Well, he’s resumed trying to set up a shoot, and still he can’t get the right person on the phone. This week he’s been told to call back tomorrow (which he did) or in 20 minutes (which he also did). Still no luck. And, no, he’s not calling during peak hours. (He’s shot restaurants before, so he knows when to call.) So I ask you, what gives? Why is it so hard to take a picture at this place? Are people having similar issues with the service when they dine? I haven’t been, so I’m asking you, SideDishers: do you get the runaround at Hacienda? Oh, and let me know how the food is, too.

French Chefs: Be on the lookout for Leslie.

OMG. I mean, oh mon dieu! DMN dining critic Leslie “Caron” Brenner has lost more than weight on her Restaurant Critics Diet. She has lost a large portion of her cerebellum.

This morning La Brenner reveals Best in DFW: French Restaurants along with a little essay on French food in Dallas.

Her top picks are Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek, Toulouse Cafe & Bar, St. Martin’s Wine Bistro, Bijoux, Rise No. 1, Saint-Emilion, and The French Room.

Excuse my probable overreaction to her words but I am on Day 3 of pancake withdrawal and this article really pissaladière-ed me off.

I would like to go into a short back story on French food in Dallas and then talk a little about the endangered status of French food in Dallas and the U.S. Then I will do a Q&A with La Brenner’s text. Okay? Let’s get this party started.

Earlier this morning, I spoke with Mercury chef Chris Ward. He knows a lot about French food. He worked as an apprentice at Taillevent in Paris four times. “When I came to Dallas everything was French including the chefs,” he said. “Now there aren’t even real French restaurants left in New York, except maybe La Grenouille. Lutèce and La Caravelle are closed, Joel Robuchon has a Japanese chef, Daniel Boulud may be French but his menu is all over the place.” Jean-Georges Vongerichten is doing Asian street food.

Update: Please note I have changed Chris Ward’s quote above. The last line re: JGV is my statement.

Q&A (Text from Brenner’s article.)

La Brenner: “When I came to Dallas one year ago, I was amazed at the number of French restaurants the city boasts. I couldn’t wait to dive in and start exploring them. Once I did, one thing became rapidly clear: Most of our French restaurants are old-fashioned French restaurants. Very old-fashioned.”

Moi: It took you a year of eating red-sauce Italian food and steak au poivre to come to the conclusion that the majority of Dallas diners do not have adventurous palates. (R.I.P Il Mulino) There was a time when formal French food ruled the upscale dining scene in Dallas. There was the Pyramid Room, The French Room, Patry’s, Jean Claude’s, Callaud’s, Mr. Peppe, and The Enclave. We ate sauce with butter. Then we got hooked on Jane Fonda’s workout tapes, went nouveaux, and never looked back. We heart olive oil. Sorry, I’m off task–why didn’t you call this list Best French-style Restaurants?

La Brenner: “For some reason I still have not understood, the kind of French cooking that continues to dominate the Dallas dining scene is the kind that was found all over America in the 1950s and ’60s. Dishes such as escargots, Dover sole meunière, roasted duck à l’orange, dessert soufflés and crêpes suzette celebrate a period of French cooking before nouvelle cuisine revolutionized dining in France in the 1970s. Other American cities have moved on to more modern French cooking, but curiously, not Dallas.”

Moi: Perhaps you should have widened your search—oh wait, we don’t know which or how many restaurants you considered before determining the best. Were you looking  for modern French or French cooking. or a combination of both.  I’ve seen “modern French.” Did you go to Aurora? Did you go to Lavendou? I’m curious of where you looked.

La Brenner: “In the past 12 months, I’m pretty sure I’ve dined in every French restaurant in Dallas, as well as most of the French restaurants in the rest of the D-FW area.”

Moi: Name them please.

La Brenner: “While I did taste duck confit and so-called “coq au vin,” I don’t think I’ve come across a real coq au vin – meaning a bird marinated in wine and aromatics overnight, then simmered in wine for hours. Nor have I seen pissaladière, a boeuf bourguignon, a daube, petit salé aux lentilles, or a clafoutis. In other words, the kinds of dishes that people cook and eat in France.”

Moi: Hmm. I am confused. I thought you didn’t want to see those old dishes? Did you find a boeuf  bourguignon at the Mansion? You “don’t think” you’re come across “a real coq au vin.” Jeezy Pete, I would hope you would know one when you tasted one. I mean you are proclaiming to know the best French food. Curious.

La Brenner: “Happily, there are a few fabulous French restaurants in and around Dallas. Some of them even serve escargots and soufflés. And a couple of them are very modern. I’ve listed the best of them, in no particular order.”

Moi: Happily, I’ll give you Saint-Emilion, Rise No. 1 and, with some hesitation, St. Martin’s “the menu is written in French” Wine Bistro. I haven’t experienced The Mansion (waiting for season to change) but I suspect Bruno Davaillon hits your “modern French” G-spot. (The breakfast menu offers French toast.) However, let’s talk about what you consider French at The French Room.

La Brenner: “Quality may have slipped a bit since the hotel’s executive chef, Jason Weaver, left in the spring to be replaced by Marcus Strietzel, but the jury’s still out. (Marcos Segovia continues to head up the French Room kitchen.) In any case, one bite of the cauliflower panna cotta with American hackle-fish caviar makes it clear that it’s still one of the best French restaurants in the city.”

Moi: Murmur. “Cauliflower panna cotta with American hackle-fish caviar makes it clear that it’s still one of the best French restaurants in the city.” Huh?  Is that French modern? Also, if you named The French Room a “best,” how come “the jury is still out” on Marcos Segova? While we’re at it, let’s dissect the French-ness of one of the French Room’s tasting menus.

1. Hamachi Sashimi, Watermelon Radishes, Parmesan Crostini, Yuzu Vinaigrette  (Japanese) Chateau De La Tuilerie, Costieres De Nimes 2007 (French) Works for me. 2.   Intermezzo (Italian)
3.   Tenderloin of Veal, Pancetta Wrapped Prawn, Avocado Whipped Potato,
Marsala Wine Sauce paired with Twenty Bench Cabernet Sauvignon, Napa Valley 2007 (Jump ball)
4. Mango Custard, Prickly Pear Sorbet, Candied Red Chiles (whatever) Saracco Moscatto d’Asti, Piedmont 2008 (si pas français?)

