The waitress stared in near-disbelief as I asked for a doggy bag for my barely touched torte. ”He`s going to bring it home to his wife,” offered my companion.
”Good idea,” she said approvingly. ”You do that, and she`ll let you eat out more often.”
Actually, she may not have much choice.
Beginning Friday, when my first review will see print, I`ll be The Tribune`s new restaurant critic. That means a lot of meals out-with and without my wife-for the forseeable future.
I`ve been spending almost every day of the last month in grueling preparation for this assignment-specifically, dining at some of the city`s finest and most interesting establishments. I`ve been reacquainting myself with the city`s ever-changing restaurant scene, catching up on important restaurants I haven`t visited lately, hitting the trendy spots I hadn`t quite gotten around to visiting.
I can say honestly that I`ve never experienced a new-job transition that was smoother. Or better seasoned.
Oh, there were a few rough spots. I did a slow burn when a waiter tried to flim-flam me when a ”sauce with sun-dried tomatoes” arrived with no discernible sign of tomato. And I experienced that far-from-unusual phenomenon-the vanishing waiter-on a couple of occasions. But on the whole, it has been delightful. Chicago is a terrific restaurant town-many people think it`s the best restaurant town in the country-and the job of covering Chicago`s dining scene is a plum assignment indeed.
When friends and acquaintances learned I would become the new dining critic, their reaction was uniform-unbridled envy, bordering on disgust. Most of them already consider entertainment writing as something other than Real Work, but being paid to eat in expensive restaurants?
How do you get a job like this, anyway?
Well, it helps to know something about restaurants in general and the Chicago restaurant scene in particular, something I`ve been writing about on and off for the last five years in the Friday section. It helped that I wrote restaurant reviews for several years for the Suburban Trib, back when there was a Suburban Trib.
And while I`m not a trained chef, I do have a grasp of restaurant and dining fundamentals. I know what goes into a good meal and what flaws combine to make a bad one. And I`m pretty consistent in my likes and dislikes.
Do I have quirks? Absolutely. I just don`t know what they all are yet. Here are a few quirks and observations:
– I hate it when I see patrons leave a restaurant-leaving many dollars behind-without a single staff member saying a word to them. The ”thanks and good evening” at the end of a meal is as important as the ”welcome and good evening” at the beginning.
– Despite some charming worst-case scenarios proposed by my wife`s cousin, an internist, I can eat sushi for hours. On the other hand, fugu-the Japanese blowfish delicacy that at its best is allegedly delicious and at its worst will kill you-will have to survive without my opinion, thanks.
– I enjoy German and Bohemian food, even though I get somewhat fuzzy about where one leaves off and the other begins. With all the current talk about the resurgence of ”Mom food” (simple, substantial fare such as a first-rate pot roast), I wonder if simple, substantial and very inexpensive German and Bohemian food is due for a resurgence as well.
– If there`s an Official Dessert at the trendier places in town, it`s creme brulee. It`s not particularly elaborate-nothing in it but cream, eggs, sugar and vanilla, and the occasional fruit-but it`s very In these days. At one point I hit about eight restaurants in a row offering a creme brulee for dessert. I expect the Billy Goat to hop on the bandwagon next (”Dub-bele chiz! Kremboolay!”).
– If Carlos` is a great restaurant (and it is), shouldn`t Carlos & Carlos be twice as good?
I really don`t mind when friends joke about my privileged existence, and I`m resigned to the fact that nobody has any sympathy for the sometimes grueling aspects of this job. Going out to dinner virtually every night sounds wonderful-and it often is-but there are days when you`ve got a headache, the weather`s terrible and the restaurant is 40 miles away-but staying home isn`t an option. Plus there are other hazards-winter travel, car trouble, mediocre meals, dismal meals, food poisoning . . . I know. You`re not sympathetic, either.
I try to make my restaurant visits anonymously, but that`s not always possible, because I`m 6-foot-8, wear bowling shoes and I`m part Maori, right down to the facial tattoos. And I occasionally bring my children along, when appropriate. Not that they`re much help; they`re both at that stage of palate sophistication in which they`ll eagerly set aside a plate of imported fois gras in favor of Cheerios.
Children, however, are a perfect smokescreen for a dining critic trying to remain anonymous. So why am I telling you this? Because I dream of the day when parents with children begin being treated by restaurateurs as potential critics, instead of potential vandals. If this helps, fine.
See you Friday.
