Archive for the ‘junkyard dog’ Category

Silver retainers forever

April 2013

One of the funniest things I’ve read in donkey’s years was a caption about a society writer whose subjects suspected she was on the take. Glass houses must be in style. As I’ve undoubtedly noted many times, one of my most memorable lunches ever was with the junkyard dog who confessed: “I got very frightened when you were hired.” And the cheat goes on . . .

Barista headgear, straight out of the Onion

January 2011

And speaking of “no new stories, only new reporters,” it was rather telling that the hometown paper ran yet another section-front piece on the magic of the Microplane without noting that it, too, had been part of “the press fueled the hype.” I remember the planning meeting well, in 1998. But it took a political blog to point out the creeping crud in the latest feature. Why did the company’s worker-stiffing negativism have to be sold as a positive in the food pages? No one opens a factory in Mexico to benefit the local economy, or America’s. I’m glad I’ve already learned the original grater cannot be improved. Because I’m not sure I’d buy another. To the paper’s credit, though, it was amusing to watch Mimi speak and the JGold Wannabe obey: The food moved to the head of the four columns. And the hed, at least in print, did double duty: Winning by Not Trying So Hard.

No one goes to Bouley. It’s too far.

September 2009

Not sure when I will ever learn two parties in one night will always be three too many — remorse all around after the Brasserie/A Voce back-to-back. But the former was worth trekking to for several reasons, starting with the junkyard dog’s stink-eye (must be nice to know they keep you on because “she’s cheap”) and ending with ease of exit, after the Schnorrer did his spiel (which I wondered about until I saw another oldster is doing similar promo work). I haven’t had a kir royale in donkey’s years, but this one was so syrupy I may not again for millennia. As for the retro apps, I missed all the cold ones but succumbed to a foie gras beignet (no one says beggar’s purse anymore), miniature croque monsieur and escargot nestled in puff pastry, all effective as alcohol sponges. Over in the dread TWC, the wine was more wine-like by far and the energy level was far higher. As was the noise level, of course. The most memorable apps were uni crostini. And the most unforgettable image was of the special wine room for the rich boys. Your health insurance premiums at work. . .