Leslie, I know you speak French so you can scold me on my translations, but please tell me why L’Ancestral, with a lovely all-French wine list didn’t steal your heart. Or Lavendou, where Pascal Cayet  offers Coquilles Saint Jacques aux Tomates et Basilic and Entrecôte Grillée des Halles alongside seasonal French dishes such as Choucroute Garni à l’Alsacienne  and Mirabelle plum tarts?

L’Ancestral has operated in Dallas for 27 years for a reason. I spoke with owner Alain-Pierre Vuilleret who was busy seating customers. “There are not many French restaurants any more,” he said. “As Stanley Marcus would say ‘this (L’Ancestral) is the best kept secret in Dallas.” Vuilleret runs a French country restaurant. “I went to Paris in January and found that chefs were using guacamole,” he said. “It is sad that when Cadot opened that they didn’t want to be French, they wanted to be French American,” he said. “I ate at the Mansion on Sunday and it is not French nouvelle, it is American French. He (new execuchef Bruno Davaillon) was using poblano peppers instead of bell peppers. You would not find that in France.”

Leslie, Vuilleret’s wine list alone should have stolen your heart. No he doesn’t list vintages because it is too expensive to reprint the ever-changing list. Vuilleret scours the French wine market for unusual wines like a red Sancerre which he offers as specials. “I don’t want a dictionary sized wine list,” he says. “I like introducing my customers to a red from Loire valley or a Pinot Noir from Alsace, but I have a small list of 35-40 wines and promote every region of France.”

Call me a le vieux sac sentimental, but I consider that modern and French. Now, I’m off to Mecca. Somebody pass me the syrup.

No stone crabs in black and white.

Oh how I hate it when this happens. You make plans with good friends to go out and celebrate a special occasion at your favorite go-to spot. You’ve been there many times and you expect the evening to be flawless. Then you show and they disappoint you. Severely.

I apologize in advance to Quinn, the manager at Truluck’s in Uptown. For in the end, he did reconcile an uncomfortable (and expensive) dining experience. However, the story of our experience at Truluck’s last night must be told. Not just to single out Truluck’s, but to point out a larger problem that happens every night in a Dallas restaurant.

Service.

Or lack of service. What is going on around here? I can’t remember the last time I had excellent service at a restaurant. You’d think in a down economy with high unemployment that people in the service industry would be shining your shoes to keep your business. I just told a group of my co-workers that the best service I’ve encountered in the last six months hasn’t been in a restaurant—it was at Best Buy. And they don’t work on commission.

I have a group of talented, well-traveled friends. A few times a year we get together and hit Truluck’s on a Monday night for their all-you-can-eat stone crab menu. The cost for this bonanza now hovers around $55 per person. As I mentioned, last night three members of my group had big reasons to celebrate. We showed up for our 7:30 reservation and were seated. At 8:00 the drinks we ordered arrived. At 8:10 we were informed that the restaurant was out of stone crabs. I wish I’d had my camera. One semi-grown man cried. He’d flown half-way across the country and starved himself in anticipation of the feast.

Jump till it hurts.

Instead, our server offered us all-you-can-eat Alaskan king crab. The tall guy at our table was not happy and asked to speak to the manager. My friend, we’ll just call him Beric, expressed his deep concern for the lack of stone crabs. He attempted to get Quinn to check the North Dallas location and have stone crabs delivered to the Uptown location. “Hell, if I’d known they were out of stone crabs, we’d have picked them up from the one by our house in Southlake,”quipped my other friend, “Bohn.” Beric then went for lobster. “Hey, how about throwing in some lobster with the king crab?” he asked. Quinn agreed.

We ordered. And sat. And waited. At 9:00 we surveyed the table. There was no bread, no wine, and no water. If you were a restaurant manager and you knew you had an unhappy table full of cynical diners, wouldn’t you keep an eye on them? Yes, the restaurant was busy—it was all-you-can-eat stone crab night. Instead of being coddled, we were ignored.  As our blood sugar levels dropped, our senses of humor rose and we got giddy. As much as we’d like to have been, we weren’t drunk—there were no drinks on the table. “Bohn” started taking pictures of the empty plates and shouting, “This is my stone crab dinner at Truluck’s!” (see photo)

It got worse. None of Quinn’s promises materialized. The short Alaskan king crab legs appeared in skimpy servings. The sweet potato fries were cold. The lobster never arrived. At 9:50 we tracked down our server and asked for the lobster. He/she seemed unaware of Quinn’s deal. Eventually, one small lobster (13 bites total), arrived. The restaurant had thinned out but refill requests for wine went unfilled. We waited. And waited. “I am beyond disappointed,” cried Bevan. “This makes me really sad.”

Once the lobster arrived, we started to get rushed by the staff. Truluck’s closes at 10:00 p m. Our server, obviously ready to get outta there, made what he/she thought would be the final approach. “Will that be all?” he/she asked. Then it was his/her turn for the dropped face. We not only asked for coffee we asked for dessert. Beric, fearing a huge bill, asked for the manager. “Quinn,” he said. “We need to talk. We have a serious problem here.”

Ever the negotiator, Beric-turned-Jack-Bauer tortured Quinn with an exhausting recap of the evening’s meal. “Let’s get something straight, kid. The only reason you’re still conscious is because I don’t want to carry you. Now get in the van.” (He didn’t really say that, I copied it from a 24 script.) To his credit, Quinn survived the attack. He apologized to the point that it made me uncomfortable. He credited our bill and passed out six generous gift certificates.

This long story had a happy ending. However, we really had to push for to get some satisfaction. I know every restaurant has an off night or one table that gets caught in the ebb and flow. I also realize that stone crab harvests are down this year and supplies aren’t always guaranteed. But customers should not have to beg to be taken care of, right?

Hard-core froyo addicts do not order toppings.

Yesterday, after I confessed my addiction to the Swirly Goodness of Pinkberry, a commenter, John M, admitted he is tempted to mainline frozen yogurt. He’s even begs you for a place to score. Light a cig, pull up a cold folding chair, and listen to his story:

OK, now I have a Red Mango a block away from my house and a Yogalicious, Orange Cup and Pinkberry half a mile and a free trolly ride away. I’m too lazy and a creature of habit to figure this out and have tried none of them so could someone please tell me where I should be going since I apparently live in the yogurt district now?

