I walked into work yesterday afternoon, and my boss said, "So, I read your blog..." Eek. My initial reaction was somewhere between embarrassment and mortification. (His response was that it was "nice.") This afternoon I kept wondering why I inwardly panicked at the prospect of having been read. That's the whole point, isn't it? The point of blogging, the point of being a writer, the point of writing. This is not my journal, there's nothing even superficially private about it, and there's not supposed to be. I have the url listed as my website on facebook, I've told people I have a blog, it's not a secret, not anonymous. So why the conflict?
I could write something like, 'I just don't think I have anything interesting to say or worth reading,' or similar, but that's clearly not true if I'm sitting here typing words onto the screen and planning to click the publish button. It's not true if I intend, as I do, to continue writing, not just today, but every day possible until the day I no longer have the mental capacity for it.
Is it fear of criticism? Probably a little. I don't want to be thought of as cute ("oh, that's cute, you have a blog."), but I don't want to be thought of as taking myself too seriously either. That's not meant to be as self-deprecatory as it sounds to me having just written it. I have been in the restaurant business for a long time, and I plan on staying in it for a long time, getting even more involved, in fact, but I know I don't have the necessary expertise to write a real review. What I can do, what I am good at, is analyzing someone else's review, of comparing several pieces of evidence at once, which is what I was attempting (casually) with my last post.
I'm tempted to mention the restaurant by name just so it shows up on my boss's google alerts again, but I think I'll refrain.
My point about the review in Time Out was primarily that it was wishy-washy. He writes that Alex has "tightened her focus," and that the food is "among the most solid Iberian fare in New York," but that the restaurant is "far less inspiring than the sleepers from which it sprang." Perhaps I am unclear about what he means by "sleepers." If her prior two restaurants were/are unexpected successes, saying that the new one is far less inspiring seems nonsensical to me in this context. I understand if one thing is less inspiring than a prior thing, and I understand the prior thing being an unexpected success, but how can something new be less inspiring than something unexpectedly successful? Does the word choice here highlight that the new thing has the potential to be successful but we may not immediately expect it to be so? Is he giving the restaurant the equivalent of crossed fingers? I am questioning his critique on the basis that it is not direct enough.
Anyway, enough about that. I have the urge to write down every word that comes into my head, but this is not the outlet for that. This is the outlet for making (non)sense. Clearly.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
it's been a while
Which means I could sit here rambling for a while, but instead I'm going to sum up. In the past two months, I completed PhD applications, decided to take the LSAT (moral support / what the hell), went to Argentina for two weeks with friends, decided at the last minute not to take the LSAT, and got a new job. That's not all, but it's enough.
So, I'm working at a fairly new restaurant, Txikito, cocina vasca, at 240 Ninth Ave b/t 24th and 25th in Chelsea. I have to say: I love it. It's small - way smaller than I'm used to, especially after Dos Caminos Third, which seats 600. The dining room seats 24 give or take, with an additional 10 or so at the bar, which is reserved for full dining when we're busy, which is just about every night from 7:30 to 9 or so. (No reservations necessary, however.) The sides and ceiling are planks from an old barn in New England, with light fixtures that resemble marshmallows and thumbtacks, and a cool bright blue rear wall that really opens up the space. Limestone bar with shiny red barstools. A recent reviewer in Time Out New York called the decor "spartan" and lacking in "snug warmth," but, though it could be regarded as minimalist, when the restaurant is full of people, wine or zurra, and some of "the most solid Iberian fare in New York," the weathered wood and slate gray of the tables and bar serve to highlight the colors that matter -- the focus is on the food, and the decor serves that very well.
Additionally, I wonder what the reviewer meant when he wrote that "The few stools at the bar are the most lively and sociable seats in the house." As communal seating areas, bars do tend to have a more intimate feel than adjacent tables do, but he seems to imply that guests in the dining room are missing out on something by enjoying the company they brought with them. This is not to suggest that those of us behind the bar are not fostering a fun atmosphere -- on the contrary: the whole restaurant is made to feel lively.
