Marlowe and Me

Marlowe
330 Townsend Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
(415)974-5599
Chef Jennifer Puccio
Lunch weekdays
Dinner Monday through Saturday


Last tried: May 2010

Prawns with hot & boozy cocktail sauce. I almost never order shrimp because they are nearly always overcooked, but so glad I decided to overcome my prejudice for these beauties. Be careful-- that horseradish bloody mary sauce kicks back, but it is completely addictive. (So far the Poulet vert and upside down apple crisp have been the only letdowns, but mostly because they are mundane when compared with the other offerings.)

Tried: April 2010

I have not been this excited about any place since I first tried Canteen. Marlowe is my new favorite restaurant in San Francisco, the kind of place where you can go over and over without breaking the bank or getting bored.

The Marlowe burger is the first one in the Bay Area that can rival Father's Office in Los Angeles, Holeman & Finch in Atlanta, and the foie short rib burger at db Bistro Moderne in New York. The horseradish aioli served with the the tempura-like French fries may even place the Marlowe burger above these other masterpieces. For the first time, I truly appreciated why burger snobs go apoplectic when people put ketchup on burgers and fries.

The generous mound of steak tartare has the exact right texture and the perfect balance of mustard and spices, my only "criticism" being that I would have preferred the quail egg raw, not poached. The chilled asparagus soup in the "soup'n sandwich" appetizer tasted fresher and sweeter than I can ever remember asparagus being, and the ricotta and morel bruschetta (the "sandwich" part of the appetizer) managed to be both light and decadent at the same time, with the creamy ricotta playing off the lush morels and the char on the large toast point from the grill. The bone marrow comes split in half for easy access, with a tangle of herb salad to cut the richness, and a small dish of caper salsa verde. I would have been happy to make a meal with just the bread and salsa verde, with a glass of the well-matched Loire Valley Rose, with its unmistakable cabernet franc charred bell pepper scent.

I cannot wait to go back to this place, again and again. Hopefully I will have enough room in my stomach to try everything else on the menu eventually, but I have a feeling that the Marlowe burger will be a non-negotiable staple, like the fried chicken at Little Skillet or the margherita pizza at Pizzeria Picco.

Slow Start to 2010

As a result of both limited time and a limited budget, I find myself increasingly reluctant to try any new restaurants and instead splurging only to visit my favorite restaurants in the area. The few times I ventured away from the places I knew would provide a good ROI, my expectations were rapidly shot down, with unpleasant reminders in the form of credit card statements that still glow in the dark.

A prime rib craving sent me to House of Prime Rib. Anthony Bourdain, experienced eater and self-professed king of no BS, espoused the place, so how bad could it be?

The place felt like Cheesecake Factory for meat. Worse, I do not recall any of the staff at The Cheesecake Factory looking as beaten-up and demoralized as all of the servers and "chefs" (someone must have decided that having all of the carvers introduced as "chef" and come over to each table would create the impression of fine dining) at House of Prime Rib. Unlike Bourdain, I have no particular aversion to or snobbery against chains or fast food; cheap and generally reliable-- what's not to like?

The only memorable item was the Yorkshire pudding, which was warm and perfectly seasoned, with toasty-crackly top and edges and a souffle-like interior. The salad, with canned shredded beets and Russian dressing spun-in tableside, was quaintly retro, as was the sourdough roll with a small bread knife stuck through it. But the star of the meal, the House of Prime Rib cut of meat, although carved expertly from the requested medium-rare portion in the silver bullet cart, was chewy and flavorless. Hardly the buttery, sweet, melty meat I was craving.

The next less than successful adventure was RN74. First of all, I am way too old to deal with the posing that goes on at the bar at this place. Reminds me of Bix or Spago in the early 9o's. As expected, the wine list was lovely, filled with extensive Burgundy selections, but even that fell short on the older vintages as well as bottles priced under $200. (I enjoy wine porn as much as the next guy, but does anyone actually spend that much on wine when dining out? I have always wondered about that, even when the economy was not in the toilet.) As for the food, I thought small plates calculated to match with wine should have been better articulated, but the combinations were clunky, such as mushy chickpeas with too-large chunks of undercooked chorizo, and everything tasted like a salt lick. Perhaps the intent is to make people drink more, but all it accomplished was to make me drain my water glass repeatedly. Thankfully service was perfectly attentive without being overbearing.

