Dallas Food Blog

​A reader using the name Foodbevlaw posted an interesting comment to Friday's Question of the Week: "Doucheries can almost always be identified by, and the numberb of Douchers are almost always proportional to, the number of premium tequilas in the back bar."

Keep in mind the question at hand dealt with so-called "douche bags." But Foodbevlaw's response brings up another topic.

Every so often a restaurant or bar touts its extensive selection of one particular alcohol. The late Nikita, for instance, opened with more than 60 different vodkas on its shelves. Back when Whisky Bar has some pretension of being a hang out for serious drinkers--a moment lasting all of a few hours on opening night, I'd guess--they listed a few dozen bourbons and single malts. Currently the 2nd Floor's lounge claims Dallas' largest selection of malts.

But is there any real value in stocking the "largest" selection of anything?

This time last year Patrick Michels' talent was already apparent.

​A year ago we launched City of Ate--an event of such importance we forgot completely about the anniversary, which was last week.

In announcing he could no longer remain anonymous, Houston Press critic Robb Walsh mentioned that he was no longer a restaurant reviewer. The expectation that news, notes, observations and whatever else should be available almost instantly has made him more of a food blogger--just as responsible for interviewing chefs and taking food porn snaps as writing critiques.

This wasn't a complaint, just a statement of how daily upkeep on a blog changes the food critic's role.

Before the advent of blogging, a critic essentially dined out four or five nights a week for the purpose of writing one review and perhaps updating a capsule or two in the paper's restaurant listings. All those snide comments about service, thoughts on restaurant trends, or whatever else came to mind as the critic moved through his or her week went to waste. We couldn't print weekly stories pairing wine with ordinary food or scoring the efficiency of pizza delivery. And we couldn't interact so easily with readers.

​A couple weeks ago, a reader by the name of Beth posted an interesting comment under one of our stories. "May I inquire as to why it is common practice on these blogs to look down upon other so-called 'middle-class casual restaurants?'" she (assuming) wrote, mentioning Olive Garden as a favored venue. "In this economic downturn I'd think that a blog writer as yourself would embrace this idea. Maybe not."

Under certain circumstances, there's nothing wrong with either the quick service spots, such as McDonald's, or casual sit down chains. Most of us pick up fast food on occasion. And the Olive Gardens and Red Lobsters of the world come in real handy when you have one stubbornly unadventerous eater--or an equally stubborn pre-teen--in a group.

Of course, that person's friends will curse silently throughout the meal.

McDonald's serves a functional purpose. Outside of small towns with limited options (and the above mentioned scenario) however, the choice to dine at a casual chain is not one of value for the money, it is one of expectations for the money.

​Anytime you write something about service these days, you're hit with a barrage of angry retorts from people identifying themselves as waiters and waitresses. According to these fed up staffers, diners are all just a bunch of unappreciative, whining morons who keep demanding more.

Presumably the right entrees, drink refills, that sort of thing. The bastards.

Now, we all know patrons can be painful dweebs at times. Decades ago I served a woman who called me back because I'd given her a cheeseburger when she wanted a hamburger. No problem, I said, returning after a while with a plain burger. But again she stopped me. "This is a hamburger," she complained. "I ordered a cheeseburger." I feel for bartenders forced to hold ten guests who are waving for drinks at bay while one weighs all the tap and bottle options for endless minutes before calling for a Bud Light.

There's no rule requiring customers to be pleasant--or sane, for that matter. As a server, you laugh and save it for the 'wait til I tell you what happened' conversations...unless, apparently, you're a put out Dallas staffer.

375mlbottles.co.uk

Size matters

​It's rather difficult to drink wine responsibly when dining out--a point that was driven home a couple weeks ago when I scanned the menu at York Street.

For those who've never visited this tiny, brilliant institution, chef-owner Sharon Hage recommends a wine selection next to each menu item. Because she knows what went into each dish, I assume the suggestions will bring out the best of both food and wine. Although clearly she hopes to sell more by encouraging guests to follow the list, Hage hasn't posted the most expensive options in an attempt to trick her customers. Next to one dish, for example, was the word "beer."

Still to enjoy the pairing of wine and food at its peak--buying Champagne for my caviar starter and moving on to whatever she sees as the best complement for pork--would perhaps double the price of a meal. On the other hand, ordering one bottle for the table shortchanges the pairing experience, as no single wine matches perfectly with six very different items.

Fortunately, Hage stocks a reasonable selection of half bottles.

