coming out on Angel Miranda and his truck soon. I invited him to come out to the office last week after a trip out to Ashburn a few weeks ago, and he left us all stuffed and groaning after a meal of Chicago-style dogs (candy-green relish, hot peppers, tomato wedges and all), Polish sausages, Italian beef sandwiches and pizza puffs. A real taste of Chicago street eats, and no wonder -- all the meats come from Vienna Beef, a Chicago institution, and Angel gets deliveries weekly. Great stuff, and Joe, you're right -- a nursery is about the last place you'd expect to find a food cart. Much less a really good food cart.

Only doing this once more. But I just want to say that I think many of you are missing something important here. You have an insider's perspective of your biz, and a very, very outsider's perspective of this biz. (And enough, please, with the speculation about my father and Ann's father, and the armchair quarterbacking of every move and every decision.) A review in the daily newspaper -- a newspaper of record -- has a greater responsibility to cover all the bases. Not an obligation, but a greater responsibility. A review in a monthly magazine, which comes out after the tweets and the Yelps and the bloggers and many times after the daily newspaper, is different. It has to be different. We could write about a restaurant without ever talking about the food. Or talking only a little about the food. We could spend most of a review writing about the neighborhood, as we've done. Or about a family. As we've also done. The monthly, in this new age, is not there to tick off check boxes. Completeness is not the aim. (And is completeness even possible? Restaurateurs want the brand of flooring to be mentioned in a review, or the source of the high-backed chairs from a carver in the Amazon, etc., etc., and spend gobs of money to have their p.r. firms get the word out. But completeness would also mean talking about the neighborhood, and the culture of that neighborhood, wouldn't it? And the mood of the moment, etc. And whether that new place is incongruous or congruous with its environment, etc. I am very interested in these things, but this is something you seldom see in reviews, most of which concern themselves only with what goes on within the four walls of the restaurant.) What I hope we do in our longer reviews, is capture something. Or illuminate something. A new perspective. A connecting of the dots. When I wrote a long piece about Komi last summer, I don't think I ever brought up wine. I barely touched on the decor. Was it a review? It had review elements. It also had elements of a profile. And elements of a personal essay. My only goal was to try to go deep and to try to capture something about the place that I thought hadn't been captured before. Again, as I said yesterday -- I wish some of you would take the time to learn the ins and outs of this world the way you so obviously have learned the ins and outs of the restaurant world.

You all have a good understanding of the ins and outs of the restaurant business, and I know you're vitally concerned that quality wins out and good places succeed, and that's wonderful. The reason many of you understand those ins and outs so well is because you're either in the business or connected to it in some way. I suggest respectfully that you try to learn the ins and outs of writing and editing and reporting and magazines and newspapers before you try to speak out about these things, even if it's just on a message board. There's a lot of bemoaning of things that a publication or writer got wrong about a restaurant, or didn't include, or didn't understand, etc. But I see it on the other side, too. Little things. Like, for example, the suggestion on another thread right now that I "promote" restaurants. Does Yardley promote Peter Taylor by writing about him so often, and with such obvious enthusiasm? There's misinformation, too, or oddly skewed interpretations of things. I let them go. I don't have the time to respond to everything, and especially now. And then, this thread. All these speculations. Ascribing motives is the most dangerous of all. Does anyone know me well enough to speak with certainty and insight about my motivations? Charges of agendas -- and not for the first time. I admit to having a point of view, which is different. Without one, it's just the doling out of information. I'd also like to know who knows enough about me and my "family reasons" -- the very particular circumstances I now find myself in -- to bring this into any discussion. I didn't come on here to begin a long and involved dialogue, or to explain my views or justify my decisions -- or to do the same for Tom Sietsema. And I didn't come on to squelch the conversation. Just to ask for the same understanding and benefit of the doubt you extend to the restaurants.

Don, I thought I would share this sad news with you and your members. I loved Johnny Apple's pieces on food and drink, and eagerly awaited a fresh dispatch from wherever his travels had taken him. He was a true bon vivant, a lover of adventure and sensual pleasure in all its many forms -- one of the last of the great eaters. I'll miss him. And I know many of the chefs and restaurateurs around town will miss him, too. (The obituary can be found here) ----------------- Memo from New York Times executive editor Bill Keller Colleagues, I'm deeply saddened to report that Johnny Apple -- the great Johnny Apple -- died overnight. As many of you know, he had been engaged in a long struggle with thoracic cancer, a bout that gave Applesque luster to the word "valiant." From his sickbed he hammered out his last words to readers (see last Sunday's Travel section), negotiated details of the menu and music for his memorial service, followed the baseball playoffs and the latest congressional scandal with relish, and cheered up the friends who came by the cheer him up. He was himself to the last. Johnny leaves behind bereft legions of friends, colleagues, proteges and imitators, admiring competitors and grateful readers, and his beloved Betsey. He leaves, too, a hole in the heart of the paper he adored, and an empty place at countless tables. Betsey says there will be a whale of a memorial service, probably in a couple of months. We'll pass along information as it becomes available. Those who want reminding of a life lived to the fullest should read Todd Purdum's wonderful obit. We'll have it up on the website before long. Bill