I have had some better luck on the non-fine dining end. Naked Lunch, the sandwich outpost of the former chef of Cafe Majestic, Ian Begg, offers truly spectactular sandwiches, and not just because they always have the foie gras duck prosciutto sandwich on the menu (fortunately they have replaced the truffle oil with truffle salt). Any roasted fish sandwich they offer, and I do mean "any," should not be missed. Before Naked Lunch, my love was Kitchenette, particularly anything described as "Korean" on the menu. Surprisingly, fried chicken sandwiches are not among the best offerings at either place.

Which brings me to Little Skillet. I could eat the 8-piece chicken box with potato salad, cole slaw, and biscuits every day (with a bottle of rose). Cash only, but this decadent meal will only set you back $18 (before the wine, which they do not serve). This place is dangerous to my existence, although if I die of heart failure and/or excessive cholesterol, I will no longer have to deal with discovery fights or firm management . . . .

Best of 2009

BEST OF 2009:
1. KOMI
2. Manresa
3. Ubuntu
4. Sushi Isano
5. Ishikawa
6. Nemuri-An
7. Aziza
8. Commis
9. Sorella
10. Quince

Honorable Mention:
11. Holeman & Finch


BEST STANDBYS:
1. Kiss
2. Pizzeria Picco
3. Zuni
4. Sushi Sam's
5. Father's Office
6. Refuge
7. Naked Lunch
8. Pizzeria Delfina
9. El Norteno
10. BarBersQ

Honorable Mention:
11. Piccadilly Fish & Chips

Observations on Top Chef Season 6

Crossovers between Top Chef and The Truman Show:

• "So I grabbed the Calphalon non-stick pan ..." (Kevin)
• "We all got into the Venza and headed to Whole Foods ..." (Bryan Voltaggio)
  

Are we really supposed to believe that these lines came from the chef himself (especially that one)?

• "I did watch Michael Chiarello on [Top Chef ]Masters. He is an awesome chef. He has pioneered fine dining in the Napa Valley." (Michael Voltaggio)
• "The Napa Valley Wine Train is known for great cuisine." (Michael Voltaggio)
  

What on earth did Kevin do to tick off the producers? Maybe the M Resort wanted to recoup the cost for all those High-Stakes Quickfires by betting against the leading contender? Not to dispute the culinary talents of the Voltaggio brothers (or of Harold from Season 1), but Kevin got screwed almost as badly as Tiffani did on Season 1 with his sous chef selections.

Really, you had to boot out the two moms after just the introductory childhood memory appetizer and not let them stay to taste the remaining 3 courses? Chintzy much?

Why make savory chefs do dessert, especially now that Top Chef is spinning off Top Pastry Chef?

Bravo finally seems to have caught on that making chefs responsible for decor in Restaurant Wars is pointless. Will it ever come to the realization that event catering is different from restaurant cooking?

I appreciated and completely agree with Harold's comment that he hates the question, "Did you taste your food?" (the Top Chef equivalent of the "Did you stop beating your wife" cross-examination). Can we also get rid of the "Why do you deserve to be Top Chef" question? When did oral advocacy become part of a cooking competition? Perhaps I should be prepared to cook an omelette at my next motion hearing.

Friday Afternoon Laughs

How is it that people are becoming so oversensitive and increasingly rude at the same time?

Friday Morning Laughs

In the midst of a truly heinous week (two more work days left!), I appreciate anything that makes me chuckle, even in pathetic agreement.

Chef-Writers

I love reading Anthony Bourdain. He is sarcastic, funny, entertaining, and insightful-- what is not to like? I have never once thought I would really like to taste his cooking, but who cares?


I can tolerate reading Michael Ruhlman. Even if he were not constantly reminding you that he went to CIA and is formally trained as a chef, he is in fact quite erudite in the culinary arts and not a half-bad writer. Even though I do not feel that my life is incomplete for never experiencing his cooking, I would generally prefer to read his writing over listening to Andrew Knowlton or Toby Young.