A yogurt district. Brilliant. The thought of a yogurt district in Dallas makes my heart race. Image a city full of froyo addicts. Taking public transportation to get  a fix. Pinkberry’s secret recipe sold to undercover agents in the alley behind Landry’s  in the West End. Red Mango corporate executives gunned down in an Italian restaurant. (Oh wait, we don’t have any good ones. Okay, a New American restaurant with truffle fries.) Dallas, once again, will make international headlines. Al Pacino is still around. He will play John M. in a remake of Panic in Needle Park .

Do you have two or more froyo spots near your house? Are you scared? Do you let your kids go to Menchie’s alone? (Full disclosure: I relapsed last night and hit Pinkberry at 7:30 pm. There were 16 kids between 14 and 18 in that tiny store.) You think this is a joke? Then your mother never allowed you to eat baked cellulite.

Dear Santa, Please get your own blog.

With apologies to my parents for paying for my college education, I pass on the following e-mail from a persistent Disher. She has sent three inquiries. At this point I feel sorry for her.

My spouse is an avid cook and I just can’t think of anything new and exciting to buy him for Christmas. He already has a million gadgets. Can you ask your readers to help me find him something he needs?

Needs? The list of sarcastic possibilities that spring forth from my on-deadline procrastinating brain is endless, but I will refrain.

Sorry, I can’t.  If you are wealthy, you might consider buying him an In-N-Out franchise. If your spouse has a blog, you should contact the shrewd, insightful, sharp-witted, bicycle-riding  Kirk and pay him to be his editor. Gadgets? You want a gadget? Then this is the newest hottest gadget for people who are real foodies. For the record, nobody can own too many rice cookers. Next.

Huge Fine for Holding a Sign? Coppell Official’s Harassment Causes Layoffs.

i Fratelli Pizza feels “chilling effect” through unprovoked vendetta

COPPELL, TX   Did a Coppell City official lean on a code enforcement officer to fine the manager of a locally owned i Fratelli Pizza $2,000.00 because there was a lone employee holding a sign in front of the store?

“Yes” says a disbelieving Mike Cole, owner, fifteen year Coppell resident and CEO of i Fratelli Pizza, a local family-owned business that has eleven locations in the Metroplex. “I have the citation here to prove it. I guess we have to spend time and money going to a criminal trial. It really is a shame…not just the hard costs, but the fact that a worthy young man had to be lain off due to a city official’s indiscretion. “

After numerous harassing phone calls and unannounced visits from the Deputy Chief Tim Oates, Officer Oates evidently summoned a code enforcement officer to levy the huge fine in order to, in Officer Oates’ words, “change the manager’s attitude”. The criminal trial is set for November 9, 2009.

George Cole, Mike Cole’s brother, an owner, and former Coppell resident declared “during twenty two years in business, eleven locations in eight cities, we have never been treated like this. While serving the citizens in Coppell for seventeen years, we have only had the utmost respect for the workings of the city. Something has changed, something seems out of line…it feels personal.”

Especially because the Cole Brothers contend that they cannot find anything on the City Website that declares “holding a sign” to be a crime.

Darrell Cole, another brother and owner, but a current Coppell resident is outraged. “This gentleman at the city works for taxpayer money (my taxes) but spends his time attacking a business that raises the taxes that employs him and employs many other citizens. Is it smart to pick on someone who supports the city causes, celebrations, charitable programs, and numerous school and church organizations? He says we are the criminals?”

David Cole of Irving, a brother and owner, questions “why would any city official of Coppell “slap down” a family-owned business that has fought through a severe economic downturn without laying anyone off (until now) by levying a huge fine for holding a sign. Did he get his training at the Kremlin?”

This morning, Russ Parsons of the Los Angeles Times has an interesting story: Apres Gourmet: Food magazines find their niches. Parsons interviews Robert Boynton, director of the literary reportage program at the Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute at New York University. Boynton says:

“I think of Gourmet closing as part of the bigger story of the demise of the general interest magazine. It was the closest thing the food world had to a Life or Saturday Evening Post. But in publishing today, it has become easier and more profitable to disaggregate or divide up readership into small groups.”

Jump from the ledge with me, please.

Further down in the piece, Parson writes:

Boynton argues that if Gourmet had a major flaw, it was more likely trying to be it was more likely trying to be a department store in what has become a specialty-store publishing world. It tried too hard to be all things to all people. Recipes? Check. Long, writerly pieces by big-name bylines? Check. Short practical cooking pieces? Check. Travel, both high and low? Check and double-check…In a narrowcasting world, the magazine’s demise may have been caused by its inclusiveness.

According to her Twitter page (Lord, did I just type that?), former Gourmet editor Ruth Reichl agrees. She tweets (ouch, that really hurts): “Probably right; we were too ambitious.”

Hmm. Too ambitious? Targeted and tightly focused sells? Conde Nast just figured this out?  Methinks the “long, writerly pieces by big-name bylines” are expensive to produce and not selling. And that makes me sad.

Which brings me to blogs. Did you ever see the movie Rosemary’s Baby? Sometimes I feel like the editors at D Magazine went to sleep one night and a wretched creature snuck into the bedroom and impregnated me with SideDish. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes our little baby is cute, informative, funny, and helpful, but a lot of the time it is a living, breathing monster that must be fed raw meat around the clock by magazine writers, reporters, and outside sources. It can suck life out of the print product.

We do our best to review restaurants, take photographs and videos, relay up-to-the-second news, and have some fun. In return, we make a few friends, but mostly blogs have thrust–and I’m going to stay with dining here–food writers and reviewers into a mosh pit with readers and restaurateurs. Our photos are never good enough; reviews are not detailed or copy edited enough; publishing food events is considered shilling. It’s can be a real lose-lose job.

Which brings me to former newspaper-dining-critic-turned-blogger, Robb Walsh. He has decided toss in his cowboy hat and sunglasses and go public. He writes:

“The fact is, my job is changing. I was hired as a newspaper restaurant critic and feature writer. Today I am, first and foremost, a blogger. It’s a little ludicrous to try and maintain your anonymity while you are photographing your plate. And sometimes you need to identify yourself to get a interview. The time has come to adjust to fit my new job description.”

