Food and Whining - A modest outlet for a mediocrity-weary diner.

Fast food gets a (deservedly) bad rap; a fact I have whined about mightily in this blog and further cemented in my new favorite book entitled “The Ominivore’s Dilemma”. (Yes, I’m a tad late to some parties.) The ingredients in fast food are far from genuine, most are extracts of entirely different and significantly cheaper substances that simulate the taste and/or smell of the intended flavor. For example vanillin is a curious by-product of making paper, spent yeast smells a bit like beef and is a major “flavoring agent” of nearly every canned soup and beef stock on the shelf; a fact about which I have mixed emotions given the apparent environmental impact of real beef. Fast food aims to be “tasty”, not delicious, engineered by teams of food chemists who have turned to the dark side of “molecular gastronomy”. Fast food is adequate, not wholesome, utterly convenient by requiring zero planning or forethought, and is mindlessly-affordable. “Reasonably-flavored, convenient, cheap food” is...

Primarily, I blame the weather. California has a climate envied by many (though others have similar or identical climates without the cost of living that goes with it.) That climate is sneaky... I had my heater on a few times near the beginning of April. Even if it sat idle all night long, it was at-the-ready should the temperature dip low enough. Out of the blue, middle of May, 100-degree weather sets in. We go from Nor Cal "Spring" to June in Nairobi almost overnight. The focus of indoor activities is halted, sometimes midway through the process (like, for example, ironing, and general housekeeping duties for that matter), shorts and sandals are pulled frantically from storage, and any excuse to be outside is pounced upon. Regardless of activity, we all get hungry - indoors or out - and suddenly sustenance is somewhat at odds with wanting to be outside. The goal becomes eating without having to go back inside. Restaurants with outdoor seating are sporadic, and on ...

Any time I'm in a new place, I want to try the local food. The local, legit, simple, unadulterated representation of the place. I want to know what's good wherever I am, and I strive to experience new and interesting foods whenever possible. While we all like to think we have an open mind, there are very likely foods somewhere in the world that will make you realize you're might not be as prepared for bold experimentation as you thought. It happened to me, not to a tiny island in southeast Asia or the outback of Australia, or high in the mountains somewhere "away from it all", it happened on my first trip to Paris. My work colleagues and I had just completed an obligatory day of supporting tourism and were anxious to eat. We were in search of a local place serving the “real stuff” made the “real way”. Fifteen minutes and a concierge recommendation later, the 10 of us were seated at a long table against a wall; perhaps an effort by the staff to isolate t...

I somehow missed the first birthday of my blog, a numerically-significant step going from 0 to 1. Blogs can't drop the usual hints that a gift will soon be in order. In my defense, I didn't forget, I just could have sworn it was April of last year when the whining first began. To those that read these ramblings and enjoy, I want to thank you for your support, and based on the number of hits to the site, there are more of you than I thought. While I've shared much, and you've tolerated much thus far, I'd like to share a little of what I've learned about food, writing, and myself in the last year. The blog was, I imagined, some small way of reaching out to people. To say, "It's not just you, Starbucks coffee does suck." Restaurants that were doing good should know it and be talked about at length and prodded to keep it up, while the ones that were doing bad needed to know that we noticed the "lack of effort". Whether that has ever made a ...

I fear several things when venturing into any restaurant for the very first time but "death" isn't normally among them. Obviously, the potential is always there; various choking hazards, icy sidewalks or an odd ingredient on the floor can create a slipping hazard, and the occasional (though rare) food-borne pathogen waiting to catch you off-guard. For the greater part of human existence, eating has been at least a little dangerous, unpredictable in supply, and something which had to earned. After all, food doesn't want to be hunted; in fact, it seems the more delicious an ingredient is, the harder it is to catch. Tonight, for the first time, the very act of dining itself might just kill me and, if it doesn't, I'll have something to blog about. I took a seat in a large, possibly "over-done" restaurant, the architect for which is clearly and unabashedly in love with concrete and steel. The bar and floor are concrete, the silo-sized cylindrical wine t...

You'd think I'd have no shortage of ideas on what to cook, thanks to the forest-flattening number of magazines that flood my mailbox and cookbooks with far more recipes than I can ever hope to cook. Likewise, there is no shortage of ingredients which California is capable of cultivating even in those months with an "r" (and sometimes "ry"). With the depth and breadth of ingredients for sale at the local farmer's market, Whole Foods within affordable driving distance, Draegars, Andronicos, the Milk Pail, Ditmer's meats, Oakville Grocers, etc., I'd have no problem throwing together even the most obscure ingredients. I have all the cookware I (or any reasonably-equipped resort hotel) could ever need; albeit in an exceedingly small amount of space. This is hardly a valid excuse because I've had brilliantly-created food out of a restaurant kitchen so small as to prevent the staff from taking a deep breath. With all my talk (whining, whatever), you...

You know the drill. It's a Tuesday evening and a friend you haven't seen “in forever” is in from out-of-town. You'd like to catch-up and you “know just the place”. You coordinate schedules, taxis, cars, parking spaces, approach the front door to find it bustling inside and as you reach for the door, a piece of paper unceremoniously taped to the door is already mocking you: “CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY” Something about the all upper-case type seems to pound the point home even harder. There's a party going on inside and you're not invited. You may have spent thousands of dollars in this restaurant over the years, but tonight, you mean nothing to them. I completely get the business case here. Tuesdays are an “off” night and while filling the tables is unlikely, breaking even would be nice. From the restaurant's perspective, it's tempting; 30 people - guaranteed - will eat, drink, and be merry (and spend money). However... Meanwhile, 12 regulars came ...