​I've spent some effort avoiding this day, hoping it would never, ever come. But all of my valiant, last ditch efforts--a quick search for an apartment in Allen, begging to work from a Starbucks in Oklahoma City for a day or two--fell through.

Now I'm trapped. Although I've spent much of my adult life trying to avoid knowingly crossing paths with Oprah, the media beast is only about five miles away. Maybe less.

By now you've guessed I harbor a modest dislike for the big-haired one. Well, not really for her--Ms Winfrey supports some worthy causes and her book list does encourage people to read. Rather, my refusal to join her worshipful throng has something to do with a dictum inspired by her life: the less talented you are, the more money you make.

​Last week's mini-tempest raised by Veggie Guy Eddie Garza's visit to the state fair was fascinating. In amongst voices of reason were several judgmental statements, such as "have a cheeseburger; It will make you feel better" and "awww, poor ignorant meat eaters....bless their hearts..." Then there was my favorite, from someone wandering the animal pens: "I could almost see in their eyes how unhappy some were."

It seems a bit conceited to make assumptions about a cow's personal feelings. It's annoying when one person or group denigrates the dining habits of another...unless, of course, the assailed enjoy pickled beets.

Those people are fair game.

Now, I understand the plight of vegans and vegetarians trying to find thoughtfully prepared meals and diverse menu options in mainstream restaurants. That's one of the reasons I love Eddie's column. His is also an honest voice--a vegan quite willing to skewer other vegans, as well as us meat eaters. So it seems fair, in the wake of this discussion, that I add my thoughts on the vegan diet.

While I understand the plight of those who adopt a meatless way of life, I've never understood why one would choose to be vegan or vegetarian in the first place.

​There's really nothing all that special about corn dogs. They are just pale, cheap sausages propped on sticks and wrapped in cornmeal. Yet Texans by the thousands--or more like tens of thousands--will shell out the equivalent of $4 for a sample of one at the state fair.

Of course, it could be argued that the only time and place corn dogs taste absolutely right is at such public festivals. The same, in fact, could be said about a number of foods. We link hot dogs with the ball park, burgers and backyards, cranberries--the jellied stuff from a can, in particular--with Thanksgiving. Would anyone eat candy corn outside of Halloween? It's the only time of the year people tolerate those nasty, multi-colored wedges.

Clearly there's a psychological dimension to the enjoyment of certain foods. Why else would so many of us find comfort in simple dishes, such as macaroni and cheese, during times of trouble?

As most of you know, Smoke's Tim Byres spent part of the summer tooling around America's old south in search of small town chefs accomplished in the art of traditional wood-fired cooking. Until I saw their menu, however, I had no idea Byres also used some of that time to cure the bacon used in his restaurant.

While it's hardly a trend--a minor one at best--several local chefs now smoke meats, make sausages and prepare other rustic reminders, such as pork rinds.

Because of this, charcuterie plates appear on area menus and a new found respect for the world of cured meats is evident amongst Dallas diners, even at upscale venues. It's not unusual to find an array including chorizo, sopressata, bresaola and boudin on fashionable china.

You gotta love it.
  

​I think it was last week when I came across an AP story detailing the efforts of the San Antonio Restaurant Association to encourage healthier cooking at the city's Tex-Mex and Mexican eateries. Seems the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention listed San Antonio behind only Detroit, Memphis and Martinsburg, West Virginia, in terms of obesity percentage.

Not very pretty company.

Obviously there's nothing wrong with healthy dishes. And any effort to educate a population on the joys of the food pyramid or the evils of, well, fried butter is a positive step. What bothers me is the implied threat of regulation.

Stop gawking at Sheriff Taylor and pull out the notepad.

​Somewhere in between this weekend's soccer games, F1 coverage from the greatest racetrack in the world and MotoGP at Indy, I managed to fit in a few restaurant visits...um, which makes it seem like I spend half my life in front of a television.

Kinda pathetic, I guess. And it only gets worse once football season starts.

Anyway, at two different Tex-Mex joints I quite clearly asked for a margarita on the rocks with salt. In both cases, our waitress returned with clean-rimmed cocktails. It's possible the restaurants had run out of salt, of course. Because neither waitress bothered to write down our order, however, it seems more likely the detail slipped their minds.

​Not being a fan of crowds, my intention was to avoid Restaurant Week. Yet somehow I ended up at Fearing's for an evening of rushed--as in 'get the hell out, we need to turn this table'--yet very pleasant service...and mediocre courses.