So adjusting to your new job description means that you feel it is important to be recognized? You can’t do a follow-up interview on the phone or by e-mail? Perhaps Walsh has a reality TV show in the works or just wants to have his photo published on the jackets of his books, but, Mr. Walsh, please don’t think you are gaining credibility by announcing yourself during a restaurant review. What service are you providing to your readers?

The thought of not wearing wigs, glasses, falsies, and other tricks of a restaurant reviewer’s trade, is very appealing to me. Trying to fly under the radar of chefs you’ve interviewed or traveled with for stories is hard. (Don’t cue any violins here.) I see Ruth Reichl flying around the world doing a foodie TV show and I am jealous. I watch former NY Times critic Frank Bruni talk about his eating disorder on the Daily Show and think “why in the hell am I still padding my bra so that Dean Fearing doesn’t recognize me?”

I do it because it is my job and I feel strongly that other restaurant critics—blog or print—who chose to review restaurants have to continue to try to be anonymous. Sure, you’re going to get busted a few times, but it usually doesn’t matter. And if it does, you report it, blog it, and Tweet it until you get your own TV show or your magazine or newspaper goes under.

“Tannis anyone?” Bon Appetit.

Sometimes you feel like a duck. Sometimes you don’t.

I find it interesting that two high-profile dining critics are changing their tune about the importance of remaining anonymous. Maybe it’s because they are no longer high-profile dining critics. Former New York Times dining critics Ruth Reichl and Frank Bruni have been giving interviews with quotes such as these:

“Dining companions are not good covert operations agents,” Bruni says. It’s one of the many reasons Bruni no longer feels restaurant critics can remain anonymous.

Is Bruni paving the way for his successor Sam Sifton? Before Sifton took over as the Times critic, he was the cultural news editor and deputy dining editor. His head shot was plastered all over the paper and the web. Sifton was forced into wearing disguises before he wrote his first lead review.

I believe anonymity is important—I have a closet full of clothes, glasses, and wigs to prove it. As a magazine editor, I have interviewed a lot of chefs in Dallas. I have even traveled with a few to do feature stories. As a dining critic, I have managed to slip past them in their restaurants and review them. (Hi Avner! Hi Dean!) That said, even when I am recognized (Hi, Kent!), which is not very often, it doesn’t always guarantee the restaurant will provide a perfect dining experience. Just because there is a dining critic in a restaurant doesn’t make the chef a better chef or the menu a better menu. Service might step up a notch, but it has been my experience that servers overcompensate and make more mistakes when they know they are serving a critic.

Most restaurant critics don’t get busted by personal appearance, they are outed by their behavior. Asking too many questions upfront and ordering too much food are dead giveaways to perceptive servers. A critic also has to be careful what they say at the table. You never know who is sitting next to you or what they will say to the manager, chef, or owner.

Servers, what do you think? Chefs? Fire away. Dishers, take your best shot.

(BTW, love this.)

UPDATE: I just read this on Twitter: ruthreichl Thank you all SO much for this outpouring of support. It means a lot. Sorry not to be posting now, but I’m packing. We’re all stunned, sad.16 minutes ago . (NN)

The City of Dallas Health Department has decided that the Celebration Farmers Market is in violation of certain codes. Celebration was told on 2 previous occasions that we could operate a Farmers Market in our parking lot under our existing permits. We strongly believe that all food handling practices and food products at the Farmers Market were perfectly safe. We have complied strictly with all Health Department codes for 38 years and take our responsibility to public health VERY SERIOUSLY.

We appreciate the warm welcome and support that you’ve provided our Saturday Farmers Market. We believe that what we along with our wonderful vendors are offering is a safe, fun and convenient setting for you to purchase healthy, delicious, local produce and other products.

We are going to approach the Dallas City Council to explore how the code can be modified to allow the Celebration Farmers Markets and others like us to provide a valuable service to the citizens of Dallas while protecting the public health.

I have contacted Ed and asked him for instructions on how you can sign the petition he plans to take to the Dallas City Council. Stay tuned. (OMG, I can hear Amy Severson already.)

P.S. Yes, I’ve been known to attend Holy Trinity from time to time. But I’m not coming to the defense of my people for personal reasons. I’m defending the hundreds of volunteers who are just trying to serve their community and do a good thing for the church. How can you find fault with that?

Smoke's $16 burger

Full disclosure: I’m a Cliffdweller and love/hate that the 75225 crowd have discovered how cool life south of the Trinity can be. (Overheard one night at Bolsa: “Oh my gawd! Look at that taco hut across the street, y’all. Have you ever seen so many in your life?” So many what? You figure it out.) That said, I was stoked that the Bolsa owners and chef/co-owner Tim Byres took over Cliff Cafe — a decent hotel restaurant at The Belmont — and reimagined it as a frou frou smokehouse. So, far I’ve been loving the meats (sweet paprika and fennel seed sausage = savory goodness) and breakfast (my new favorite home for biscuits and gravy) at Smoke. But the EB&D Loaded Up and Truckin’ burger is almost as ridiculous as its name: Burgundy beef (so far, so good) topped with bacon, a farm egg fritter, sharp cheddar, onion, tomato, and lettuce all on a griddled honey bun. Two bites into it, my hands were dripping with meat juices and egg yolk, my jaw hurt, and I admitted defeat. It was simply too much of everything. Dissecting the burger, I appreciated the well seasoned beef patty cooked a perfect medium as well as the lightly fried poached egg. But bacon on a burger needs to be crisp. This was thick cut and, alas, flabby. For $16, it was an orgy of competing tastes and textures my mouth couldn’t appreciate. Nor do I appreciate this burger trend of piling everything between two buns, charging almost $20 for it, and declaring it “gourmet.” No. Gourmet is a burger where I can actually taste and savor the beef. So far, I really like Smoke. But this burger bugged me. Am I alone on this issue, SideDishers?

