A reader sent us this Ginsbergian screed earlier this week, which struck us as a perfect snapshot of the restaurant world, circa summer 2007. We leave you now for the holiday weekend. Enjoy!
DanYelle as a restaurant critic? Anne Burell shticking it up in the kitchen with a skirt with horsies on it? David Chang morphing from shy nice smiley ramen guy to F-bomb dropping Esquire spread noodle mob boss? Johnny Iuzzini in a meringue body stocking? Tattoos as the new talent. Top Chef as the new Michelin. Glorified fryers, grass fed peaches, 1,000 day meat. I mean, it’s as if we are all now Cracker Jacks ripping open the next prize every time we open a menu. It's always going to be a disposable toy. Or wash-off ink. It's a 3 onion ring circus, this industry. We have our freaks and our clowns and our daredevils and our bearded ladies. It's "I invented the lobster roll and that white wicker chair to sit on while you eat it." Huh? It's sellouts: Bertoli, Starbucks, Target, FreshDirect, Appleby’s. It's all hypocritical: Eat fresh … and then buy my frozen dinner meals. Hitchcock would have tapped into a whole new genre with the horror of the food world.
An Appalled Spectator