I’m writing a “First Bites” preview of two new restaurants this week. I’m struggling with one of them, a restaurant that has been so disappointing that the prospect of a second bite makes me want to tender my resignation.
But, really, I’m resigned to sharing my experiences with you; I am, after all, paid to be your surrogate stomach.
“First Bites” are previews, not reviews. “First Bites” are supposed to be samplers — brief tastes of menus, decor and overall vibes of new restaurants. “First Bites” are generally written within a month of restaurants’ openings. Actual reviews
My out-of-state horoscope guru dude counsels me thusly this week:
"According to the macrobiotic approach to diet, the healthiest food for you to eat is that which has been grown near you, or at least in the same latitude. Unless you live in the tropics, for instance, bananas shouldn’t be on your menu. Let’s make that meme your Metaphor of the Week, Aquarius. According to my interpretation of the omens, all your best bets will be local and homegrown."
What a culinary coincidence. I’m working, and chewing, on that very topic right now. Here
In the 1938 French film "La Femme du Boulanger," the anguished village baker pleads for his unfaithful wife’s return:
"I will make for you a bread so good that it will never again be used as an accompaniment for other foods; it would be a nourishment in itself, a food for gourmands. One would never again say, ‘I have eaten a tartin of cheese on some bread.’ One would say instead, ‘I have savored a tartin of
AUSTIN, Texas – Taking a break from discussing beer with a dozen women at the Craft Brewers Conference last week, I stared down from the fourth-floor balcony of the Hilton, curious about a white-brick hacienda with valet parking across the street. Later, curious and hungry, I moseyed over and asked to see a menu.
Carmelo’s is an Italian restaurant. Nice-looking: White tablecloths and candles dotted the dining room’s intimacy. Pricier than I wanted to pay, especially since my credit card had just been rejected at the La Quinta.
On June 21, 1947 — two weeks before whatever happened in Roswell — Harold Dahl of Tacoma reported an encounter with six donut-shaped discs hovering above the water south of Maury Island. Three days later, a federal marshal reported nine unidentified