“Talking to myself and feeling old/Sometimes I’d like to quit/Nothing ever seems to fit/Hangin’ around, nothing to do but frown/Rainy days and Mondays always get me down”—The Carpenters

I am feeling so Karen Carpenter today. Not skinny, just beat down. It all started on Saturday when I ended up in lengthy conversation with a veteran Dallas restaurateur on the “rules” surrounding a restaurant review. He/She shall remain nameless.

Anywhoo, He/She had a (loud) question for me: “Hey, since when did it become okay for a restaurant critic to review a restaurant during the first week of operation?” I had no idea what He/She was talking about so I asked, “What do you mean.” He/She raged on incredulously: “Well Leslie Brenner went to Park the first week it opened and based a lot of her review on what happened during the first week.”

“Whoa, hold on,” I said. “I have not read Brenner’s review because I have not written mine. Until I do, I’m not comfortable talking about it.”

“Well, then let’s make this a hypothetical case,” He/She said. “When do you consider it fair to go into a new restaurant and judge it?” My first reaction was to say as long as a restaurant charges a full price, they are fair game. However, I knew that I was dealing with a seasoned restaurateur who was ready to shoot down that standard line so I said boldly, “Whenever the restaurant charges a customer a full price, they are fair game.” (Jump here.)Oh boy/girl, he went ballistic. “What about soft openings!” “It takes months for a restaurant to get systems down!” “Hell, Park hasn’t even finished the landscaping and part of the back part of the restaurant.”

To that, I say: “Charge soft opening prices!” “Practice your systems before you overhype your opening!” “Finish the freakin’ landscaping.” Dude/Dudette, sometimes a new restaurant only has one chance to win over a customer. And that first happy customer is the best advertising that restaurant can get.

I’ve worked in restaurants and I know nothing is perfect when you start out, but there are things you can do to control the opening chaos.  Even if you don’t want to make it a long-term policy, take reservations for the first few months so that the kitchen and staff can learn to work together. Keep your initial menu small and roll it out slowly. Have a sound business plan with enough money in reserve to see you through a good portion of the first year.

I am a firm believer in the concept that, over the long haul, a restaurant critic can not make or break a restaurant with a good business plan. However, I feel it is important for a critic to inform a reader when and how many times the new restaurant was visited. (My guess is Brenner did or we wouldn’t be having this “conversation.”) My strategy is to stagger nights and days of the week, times, and sitting areas of the restaurant over the course of two months. When I start the reviewing process is random. In some cases I avoid going early because the opening has been overhyped (Park, Fearing’s, Rathbun’s Blue Plate). If a restaurant is smaller or not as high profile (Coast Global Seafood, or the reopening of Royal China), I may go a little earlier.

Like my He/She colleague, I sometimes get perplexed by the timing of restaurant reviews. Especially magazines and the time lines used by some publications—a concept I am all too familiar with. We work 6 to 8 weeks out depending on the issue and the time of the year (printer’s schedule).

Theoretically, Brenner has the curse/luxury of writing on Monday and having her opinion on your dewy front lawn the next morning. Even though she and I might have eaten at the same restaurant on the same days, her review has more of an immediate impact. Mine hits four weeks later giving the allusion that I’ve waited weeks or months to visit the restaurant.

However there are a couple of times a magazine has caused me to scratch my head in wonder.  Esquire magazine’s John Mariani’s picked Fearing’s as The Best New Restaurant OF THE YEAR in the October 2006 issue. Fearing’s opened to the public on August 15, 2006. My “drop-dead deadline” to make an October issue is August 15th.  The September issue of Modern Luxury Dallas has review of Park which opened on July 15th.  My “drop-dead deadline” to make a September issue is July 15th. I guess nobody picks up the phone and cries FOUL when the reviews are positive.

Best restaurant in America? How can anybody know that in one visit? Rainy days and Mondays always get me mad.

About a year ago, I started to read the book, the United States of Arugula, the first sentence of which included a reference to author David Kamp having a “rapturous food memory” of some “Cantonese lobster dish unveiled from beneath a dome in some dimly lit place with a name like Jade Pagoda.”

I never made it all the way through the book, but the sentence stays with me to this day. It has conjured a craving that I can’t seem to quence in Dallas. Mainly it is this: I want to revisit the ’70s and relive a “rapturous food memory,” by having a waiter in some dimly lit place with a name like Won Ton, Lotus Garden or Lai Lai (actual names of Chinese restaurants from my youth in Atlanta and Fort Lauderdale) unveil a plate of Wor Su Gai.

Or, as you may know it: Almond Fried Chicken.

That’s how I knew my fried fowl friend when it was the staple of every Chinese dinner we had. It usually followed some Won Ton soup the color of chicken bullion cube, an order of spare ribs and some giant egg rolls with bits of roast pork and bay shrimp inside, not just cabbage. Those were the days, man. Column A, Column B, Family Dinners.

I’ve been in Dallas nearly 13 years now and have lived in four different neighborhoods. Every time I move, I set up my utilities and then set out in search of two things in the new ‘hood: The girl of my dreams and the gai of my desires. No luck on either. Actually, I’ve come closer to finding the girl than the chicken.

It’s not like I’m looking for something exotic; Wor Su Gai only sounds that way. IFirst of all, it’s about as Chinese as me. It is basically this: Fried chicken – similar to that you’d find in Lemon Chicken or Sweet and Sour Chicken. Add a little brown gravy, similar to what you’d receive with Egg Fu Yong. And some almonds. That’s it. When I see Almond Chicken on a menu, I get a hint of excitement, only to have it dashed when I’m told the chicken is cubed, not breaded and served with lots of celery. I’ve even gone so far as to ask folks to make it, describing it exactly as I just did. I’ve received Sweet and Sour Chicken with Egg Fu Yong gravy, which, by the way, is not appetizing in the least. It’s also not the dish. I can’t seem to get them to leave the sweet and sour sauce off. Or the Lemon sauce. No. No. No. No.

I’ve been on Chinese food crawls with New York-reared Chinese-food freaks, who like me, want the stuff of their childhood. We got the same stares in Richardson that I’ve gotten in Las Colinas and on McKinney Avenue.

I’ve searched the web and there are numerous recipes for the dish. There also appear to be lots of other folks like me: Too lazy to cook and desperate for a fix of the Chinese food with which they grew up.  It’s apparently still popular in the Midwest. And when I go visit my folks in Atlanta, there are still a couple of places serving it.

