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Of knife and pen

Little fun in the fundamentals of food writing
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By Dave Faries
Staff Writer, The Prague Post
December 26th, 2007 issue

Photo illustration by KURT VINION/the Prague Post
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Unless their kitchen is patterned on army mess halls, college dorm buffets or one of those “traditional Czech food” places around Old Town Square, few restaurateurs wish to be reviewed this time of year. With potential regulars busy tending to bathtub carp — or perhaps out of town for the holidays — readership levels plummet, after all.
So this week I opted to break from the usual routine to, well, explain the usual routine. This will get me off the hook for one issue. But I’ve always wanted to write something along the day-in-the-life lines, if only in the vague hope of mitigating the “what a fun job” accusations food writers hear on a regular basis.
Okay, so it’s a fairly enjoyable life — can’t dispute that. Still, professional critics don’t eat for fun.
People also often remind us that we “liked” or “didn’t like” a particular restaurant. Raving about a dish, however, merely suggests the kitchen’s interpretation nailed its landing. Take the lobster salad at maze. Personally, I prefer a little more assertiveness from expensive shellfish. But Gordon Ramsay’s team aimed for a different flavor profile, choosing to poach the meat in a sweet liquid and season toward fruity and bright sensations. The effect is subtle, the execution near perfect.
Slapping one star on a place, conversely, doesn’t indicate disaster. One of my favorite joints, Sonora, earned scant recognition for a few reasons. Despite some standout offerings, the kitchen lacks consistency up and down the menu, to name one.
Most critics try  as much as possible to remove personal likes and dislikes from the equation. The task is to analyze, concentrate, observe, catch little indications of a chef’s technique (or lack thereof), question the interplay of flavors and so forth. Critics often babble quietly to themselves through a meal, ignoring the friend dragged along to provide an excuse for ordering additional courses.
Thus critical assessment differs from public perception. A table full of pals in boisterous spirit, an engaging conversation, a bit of lubrication before dinner — distractions such as these may cause one to overlook significant details.
As far as process goes, it’s fairly simple: try at least three meals at a restaurant, rush home after each experience to pound out notes and put it on the page. Last week, for example, I stopped by Euforia for lunch and scribbled a few not-so-flattering lines about their daily menu. Their soup? “Flotsam in an oil slick, under which lurk scraps of meat and soggy stuff in a murky broth.” The rest describes flavors akin to bouillon cubes — sweet and sour with a rolling barrage of salt — textures and possible reasons why a chef would dare ladle out something that disturbing.
My description of the main course also included a few choice comments, the kindest of which was “poorly considered, poorly constructed.” Melted cheese clashed with cured ham and obliterated what were once delicate, buttery chunks of potato. Dropping ice cold cubed vegetables onto the hot morass caused a bipolar reaction: tomatoes and zucchini turned mushy and crisp at the same time. Alternating bursts of salt and pepper suggest that no one in the kitchen bothered to master the chef’s trick of seasoning like a soft snowfall.
Propping up this routine are years of experience, knowing the strengths and weaknesses of your own palate, along with half-forgotten research excursions through lesser known cuisines. When walking into an Armenian place, one should at least have some grounding in the basics — and shouldn’t allow restaurant owners to misuse terminology. Earlier this year, I glanced at a menu and noticed, under “Authentic Mexican Cuisine,” a listing for chimichangas and fajitas. Both are American originals.
The other rules are equally basic: No phoning ahead to announce your arrival. No presenting yourself to the maitre d’. No accepting vouchers or misunderstanding the relationship between you and those in the industry.
And most of all, no forgetting you’re just a slovenly hack reduced to begging the finance department for reimbursement on a weekly basis.
That part is never fun.

Dave Faries can be reached at dfaries@praguepost.com


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