It's quite likely, of course, that Fearing's crew pay less attention to their cut-rate dishes. I wouldn't expect an award-wining kitchen to overcook a salmon entree so badly or to pour half a shaker of salt into one portion of mashed potatoes on a normally priced night. On the other hand, Dean's famous tortilla soup was a one-note drag, and they should be well versed in that recipe.

This made me wonder about something: we have plenty of high-end, $30-plus an entree restaurants in this city. But do we have any true 'fine-dining' establishments? More to the point, do we really understand fine dining?
 

Innovation out of control: tall food-foam fusion.

​Leslie Brenner's assessment of dining in Dallas appeared over the weekend--a comprehensive and provocative piece both casting the city in culinary shadows and under a gleaming ray of promise.

You may disagree with her assignment of stars for particular restaurants. But the Dallas Morning News critic has hit us with some stunners that--like it or not--keep those of us interested in the local dining scene awake and buzzing. And when she speaks her mind on larger food-related issues, she's generally spot on.

Anyway, Brenner's essay hit on several topics of interest, of which one of the more intriguing was her assertion that restaurants represent another form of entertainment, of theater.

I've heard this before, even from those in the industry. In her words, "cooking is absolutely a form of art, and so is dining. In a restaurant, the two come together, not just as creativity expressed on the plate, but also as expressed in interior design and in the art of hospitality."

​

An American style milkshake in part requires a blend that will stand a spoon but can be sipped from a straw without much trouble. Response to last week's ranking of ten different milkshakes, however, suggests some people really don't consider the difference between a milkshake and stirred up ice cream very important--to which I reply, no biggie: just admit, if you like cups thick as concrete and impossible to draw through a straw, you really don't like milkshakes.

Nope, you like barely softened ice cream.

Who doesn't? But it brings to mind other culinary rules that perhaps should be made clear. Example: If you like steak well done, you don't really like steak.

​Nice piece by the equally nice Kim Pierce in today's Dallas Morning News, tasking Claudine Martyn of Slow Food Dallas to cook up a meal using only local and seasonal ingredients.

Good looking dishes, but the concept hardly seems a challenge.

What I would really love to see is that same article, but written in January. Maybe a change of venue, too: dining on local, seasonal produce (no preserves) in January somewhere in the middle of Iowa; creating a mixed greens salad picked from nearby farms in Medicine Hat--that's Canada--sometime in the dead of winter; or seeing how long before your family gets really, really bored with a diet based on the native flora and fauna around Phoenix. That would be impressive.

The local-seasonal-sustainable movement is one of the best things to happen in America's recent culinary annals--particularly the sustainable part. In our rush to celebrate the ethics of eating, however, we seem to forget that most diets in the era before railroads and refrigeration undermined the natural process included long stretches of salt-packed meats and preserved vegetables.

The old progressives made us dump liquor. The new ones want us to heed their diet demands.

​Now, you all know I'm the kindhearted, gentle sort, right? That I would never write anything harsh about mindless poseurs ordering dirty martinis or suggest a certain rank dish should be dumped over the offending chef's head?

Never ever.

So it may surprise you that I consider Boston Globe columnist Ellen Goodman a...well, best not to use those words in print. Let's just say her 2001 piece calling for a new national anthem almost sent me into a Bobby Knight-worthy tantrum. She considers the lyrics warlike, obviously failing to comprehend what is happening in the song.

This weekend she succumbed to the message of America's new 'food progressives.'

Ian Britton/FreeFoto.com

​Every Monday in this space I pick something to rant about. Today, however, I'm at a loss.

I did want to thank Leslie Brenner for bringing up the growing "we don't take reservations" trend, which I find annoying...although I understand the value to a restaurant's bottom line. I thought, too, about asking Jerry Jones (indirectly) why his people forgot to attach cup holders to the seats at Cowboys Stadium.

Without cup holders, there's nothing to do with the empties but chuck 'em at Andriy Shevchenko. Of course, I may have been seated in the lone convenience-free section of the facility. And it is a great place to watch football (meaning soccer).

This morning I sorta embarked on a mini-rant regarding misuse of the term "review."

Flipping through the whatweredoin.com blog the other day, I came across a discussion of our Top Ten Overrated Restaurants that included this comment from "Bread Winners":

"Interesting that not a week later, City of Ate...named us one of 'Uptowns 10 Best Patios.' They love us, they hate us, they love to hate us."

Funny how often restaurateurs--and for the sake of this post I'll believe these are the thoughts of someone in Bread Winners' management--assume critics have something against them. They simply can't fathom that an accumulation of little flaws (or, perhaps, one big one) on their part led to the not-very-positive assessment in a review or blog piece. In many cases, they get hung up on one or two words, thereby missing the point of an entire story.