I thought folks on here might be interested to know about a piece that just went live a few hours ago on the 'tonian website -- Phyllis Richman and Chef Roberto Donna Take Turin: An Olympic Journal It's been a tremendous thrill for me these last couple of weeks to work with Phyllis. Like many of you, I grew up reading her column every Sunday, savoring her words about the dishes she'd write about long before I could afford to go and try them for myself. In some cases, and it was odd and wonderful to learn this, reading her writing was even better than eating the dishes. To be able to edit her now? -- (and I use that word lightly, edit.) I can't think of anything more personally and professionally satisfying. One more thing about her appearance on the web -- and, come April, in the magazine. Many may not know it, but Phyllis did a lot of writing for the Washingtonian in the mid-'70s before going on to the Post and becoming Phyllis Richman. I, for one, am happy to welcome her back.

OK -- but, really: "grading on a curve"? It suggests a granting of indulgences -- a tacit acknowledgment of subpar work. Uh uh. I try as best I can to judge places against the standard they set for themselves. Objective standards? You can only compare apples with apples, oranges with oranges. Should a pupuseria be held to the same exacting standards as Maestro? Of course not. And since we've been talking all this time about expectation and fulfillment: The restaurant that ought to bear the great burden of your expectations (and the greater scrutiny that comes with those expectations) is the exhaustively researched Oyamel, not La Sirenita or El Tapatio.

I hardly think you can compare a La Sirenita or El Tapatio with -- come on, Panda Express?? A chain, first of all, where the owner isn't on the premises. And, furthermore, one that serves irredeemable fast food slop. Honestly, do readers really need to have a place like that contextualized for them? I did, as I said, provide some context in the piece that ran last May for afficionados like yourself. That ought to have given you a bit of perspective. The larger question hanging in the air here is: What is the responsibility of the critic? I understand the sort of context you're seeking -- how does this place rank not just locally but nationally and even globally? That's the kind of scorecard-keeping that foodies love. I just don't think it always matters, especially when you're recommending a place to people where the average check for two is under $40. Now -- a place where dinner for two can exceed $150? It starts to matter, sometimes a lot. And a place where you're taking out a small loan to dine? Absolutely crucial.

Sure, I could talk about some of those tiny, tasty Oaxacan places you can turn up all over Southern California, but so? The people i'm writing for, they're supposed to hop a plane to go eat there? I'm supposed to seek out and write about what's good and worthy in the area, and these are good and worthy places -- the best mexican restaurants in the area. Without question. Not to mention -- stunningly good values. Where is the disservice to my readers in telling them about something delicious and tasty? I did not say: These are the most delicious, most tasty tacos you will find anywhere in the country. And to call something "great" is not to say that there is none greater. I tried to provide a little contextualization when I wrote about these places -- see above. Why? Because, having eaten widely, as you have, in Southern California -- a Mexican food lover's dream -- I wanted to provide some perspective for afficionados. I knew very well that had I been writing for an L.A. audience, i likely would not have been writing about La Sirenita and El Tapatio. Foodies are always looking for these kinds of disclaimers from critics. It's as if there ought to be paragraph-long, all-caps warnings at the start of every review: THIS ITALIAN RESTAURANT, WHILE QUITE GOOD AND, PERHAPS, THE BEST WE CAN DO AT THIS MOMENT IN THE CITY, CANNOT HOLD A CANDLE TO THE APPEALING LITTLE TRATTORIAS THAT YOU FIND DOTTING THE COUNTRYSIDE IN TUSCANY -- PLACES THAT WILL PROVIDE YOU WITH A GORGEOUS, KNOCKOUT VIEW THAT YOU WILL SWOON OVER THROUGHOUT YOUR MEAL AND RETURN TO AGAIN IN MEMORY, WHILE ALSO CHARGING YOU HALF AS MUCH AS THE CROOKS WHO COMMAND THIS THREE-STAR JOINT. I think it's worth pointing out that 9th St just below U has some of the best Ethiopian food I've had in this country. I wrote about this area almost a year ago. Walter Nicholls of the Post followed with his report several months ago. Yet the crowds have not come, and there is little discussion of these places among the lovers of food in this city. Why? And why hasn't Little Mexico attracted the white foodies the way that the Eden Center has? My original point in this thread was about how most people -- food people, supposedly -- still don't know about this place. You seem to be suggesting that it's about the food. I really doubt that. Just as I doubt that it's the food that keeps white people from flocking to 9th St. I think that it comes down to a sense of security and comfort and ease -- which is what eating out so often comes down to for so many people. Little Ethiopia is near the booming part of U, but it's still in an identifiably black part of town. Little Mexico is in Prince George's -- bad enough for a great many people. And then there's also the prospect of feeling your way through a part of town that's full of immigrants who don't speak English. Oyamel, sure, is a lot less daunting. But they're entirely different experiences. I don't want to pooh-pooh the notion of convenience. Convenience counts for a lot when you're making your mind up about where you want to eat when you're out and about or when you're tired. I find it interesting, though, to observe the way certain places get decreed, in the public mind, as being worth or not worth the trip -- Northern Virginia and Upper Northwest, of course, being the locus. It's not just a geographic locus, either -- but a cultural locus, an ideological and even philosophical locus. But that's not my locus. And I couldn't do my job if it were. Expectations change when people are pulled far from home, or far from where they feel most comfortable. And for you, and maybe for others, too, Little Mexico will only ever be a pilgrimage kind of a place. Which is, I think, too bad. Because it burdens it well beyond the load it can carry. If it were closer, you might have gone more than once, and done a little exploration of some of the stores. Where, by the way, you can buy some of the Oaxacan spices (corn tassels, epazote, etc.) that I'm sure find their way into your cooking.