Does anybody out there know this dish? Does anybody out there know a place that serves this dish? Does anybody out there know a Chinese restaurant owner who ows them a favor and would add it to the menu? Will somebody cook it for me?

Help!

Is there some comfort food from your past that you crave and can’t find here anywhere. Anything you’ve been dying for, but can’t find. Consider this your clearing house for old-school comfort food tips. Dishers, I plead with you. Help me and one another.

•  Bill Addison @ July 11th, 2008 at 4:54 pm _

Darn you, N2. This is a question I’ve been meaning to post on our blog. Love this subject. Just for today, here’s my answer:
– Maryland jumbo lump crab salad with blood orange and avocado
– A thali of South Indian curries, mostly vegetables and seafood, like served here.
– A modest plate of Ed Mitchell’s barbecue. A plate of barbecue from City Market in Luling would substitute nicely.
– A small dish of blood orange sorbet
–    A big bowl of peach crisp (with vanilla-bean brown butter poured over the fruit) with vanilla-bourbon ice cream melting atop. Then, curtains.

Sadly, not long after I listed my extensive and expensive requests, my relationship with Bill went, well, curtains. In honor of Bill, who I miss dearly, let us relive the idea of ordering your last meal on earth. What would be on your list? Who would be with you? How do I make my voice do this? (Obviously, I am on deadline and need a distraction.)

The web site www.DrinkLocalWine.org exhorts consumers to drink local wine. This weekend the organization held its first annual conference and it happened to be here in Dallas with an emphasis on Texas wine.

However, it can be hard to recognize local wine. If you are at the liquor store and pick up a bottle of wine with the name of a Texas winery on the label the connection with Texas may be almost non-existent. It may actually come from grapes that were not grown in Texas. It may be fermented outside Texas. It may be aged outside Texas. In fact it may even have been labeled outside Texas. In other words, a completely finished wine is imported into Texas and the label says the name of a Texas winery. But none of the viticulture or viniculture had anything to do with Texas. How is the consumer to know where the grapes came from and where the wine was made?

Maybe the small print on the back label saying ‘Vinted and Bottled by…” is an assurance that the wine was at least made locally even if the fruit came from elsewhere. Not so fast. The weasel phrase “Vinted and Bottled by…” means that only 10% of the wine in the bottle need come from the winery. The rest can be blended in from anywhere.

What about “Made and Bottled by…”.  Isn’t that the phrase that assures local production? No. It means the same as “Vinted and Bottled by…”.

How About “Produced and Bottled by…”? That is closer to what we want but only 75% of the wine must be made by the winery and none of the grapes need come from the winery.

Surely if the label on the front of the bottle says “Texas Wine” that at least assures us that the underlying fruit comes Texas. Again, things are not what they seem. Up to 25% of the grapes on a wine labeled “Texas” can come from outside Texas. That kind of alien percentage is more than enough to totally dominate the character of a wine. Other wine growing areas are much stricter: an American Viticultural Area (AVA) specifies a minimum of 85% and Oregon 95% (since 2007).

One phrase which will guarantee that the winery grew all the grapes in the specified location and made the wine on its property is “Estate Bottled”, sometimes written as “grown, produced and bottled by…”.

What if the label does not name the origin of the grapes but does say “For sale in Texas only..”. Doesn’t that mean it is a Texas grown and made wine? Absolutely not. This is the cruelest misdirection of all. Under Federal Law a wine sold across state lines must list the viticultural area of origin. However, if a wine is sold only in one state the law grants a waiver of this labeling requirement. In the case of Texas, as long as the phrase “For sale in Texas only” appears on the label, the grapes can be from anywhere. While this exemption was created to provide regulatory relief to small wineries it is almost invariably used to allow the use of out-of-state juice by an in state winemaker. As such it confuses the consumer and should be modified to still require reporting of the origins of the grapes.

With such an unnecessarily complicated and contradictory set of laws regarding grape origin and wine making labeling it is no wonder even the experts get confused. At this weekend’s conference one of the panelists praised a Texas wine that won a medal when, in point of fact, most of the fruit in that wine originated in California.

This truth-in-labeling issue is acute for the Texas wine industry. If consumers feel that Texas wineries are just labelers of other state’s wine, they will eschew Texas wine for “the real thing”. This will penalize the many Texas wineries who use exclusively Texas grapes and label them clearly. At the present time the trend is for more and more out-of-state fruit to be used. The industry needs to act soon to place the origin of the grapes on the front label of all wines produced in Texas so that consumers have confidence in the provenance of the product. It should also consider following the example of wineries such as Inwood Estate Winery which has created a completely separate label for its out-of-state wines.

Ferrets are sexually dimorphic predators.

I realize a lot of you love to dine out during KRLD Restaurant Week/Month. You get a three-course meal at these restaurants for $35 and some “proceeds” go to the North Texas Food Bank. Win-win, right?

Over the years, I’ve talked to a many restaurant owners, chefs, and servers who aren’t crazy about the promotion. Perhaps given the current state of business they’ve changed their tune. I’d like to know.

Anywhooo, last year, the finest ferret at PegNews, Teresa “Vicky Christina” Gubbins, wrote the piece I wish I’d written about Restaurant Week. Here is the hot link to her story which officially makes this “Link To Teresa Gubbins Week.”  (Group hug.)

At the risk of going all Eatsblog on you, I would like to know: Why do you like restaurant week? Why do you hate restaurant week?  I will tell you this: it is the worst month of the year to be a dining critic. Okay, let’s rumble like we’re on Las Ramblas.

SideDish, an equal opportunity hot link provider.

To the fake Bonathan or as henceforth shall be known as: Fonathan,

You’re clever, I’ll give you that. Quick with your words and clearly eager to prove your mettle as you found it within yourself to actually challenge the original. But let it be known, no one challenges me and gets away with it. Unless you are bigger than me, which in that case, by all means “no I was not looking at your girl funny.” That said, I am Steve Perry, and you are that guy from the Philippines. You might sound like me, and carry the same swagger but I was here first and I rocked harder than Nic Cage on Alcatraz. AMERICA.