I can't speak for others, but it makes little difference to me if Bread Winners (or any other restaurant) is acclaimed best in the country, if they fail completely or if they keep chugging at their current pace. I neither love them nor hate them, in other words--although I do drop by for brunch occasionally.

So this morning Nancy Nichols finally joined the anti F-word club. Here's our little diatribe on the same subject from sometime in February
http://blogs.dallasobserver.com/cityofate/2009/02/one_thing_you_will_never.php

I've all but given up on my anti-slider campaign. Not trying to stamp out small sandwiches, you understand, just use of a word referring to the kind of distress one never likes to associate with dinner.

Of course, I'm still dedicated to erasing smarmy things like the F-word ("foodie"). And I'll never quit my crusade against the Yankee-fication of old-fashioned southern cooking.

It's bad enough that catfish only became popular after dull farm-raised stock flooded the market (granted, the muddy flavor of wild catfish is an acquired taste--but at least it's distinct). But over and over--even in self-styled southern kitchens--I find restaurants serving versions of cornbread and hush puppies that carry a northern flavor. And to make matters worse, I read this passage over the weekend in an otherwise well-versed review:

"It also follows the time-honored Southern traditions of cooking fresh vegetables to near mushdom and adding a pinch of sugar to things like greens and the aforementioned cornbread."

I'm curious about the thought process restaurateurs go through when plotting their web presence. 'A picture, logo and marketing blurb on the main page. Maybe a link to the menu. Ooh--how 'bout a photo gallery. OK, let's stick the address here under "contact" so it's out of the way. Think that's it.'

Yes, many of them choose to bury their address. But there's an even more puzzling problem. Why do some of them, when designing their site, forget (or refuse) to post their hours of operation?

This would seem fundamental, right? Guests want to know three things, right off the top: cuisine, location and whether or not the damn place will be open.

Not that I socialize much, but when I returned from my stint in Europe, two questions--approaching from different perspectives, but essentially the same--kept popping up in conversation: "are you glad to be back?" and "do you miss it?"

Neither is easy to answer. Every city has its own set of positives and negatives, after all. But I think what I miss is walkability.

The city of Dallas gives lip service to street life, hoping to invent it at Victory Park or reinvent it downtown. Yet it's near impossible to live in (or park in) a part of town where you have a lot of dining and drinking options--both upscale and down--along with shops, within a safe 10-minute walk. Instead, you must drive to Plano for a real taste of this kind of life.

Zorilla, via Flickr

Six months (plus a couple) into City of Ate and I'm still trying to figure out blogging. In the past couple of months, we've also added twitter--fortunately handed to someone else, since my response to the first mention of it was along the lines of 'I've read about it in the paper'--and a text message blast.

And yet, I'm still trying to understand the older format. Oh, we discuss possibilities from time to time. Some folks around here want to crowd the space with more and more posts, others want a different tone...Not too long ago, the powers that be offered a couple of suggestions, including a series of top 10 lists and a kind of side by side comparison dishes. Why not? I thought; seems like it could create some interesting pieces.

Of course, I'm not a blog-savvy sort.

So this morning I was flipping through one of the thought-provoking treatises by Scott on dallasfood.org when I found this: "People love competition. Comparative evaluations. That's why 'Best of Dallas' lists and issues perform well."

Logan Antill, via Flickr

Just what you want to see at the bar.

I've never quite understood why some people choose to eat dinner at the bar.

Not talking about finger foods here, but full meals: steak, burgers, burritos or whatever, depending on the restaurant. Yeah, I understand the feeling of self-consciousness suffered by guests sitting alone in a crowded dining room. Is it any better in the bar area, though?

The last time I was in Bob's on Lemmon, a solo guy worked away at one of the restaurant's expensive steaks while all around him (and occasionally bumping into him), diners-to-be jostled and yapped noisily. Pretty much everyone swirling around the bar noticed the gentleman and his loneliness. Under the circumstances, it's hard to believe he fully appreciated the hunk of prime beef--or the Diggler farms carrot, for that matter--or truly enjoyed the high-end steakhouse experience.

Just how many food shows do we need hanging out in and around Dallas, distracting our chefs and disrupting meals?

Oxygen will be shooting the Naughty Kitchen at Central 214 for the next few months. The contest winner with the hair was back in the area--this time in Cowtown. A mom from Keller is vying for another Fieri-type show as the Food Network continues to seek out inexpensive talent. People still remember locals who appeared on Iron Chef America episodes. And Fort Worth chef Tim Love takes part in another edition of Top Chef...although this time it's not just Top Chef, but Top Chef Masters.