Most of the dishes are small plates, minitures of traditionally larger dishes, so that even a table of two can enjoy food the way the Basques intended: a little bit of everything on the table and lots of it. The menu is structured so that a table can and should order two or three things per person, including one or two of the larger options, like the lamb chops (Chuletillas), should they care to. What else he got wrong: the Pintxos ("pinch-os"), or canapes, are much larger than "one bite." The Itsas Mendi is, in fact, a txakoli, but it is not one of the effervescent ones on the menu (which are the Txomin and Ametzoi, the latter of which is served by the glass as well as the bottle). And the Copa de Chocolate is not a "dense bittersweet-chocolate pudding," but a whipped chocolate flan topped with sherry whipped cream. Which is completely amazing and wonderful and goes very nicely with a glass of Vina Salceda, by the way.
To sum up, I must agree with one of the review's commenters, who wrote: "What I don't get, is if you like the food so much, as we all seem to, why so grudging a review. Why not simply celebrate a terrific new restaurant, and a brilliant young chef and her equally brilliant husband/partner, going out on their own."
A few other reviews:
New York Magazine 6 Nov 08, 13 Nov 08, 14 Nov 08, 23 Nov 08, 29 Jan 09 (lunch menu!), and 8 Feb 09 (Valentine's specials).
Serious Eats New York ("The space is just as inviting as the food.").
And Gourmet on 11 Nov 09.
It's just such a pleasure to work in a restaurant where nearly every table audibly loves the food. Mms and Oh-my-god-this-is-amazing, have-you-tasted-this-yet?-you-have-to-try-this's are not rare, do not need to be asked for. "How is everything?" is more often than not answered before it is asked. I know where I'm going on my night off.
So, I'm working at a fairly new restaurant, Txikito, cocina vasca, at 240 Ninth Ave b/t 24th and 25th in Chelsea. I have to say: I love it. It's small - way smaller than I'm used to, especially after Dos Caminos Third, which seats 600. The dining room seats 24 give or take, with an additional 10 or so at the bar, which is reserved for full dining when we're busy, which is just about every night from 7:30 to 9 or so. (No reservations necessary, however.) The sides and ceiling are planks from an old barn in New England, with light fixtures that resemble marshmallows and thumbtacks, and a cool bright blue rear wall that really opens up the space. Limestone bar with shiny red barstools. A recent reviewer in Time Out New York called the decor "spartan" and lacking in "snug warmth," but, though it could be regarded as minimalist, when the restaurant is full of people, wine or zurra, and some of "the most solid Iberian fare in New York," the weathered wood and slate gray of the tables and bar serve to highlight the colors that matter -- the focus is on the food, and the decor serves that very well.
Additionally, I wonder what the reviewer meant when he wrote that "The few stools at the bar are the most lively and sociable seats in the house." As communal seating areas, bars do tend to have a more intimate feel than adjacent tables do, but he seems to imply that guests in the dining room are missing out on something by enjoying the company they brought with them. This is not to suggest that those of us behind the bar are not fostering a fun atmosphere -- on the contrary: the whole restaurant is made to feel lively.
Most of the dishes are small plates, minitures of traditionally larger dishes, so that even a table of two can enjoy food the way the Basques intended: a little bit of everything on the table and lots of it. The menu is structured so that a table can and should order two or three things per person, including one or two of the larger options, like the lamb chops (Chuletillas), should they care to. What else he got wrong: the Pintxos ("pinch-os"), or canapes, are much larger than "one bite." The Itsas Mendi is, in fact, a txakoli, but it is not one of the effervescent ones on the menu (which are the Txomin and Ametzoi, the latter of which is served by the glass as well as the bottle). And the Copa de Chocolate is not a "dense bittersweet-chocolate pudding," but a whipped chocolate flan topped with sherry whipped cream. Which is completely amazing and wonderful and goes very nicely with a glass of Vina Salceda, by the way.
To sum up, I must agree with one of the review's commenters, who wrote: "What I don't get, is if you like the food so much, as we all seem to, why so grudging a review. Why not simply celebrate a terrific new restaurant, and a brilliant young chef and her equally brilliant husband/partner, going out on their own."
A few other reviews:
New York Magazine 6 Nov 08, 13 Nov 08, 14 Nov 08, 23 Nov 08, 29 Jan 09 (lunch menu!), and 8 Feb 09 (Valentine's specials).
Serious Eats New York ("The space is just as inviting as the food.").
And Gourmet on 11 Nov 09.
It's just such a pleasure to work in a restaurant where nearly every table audibly loves the food. Mms and Oh-my-god-this-is-amazing, have-you-tasted-this-yet?-you-have-to-try-this's are not rare, do not need to be asked for. "How is everything?" is more often than not answered before it is asked. I know where I'm going on my night off.
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