Interesting remarks, Zora. In light of your comments about my praise for these places -- and in light of my most recent endorsement -- I think it's worth digging into the archives to excerpt a little of what I wrote a year ago: "In Southern California, La Sirenita and El Tapatío would be generally regarded as nice places, but no different, really, from the many other worthies that blend unobtrusively into the vast ethno-culinary landscape. Here, though, they are standouts." Which is to say, I understand your point and I hear you. But what gets me about your post is the notion that just because something is not national-class it's not worthy of attention and praise. It's a trap that far too many in D.C. and New York succumb to. Ferreting out the best, most exquisite expression of something can be a lot of fun. And it makes for great conversation, and maybe great writing, too. But eating, then, becomes chiefly about the quest to find perfection. How limiting, how dull. I also am curious how many times you have been to these places. I say that because, for one thing, the tacos I had my last time out at La Sirenita were even better than what I'd tasted a year ago. And because what these places are serving, chiefly, is homecooking. I've had the chilaquiles at La Sirenita maybe six times now; each time, it's a little bit different. But still very good. The population of Mexicans in Little Mexico is small, still. It hardly compares, in size and scope, to what you'd find in L.A. But something, clearly, is taking root. I think it bears watching. And I think it deserves support from those of us who love to eat and explore.

It's surprising to me that Little Mexico remains such a mystery to people. I have to think that a large part of that is the irrational fear for many people of venturing out to Prince George's. And then, having taken that big, brave step -- venturing into a place called Little Mexico, where English is not the dominant language and the atmosphere of the restaurants is not designed to put the paleface venturer at ease. I suspect that, were Little Mexico in Virginia, you would see many more gringos than I did on my most recent tour. Which is to say: you would see gringos. Personally, I am drawn to this section like a moth to a porchlight. La Sirenita's tacos are among the glories of this area. But there is a wealth of exciting eating to be done here, from the restaurants (posole, fried quail, huarache, sopes, chilaquiles) and taquerias to the shaved ice carts, the taco trucks and -- last but not least -- the two outlets of the bakery, Flor de Puebla. Their rolls -- tortas -- are so light they seem almost insubstantial. And I love the cream-filled sugar donuts -- wonderful stuff. If you love eating -- not the bourgeois satisfactions of going out to eat, but the eating itself -- then you will love Little Mexico.

I'm back in town, after a whirlwindy five days in NY (and nursing a head cold and a fever, wouldn't you know it?) But I just wanted to take a moment to thank everybody on here for the extremely kind words. Wow. It's wonderful for any writer to know that there are readers out there; but to know that they are devoted and passionate readers, too ... really, what more could anyone ask for? I'm thrilled, and floored, by these last few weeks. bilrus, to answer your question: "Auteur de Force" was on minibar; "Mex Appeal" was about Little Mexico; and "Kid You Not" was about the boutiquing of baby goat. Three columns from the past year were required by the committee, with two being submitted from back-to-back weeks -- presumably, in order to demonstrate consistency. The third could be from any week, a wildcard. My editors opted to submit three weeks in a row.