Pig bladders at Daniel? Exempt.

The talk of the series of culi-tubes is all about Robert Sietsema’s take on old-versus-new restaurant “reviewing.” I’m kinda weary of the whole debate (although I can still be challenged to rouse myself to start frothing, and I do wonder how much a legit franchise undermines itself in assigning hits to hired guns). I mostly was mystified by the omission of the one guy who always made NYmag worth reading, the inimitable Seymour Britchky, who was, even as RS arrived in town all those eons ago, brilliantly evaluating restaurants serving 23 cuisines, from American to Thai, with some barely seen these days. (Can you say German? And is there a Swiss or Hungarian kitchen left?) Plus I had other issues that just wear me out to contemplate. So I’m happy to report that the outlier actually did the world a much huger service by stunting something I would never even contemplate: Pop the top on one of the Onion-worthy new flavors of cat food and sticking a forchetta in it. No wonder The Cat WCTLWAFW hoovers nearly everything I cook. The alternative is tasteless. And almost more expensive.