Which, of course, implies that previous series were a complete waste of your time.

As far as I can tell, though, all such programs are a waste, part of a devolution from education to edutainment to Barnum-esque mind cleansers. In other words, Julia Childs caused viewers to widen their horizons. Caprial Pence (some of us miss you, Caprial) taught people to understand how techniques and flavors layer. Emeril added pointless verbal effects. Iron Chef America proves Kent Rathbun could wrestle a moose.

Yeah, yeah. Overstatement. There are still some shows providing both interest and entertainment. Guess it would just be fun to have a day without mention of a TV crew in some Dallas restaurant. 

Kalandrakas via Flicr

Please forgive the rambling nature of this rant. It's Monday, there's no sign of the "Knockers" post due at 11 a.m., nor of some other stuff. I have a nice sunburn from the FC Dallas game. And on Saturday afternoon I waited in a 30 minute line, just so I could order one of Twisted Root's so-called milkshakes.

Now, there's no way I'd stick around that long in real life. The Deep Ellum burger joint is pretty good--but not half an hour shuffling impatiently good...especially for a pathetic vanilla shakes. In real life (which is to say my not working on a food story life), only their alcohol-spiked shakes are worth the trip, and I would have turned around when I saw a crowd spilling out the door.

But it seems the episode of Food Network's Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives featuring Twisted Root aired the night before (or thereabouts). As a result, much of the city's stay at home on Friday night watching cooking shows crowd showed up for lunch.

How quaint. Some people were even posing for pictures next to a picture of the show's host.

Cote via Flickr

I've touched on service issues before in this column, but the topic deserves another crack.

Back in March I addressed a series of slip ups constituting what I thought was a frustrating downward trend in the quality of service at Dallas restaurants. For instance, on a couple review visits wait staff forgot at least one of our orders completely. At the start of another, a waiter took my drink order and disappeared before my companion could place hers--a very un-Texan display of bad manners.

During my stint in Prague, while suffering through some rather astounding service lapses, I had longed for the comparatively stellar treatment offered in Dallas restaurants. But maybe Central European malaise made local wait staff seem all the more poised and considerate, for several people responded that service in this city had always been spotty.

Trend dismissed, right?
    

I'm not only going to borrow a couple paragraphs from Scott at DallasFood.org, but I'm also lifting them out of context. Hope he doesn't mind.

In the midst of a thoughtful post discussing a blogger code of ethics proposal, Scott wrote:

The professional has to blow part of his budget on repeated meals to openings like Hully & Moe's, Bella, DiTerra's, Cibus, Fedora, etc. There are two consequences of that.

First, spending that way over the course of a year leaves substantially less budget for more worthwhile restaurants. In other words, even if some professional food writers have more budget to work with than some independent bloggers, what's the use of a budget advantage if it has to be squandered on a great many mediocre restaurants?

He brings up an interesting point. Thanks to the economic downturn, food critics have indeed been forced to juggle budgets, even more than usual. I work with a budget separated into pools for reviews, revisits to previously reviewed restaurants and a pittance for running the blog. Although the most important of these--the amount set aside for reviews--has been slashed by a rather noticeable figure, the three budgets still allow for dining five nights a week.

So much to rant about this week--the Dewhurst Bill, consideration of a code of ethics for food bloggers, that sort of thing. But an email this morning about "culinary constructivism," as practiced by chefs at Hong Kong's Mandarin Oriental, raised a few questions.

Well, one question, really: why?

According to the release, French chemist--promising, already--Herve This and chef Pierre Gagnaire teamed to create a dish from chemical compounds occurring in nature. The end result of bringing together sodium, chloride, hydrogen and so forth is bubbles of pudding-like goo suspended in granite bearing flavors similar to fruit and caramel...even though no fruit or caramel died in the process of cooking.

When a restaurant first opens to the public, there's always a period when things--both little and big--go decidedly wrong.

No matter how many hours managers devote to training staff on the menu, they flub up when asked about ingredients. Still unfamiliar with the dining room layout, food runners deliver entrees to the wrong table. Line cooks struggle to master the peculiarities of a grill that, say, heats ten degrees beyond what it should--that sort of thing.

And so there's a consensus amongst food critics that a restaurant should not be reviewed until it has a chance to work out some of the kinks associated with the first few weeks of operation. In fact, restaurateurs anticipating a write up even consider it highly unfair should the critic visit within a month of opening.

Pretty cut and dried, right?