#frankbruni

QUOTE OF THE DAY Saturday, October 1, 2022

"Although the Internet could be making all of us smarter, it makes many of us stupider, because it's not just a magnet for the curious. It's a sinkhole for the gullible. It renders everyone an instant expert. You have a degree? Well, I did a Google search!" - Frank Bruni

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"Earlier this month, and just five weeks before his 102nd birthday, my long-time friend and confidante Bascom Biggers III died."

Accompanying Frank Bruni's article on the burgeoning restaurant scene in Bogotá, Columbia were Peter Frank Edwards' stunning photos for the July 2013 issue of Conde Nast Traveler.  His beautiful work captures the faces and flavors of Colombian cuisine, but be warned: this photos should not be viewed on an empty stomach.

It is not often that I allow myself to actually enjoy a dining experience; a decade of slaving away in the restaurant industry tends to deplete the romance out of a gluttonous evening on the town.  Your eyes are constantly perusing the room and analyzing the ambiance, food, catching every misstep they make, pretending for 90 minutes your opinion and awarding of two stars will make or break service.  I am what you call a hospitality rat, comparable to that of a child who spends their summers at a pool, their skin remaining a constant stench of chlorine and a running tab at the snack bar.  Now trade the chlorine for booze and the snack bar for a bartender who has your Boulevardier waiting before you’ve even set foot in the local watering hole.  Both my livelihood and hobbies seem to revolve around this addictive industry that attracts the more extravagant characters from all walks of life.  It is a profession filled with actors, singers, budding novelists, aspiring acrobats and avid painters.  It is not often that you hear of a restaurant manager throwing in the towel and declaring he will be making a career change into the alluring world of finance or some other realm of the corporate work force.  This industry is lucrative to those of us who function well with a lack of structure and sporadic schedule.  It does not take me by surprise when I hear stories of number punching 9-5ers trading in the calculator for their culinary dreams, the youthful and party driven lifestyle can be an enticing change to someone who has been chained to a desk.  

  The restaurant is most definitely a place I like to be. I like being in the weeds as a waiter, sauntering through the dining room as if I am the Sugar Plum Fairy from the Nutcracker.  I hear flutes swirling me through the service bar as I delicately extend my swan like arm onto the table with a martini not spilling a drop, only to twirl around to the POS system firing the main courses.  In the moment it does not feel that way, it feels more like Stravinsky’s sacrificial dance from the Rite of Spring, dancing to your death at the hands of your guests.  I love the stress of running the book; meeting and greeting guests with a Cheshire cat smile, slyly offering a non-committal time frame for a table and somehow convincing them to stay and wait.  It’s magical witnessing how common courtesy can buy you ten more minutes so you can walk the dining room offering smiles that are death stares at the table that was meant to leave a half an hour ago.  I live for the sour patch, the guest who if you spend a little genuine time with, will transform from a sour tart to sweet jelly.  And yet all of my admiration for this industry comes to a halt after I’ve spent 55 odd hours on the battlefield.  Which is when I battle with myself to justify it as a long-term job.  I’m hearing and seeing people with "respectable jobs" come in and think, “hey I can do this, it’s just a restaurant” and such a statement is so often said in this condescending tone, which as a result has such a mind fuck on me that I spend my life in a constant state of limbo, should I be in or out of hospitality? Then there is also the reality that I won’t be able to bleach the ends of my hair and frolic around a kitchen in cute outfits for the rest of my life. What a terrifying realization, I have to grow up? Shit.  I am 27, and while that may not seem old to our parents and Demi Moore, it is not 24 and the gap between now and 30 is shrinking faster then I can say molecular gastronomy. 

So what will the point of this entry be you may be asking, aside from the professional roller-coaster me and every other twenty-something is going through.  Well, I’ve made a personal observation...what is the point of a food critic these days?  This question came to mind after I had such an enjoyable evening at Bonnie Gull, a new seafood “shack” that has opened in Fitzrovia.  The acting GM/consultant for the place had been using my place of work as an office until he had his wi-fi installed, and so when I finally trotted down the road to sample the menu, I found we were being so well looked after and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was merely because we were hospitality compatriots or if they in fact got it right, on both service and food. Am I biased to certain restaurants because I've been given the royal treatment? I have always admired and envied those whose occupation is that of tasting and trying the new and old names on the hot 100 list of restaurant's, dictating to the educated and uneducated “foodie” community who is in and who is out.  When I was 19 working at Danube in New York, my Godfather was the General Manager and if I didn’t memorise every crevice of Frank Bruni’s face I would be sacked.  The same went when I moved onto Le Cirque and then while I was at Craftbar when Sam Sifton was appointed and once again when he was replaced by Pete Wells.  At one point I spent a solid 30 minutes of my working time googling images of a man that we were never sure was going to set foot into our restaurant.  The New York Times food critic might be one of the most prestigious and coveted editorial positions, with New York City working as the heartbeat of the restaurant world, its pulse is a faithful drum roll leading up to the next great opening.  It comes down to this one person to say “that’s shit” or “4 Stars”.  Outside of New York (yes I know I can’t believe there is a restaurant world outside it either), there are more dictators telling me where I can eat.  No matter how fantastic Joe Shmo and Simple Sally think it is, the true opinion of the restaurant lies within the hands of a few select writers who potentially had a bad waiter or sat down to eat just as the gas switched off or the kitchen flooded.  These things happen, and anyone who works in a restaurant will agree that when one thing goes wrong it's like a domino effect and the only thing that is going to make it better is the ice cold beverage waiting for you at the end of the shift as a consolation prize for surviving.  

I question their critiques because so often a restaurant that is smart and well versed on the habits carried out by a well known food critic will be prepared and presumably recognise them on arrival.  After sighting this familiar face that has in all likelihood been plastered in staff rooms and stuffed in reception folders, the staff is able to extend their most hospitable self. The establishment will then do its best at impressing the critic in question, its like cheating! How is this fair to you and me who wander in off the street hoping to dine in one of AA Gills' latest conquests?  We will most certainly not receive the same sweeping service, so how can we read a review from him and expect that our time will be as fantastic as he recalls?  On the other end of the spectrum, how can I judge a meal as negatively as he did of La Bodega Negra, maybe I like a social climbing gimmick of a restaurant that prides itself on an unwelcoming reception staff and food that is meant to be ordered but not ate.  Perhaps a reviewer, like a friend, is something personal something you actually invest in and find one that you like.  A food critic at the end of the day is still a person with opinions and dedicated interests; I might rather be a friend of Fay Maschler than Giles Coren or have have beers with Adam Platt as opposed to brunch with Gael Greene.  

as i reported earlier today, bouley's new seven-course, $175 menu is a 40% hike from the $125 the restaurant charged for much of 2010 and 2011.

more historically, the $175 menu is an 84% hike from the $95 bouley charged for six-courses in 2009 (or a 17% hike from that year's erstwhile eight course, $150 menu) -- that was under the tenure of shea gallante.  

when new york times critic frank bruni demoted bouley to three stars (from four at bouley bakery) in 2004, the menu was priced at $75 for five courses, making the current $175 menu a 133% increase.

when william grimes awarded four new york times stars to bouley bakery in 1999, the price was $68 for six-courses.