Your challenge was intriguing and so, for the past week, I have gone into hiding to prepare myself mentally and physically for our challenge. And let me just say, you’re about to get a taste of the peoples’ elbow. Ooo-ah-ah-ah! You didn’t really think I was gonna let you pick the venue, did you? Bow to your sensei! We will let the people of SideDish decide this one. SIDEDISHERS: Offer your suggestions on the place and method in which I should administer my beat down of this Fonathan. (Please nothing too scary. Or intense. Or involving like, running. Checkers would be a good suggestion. Or Pictionary. Just saying.) And to Fonathan: the loser of this challenge shall be banished from Dallas forever (excluding major holidays, including Texas-OU weekend and random weekends when nothing is going on at school). The winner, shall be rightfully titled Bonathan, but this seems redundant as I’m already called that. *grabs a Coors Light, shotguns it, crushes can on forehead* Bring it!
P.S. Freshly starched Polo? Psh, shows exactly why you’re a knockoff of the real deal. Brooks Brothers is the original. Read a book.

Julie Powell last night at the DMA.

Tomorrow morning when the New York Times best seller list is released, Julie Powell’s book, Julie & Julia, will be in the number two position. Not bad for a former underpaid secretary-turned-blogger-turned-book author- turned-guest lecturer at last night’s Arts & Letters Live program and the Dallas Museum of Art.

Before last night, I made my feelings about the movie and Ms. Powell pretty clear—I didn’t particularly care for either one of them. The movie was nice, but I don’t like nice overly sweet movies. I can’t comment on Julie Powell’s book or blog because I haven’t read them.  I admitted that, right or wrong, I am extremely jealous of her rags-to-riches-by-blogging success.

Last night, Ms. Powell appeared at the DMA to speak and answer questions. The main hall was filled to capacity and another crowded room watched via closed circuit. SHE IS A FOOD BLOGGER. She does not have the cure for AIDS.

The good news is that I had a chance to tell Julie Powell, in front of a live audience, that I didn’t like her. I told her I was an insanely jealous food blogger and I wanted to know how in the hell she scammed this whole movie deal. You know what she said to me? “Yes, the bloggyness now is so different. I would want to throw me under a bus, too.”

I love her.

And I’m sending her a love letter.

Dear Julie,
Wow, you were really nervous last night. And plain. You didn’t wear any make up or even bother to comb your hair. That’s a gutsy move in Dallas. Especially when I think back on the saline-silicone-collagen-Botox and peroxided crowd of women you faced.

But they loved you. Love, loved, loved you. Like the blond woman who stood up and said, “Thank you, Julie. After I saw the movie on Monday night, I made Julia Child’s recipe for beof Bourgogne for my family and they loved it. And you inspired me to have the courage to try.” I was on the front row. I saw you tear up. And you didn’t even correct her for pronouncing it “beef” Burr-gynn-yon. I don’t think Julia Child would have spotted her that.

I loved it when you kicked your shoes off. I loved it that you never completed one sentence because you lost your train of thought so many times. You elevated the non-sequitur to an art form worthy of its own wall at the DMA.

I loved it that you admitted how young, stupid, desperate, and sad you were in 2003 when you started your food blog. I’m glad that you realize that your recent success isn’t because you are a good writer; you are now famous only because you were in the right place at the right time. I’m also happy to know that your real life was much worse than the one played by Amy Adams in the movie. (I bet she only uses Butter Buds!)  And I was filled with joy to learn that during the real project you didn’t have “as much sex” in real life. You still don’t do you? And you think you have it all.

After listening to you, I could tell that you think the movie’s director and screenwriter Nora Ephron is a real bitch. She kept you out of the movie making process and didn’t collaborate with you very much on the screenplay. You didn’t even get to meet any of the cast until after the movie was made. (Does Meryl even know who you are?) Man, that would have chapped my ass. I mean, Nora Ephron? Talk about desperate. She couldn’t hang on to effin’ Carl Bernstein. And Ephron totally ripped that over-the-top lobster scene straight out of Annie Hall. That old broad doesn’t have an original thought.

Nora’s Julie betrayed you, didn’t she? Nora’s Julie felt that Julia Child taught her joy and how to cook. But you, Julie’s Julie, you are deeper. You feel that Julia Child taught you how to cook, but, more importantly, she taught you how to enjoy life in a different way. Julia wrote a cookbook that changed the culinary world. Mastering the Art of French Cooking has traveled through space and time and it somehow landed on your coffee table and changed the way you now look at life. You know you’re not a good cook, but you do know that, as a result of your year of cooking, you are stronger and live a braver life. Knowing you the way I now know you, Julie’s Julie, I am sure that the huge sums of money now stuffed in your mattress have nothing to do with your new found happiness. Nothing.

I could tell you really wanted to swear last night. You wanted to lace an f-bomb between every word that came out of your mouth. Then you wouldn’t have been so nervous, right? And you would have been happier if the movie had been rated “R” and Nora’s Julie could have let a few f-bombs fly. Damn MPAA. Damn Ephron. They’re all about wide-release money.

Julie, I’m so glad we got to meet and cuss together. I feel so close to you. Not like those three bitches that played your friends in the movie. What? That part was made up by Ephron to create drama and define your character’s dilemma early in the movie? Wow. That gives me hope because I hated them. Like I hated you after I saw the movie on Monday.

Last night you said, “I don’t have a lot of friends, but I like the ones I have.” After our little talk backstage, I am assuming that I’m in there. On the inside circle. We have so much in common—love of food, blogging, swearing, going shoeless in public, and 100,000 hits a day on our websites.

Good luck at the premier tonight. I’ll be here at my blog waiting for your comment.

Bon Appetit,
Nancy

Then I checked the Dallas pollen count: Mold Spore High.  I am sorry people, but the high pollen counts and the air quality we breathe in Dallas every day are ridiculous. I just canceled my plans for dinner. The thought of a glass of wine makes my stomach churn.

Channeling my best frustrated Susan Hayward: “I WANT TO LIVE! AND WEAR BLACK LACE SLIPS!”

