When New York’s Per Se was devastated by a recent Times review, why weren’t restaurateur Thomas Keller’s peers anywhere to be seen?
Contempt for reality television is less a specific response than a herd sentiment. And yet, after so many hours under its spell, I feel like I’ve turned a corner: Gordon Ramsay is a genius.
Butter tarts are strangely modest in their excess, a two-dollar decadence. But like that Canadian myth of innocent blandness, a butter tart’s surface hides something much more complex.
Now that I was once again omnivorous, I wanted to watch a deer get turned into meat.
When you grow up eating alone, sometimes a terrible dinner is all you can ask for.
We may want to have a drink with our idols, but what’s the cost of toasting power?
Restaurant culture is cyclical and churning. It comes in waves, always spitting out something old and dragging up something new.
In the notoriously sexist and gossipy restaurant industry, “bosses” become “bitches” far too easily.
The more seriously people take bartending, the more it turns toward self-parody.
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