In case Steve Silberman and his traumatic veal à la Dexter didnt bring a tear of sympathy to your eye, Ari LeVaux of Albuquerques Weekly Alibi has more to say about the hard-knock life of a restaurant critic. Not only does he suffer from heartburn (maybe switch from Alka Seltzer to prescription AcipHex? Worked for us!), but his heart figuratively burns over the fact that were it not for this job I'd usually order vegetarian in restaurants, forgoing the ubiquitous mystery meats.
Instead, LeVaux has to force down (or rather, take a couple of bites of) patties of industrial feedlot meat on bleached white buns stuck together with melted squares of orange-stained cheese made from the mammary secretions of incarcerated, drug-addicted cattle. Not that he can describe them that way, since lecturing my readers about how much better a restaurant's fajitas could have been if only they were made with local beef would get very old, very quickly.
Will someone please save this poor man by maybe giving him an On Food column or something? Or should his editors just let him go ahead and use chicharrones and sustainability in the same sentence? Either way, LeVaux may need to reorder his priorities. As the above notes from Adam Platts daughter Penelope go to show, its all about whether a restaurant smells nice and has clean floors!