However, I disagree with something you wrote a couple of weeks ago about the DMN star system. June 19 on Eatsblog.:

“If a restaurant is serving brilliant main courses and charging $50 for them, that’s far less impressive to me than if it’s serving brilliant main courses and charging $22 for them, and I definitely consider than when assigning a rating. If you charge $50 per entree you can afford much more help in the kitchen. It’s a lot of money to charge, and my expectation is that the dish will be stellar. And if you’re asking a diner to pay that kind of money, the whole experience, including service and ambience, had better be stellar too. At the lower end of the financial scale, if I find a restaurant with good, honest cooking, where you pay, say $10 for an amazing chile relleno stuffed with brisket, that’s definitely appreciated and it’ll be rewarded.

First of all, I don’t see a direct relationship between a $50 entrée and the number of folks in the kitchen. There are too many other variables, like food costs, to factor in, but I’m losing myself. I would move forward to the remark you made in the comment section under the post above.

“It’s hard to imagine giving a five-star rating to a great $10 chile relleno place. Service and ambience are also considered when assigning a star rating, and while it wouldn’t be impossible to imagine service and ambience at that level someplace selling $10 chile relleno, it would be very unusual.”

Let me say this about that. You are wrong. And because I’m on deadline, I’m going to make this long and drawn out. And then I’m going to propose a peaceful solution.

I like fancy food but I love down, dirty, and dive-y too. If I search my taste memories, the ones that rise to the top fastest are generally a great chile relleno or a cheeseburger with green chiles. I ate at Alain Ducasse last year. Besides the 10,000 Swarovski crystals hanging from the ceiling and the cheese trolley, nothing else I was served knocked my chaussures off. The meal was $3,500 for five people with two bottles of wine (at $250 per).

So here is the deal. Use any symbol you want: Stars, Stripes, or Dollar Signs. I’m partial to Hearts. Then pick three colors and assign a price point to each color. For the sake of argument:

♥♥♥♥♥= entrees above $20

♥♥♥♥♥= entrees between $10 and $20

♥♥♥♥♥=entrees below $10

It’s even pretty. Now I will use a couple of my recent dining experiences and demonstrate.

♥♥♥♥ Five Sixty

♥♥ Rathbun’s Blue Plate

♥♥♥♥♥ Breakfast at El Jordan

♥♥ Alain Ducasse

This peaceful and pretty guide is not only reader friendly, it is critic friendly—you can let your freak flag (heart) fly and love Wolfgang and chiles rellenos the same amount. It’s about food and the passion we all attack it with. And for the record, if ANYONE out there steals this idea, you will have to deal with my lawyer—and he makes rattlesnakes look like newborn kitties.

]]> http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2009/07/01/wednesday-rant-fixing-the-star-rating-system-is-it-possible-i-think-so-and-i-have-the-solution/feed/ 24 http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2009/06/22/monday-morning-rant-%e2%80%9cfake%e2%80%9d-tomatoes-in-east-texas-broke-my-heart/ http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2009/06/22/monday-morning-rant-%e2%80%9cfake%e2%80%9d-tomatoes-in-east-texas-broke-my-heart/#comments Mon, 22 Jun 2009 15:43:30 +0000 Nancy Nichols http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/?p=6248

Tomatoes should be fun, not depressing.

Buy local. Eat seasonal. Hug a farmer. Kiss a chef. When the economy gets tough, we love our neighbors, right? As mighty “Agent Orange” Monsanto poisons our bodies with abused cattle, chickens, and ugly carpet, we turn to each other and clasp hands in unity. WE SHALL FIGHT YOU WITH OUR ORGANIC GARDENS! THE CHICKEN WE PUT IN OUR POT WILL LIVE IN OUR BACKYARDS! BASIL IS THE NEW PARSLEY!

It’s all a lovely idea and great mantra to live by. Facing shrinking 401-ks would be easier if people could be nicer to each other, right? Put on your best John Belushi: But, nooooooooo.

This morning, I am disillusioned. The older I get, the more I want to get in a red time machine and go back to the peace-love-and-Woodstock of the ‘70s. I know I can’t and I know I have to put yesterday behind me. I need to get on down the road.

Oh, yesterday? Let me back up.

You know how you get when you are really busy and things pile up and you feel like the earlier you get up, the faster you fall behind? You spend weeks (months?) trying to climb to that mental plateau where you can lie low on cool flat ground and let a soothing sense of accomplishment wash over your soul. For a day, an hour, a minute, you might take a deep breathe and feel good about yourself.

Sometimes in your salmon-like frenzy, just before you get to that sweet spot, something little jumps in your way and you freak out in the darkness. It’s always a little thing—a car cuts you off; a waiter forgets your wine; your husband switches the channel just when the jury reaches a verdict on Law & Order. Whatever, you snap. Like a dragon.

Yesterday, I snapped. It happened at a fruit stand in Eustace, Texas. I’ve passed the place twice a week for five years on my way to my family’s home in East Texas. I used to know the farmer that ran the place. He must have sold the business or died.

Yesterday, I was coming back with some East Texas goodies for a Father’s Day celebration. I’d picked herbs from my garden and had a cold bottle of East Texas Semillon from Kiepersol Estates—all I needed was a bunch of Noonday onions and a bag of local tomatoes. What a groovy gift—so earthy, so hippie, so now.

I stopped at the shack in Eustace. I took one look at the tomatoes and knew they weren’t grown in the dirt of Texas. They were shiny and yellowish red, not dull and blue/red like “ours”. They were nestled in a rustic woven basket with a handwritten sign—you know they misspell on purpose! “Tomaters, $5.50”  I asked the guy where they came from. “Texas,” he said without looking up. “Where in Texas?” I asked in a distinctly bitchy tone. “I dunno,” he said with a sneer.

Then I heard a dog scratching from the inside of a trailer sitting in the hot sun near the shed. “Is there a dog in that trailer?” I asked. “I dunno,” he hissed. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke in my direction. I walked over the wooden trailer and tried to open the door. Not only was it locked, there were no windows and the poor thing was crying. As I readied to chew the sneering dude’s ass out about the dog, I looked down. There was a pile of fly-infested cardboard boxes stamped “Tomatoes: Product of Florida.” And I snapped. Hoohah! Flip City.

Yes, it seems small. Eustace isn’t Iran and the poor guy is just trying to make a buck–he has cigarettes to buy. But that three minute exchange took a big bite out of my heart on so many levels. I hate it when that happens.