The ones that make me shrink and feel insignificant are those who are incredible chefs AND also good writers. With what free time is Daniel Patterson able to create such masterful tasting menus at Coi and write pieces for publications like New York Times and San Francisco Magazine? While I have never been a huge fan of his cooking style, no one could dispute the chefly credentials of Grant Achatz. When he publishes a piece that is thoughtful, well-written, and entertaining, the refrain that runs through the back of my mind is That is really not fair.

I can crank out a decent motion for summary judgment; I cannot crank out anything more complicated than Eggs Benedict (and I cheat because I would never serve it unless accompanied, or rather distracted, by a bottle of good bubbly).

Restaurant Website Issues

1. Why must basic information like days and hours of operation be so difficult to find? A simple home page showing address, phone number, and hours may be pedestrian but also practical and helpful.
2. Why must there be so many graphics such that the site takes forever to load, particularly on mobile devices?
3. Can I please see a sample wine list, along with the sample menu, so that I can be prepared when I show up that the majority of the wine selections are priced above $100/bottle? Or worse, include only domestic wines?
4. I doubt that Thomas Keller, Michael Mina, or Wolfgang Puck will be expediting my dinner. Would it be so disillusioning to post an easily accessible bio of the person who might actually be doing that at a particular kitchen?
5. The cheesy music whose graphic I cannot immediately locate in order to turn the sound off is not only irritating, but makes it more likely that I will turn to alternative sites, like Yelp, to get restaurant information during the work day so that I am not announcing my potential dinner plans to the entire office.

More Reasons To Admire Those Who Toil in Restaurants

Alternate title for post:
Why I would drink [even more] excessively if I worked in a restaurant.

I recently had the opportunity to shadow a sommelier at a high-end restaurant during dinner service. Apart from confirming my belief that I would so be fired before the end of the shift if some restaurant were actually crazy or desperate enough to hire me, one thing that stands out starkly in my memory from that experience is how insignificant, dismissed, and non-human I felt around the diners. I have heard servers talk about feeling invisible, but that was not quite it. I was definitely visible, since people clearly saw me and asked me for things, but it was more of a benign lack of acknowledgement of my existence, coupled with an attitude of entitlement.

To illustrate, I was floored to read about diners complaining about servers and bussers trying to clear their plates when they are not finished eating. On the flip side, I have also heard complaints about plates not being cleared fast enough once people are done eating. Yet these are the same crazies who begrudge servers the measly 15% gratuity they deign to leave, after expecting their every desire to be fulfilled immediately, getting irritated if servers do not tell them enough about the food, if servers tell them too much about the food, if servers hover, if servers fail to apparate at their side the moment they want ___________. Do not even get me started on diners who decide to pop into a restaurant two minutes before closing and then get grouchy at being "rushed." How happy do you get when your boss gives you a project at 5pm on a Friday. Are lack of manners de rigueur for dining out these days?

Those would be front of the house issues. The kitchen has a whole other set of issues with which to contend. A recent episode of Top Chef Masters had the chef contestants preparing a meal for a vegetarian who does not eat dairy and has a gluten allergy. The following are some examples of actual conversations I have had with people at work trying to decide where or what to eat:

"I don't like poultry."
"What about turkey at Thanksgiving?"
"Fine, I like turkey and chicken, but nothing else."
"Rabbit tastes like chicken."
"No."

"I won't eat organs."
"You loved foie gras."
"That was before I found out it was liver."

"Indian sounds good, as long as I don't have to eat lamb."

"I don't like ground meat, except hamburgers."

"I can't eat cheese because I'm lactose intolerant." (Cheese does not contain lactose.)

"Sausages gross me out."
"What about hot dogs?"
"Hot dogs are okay."

"I want my steak well-done."

"I don't like raw fish."

"I don't like seafood."

"I eat everything. Except sweetbreads."

"I don't like spicy food."

"I put Tabasco on everything."

Feel like ripping your hair out yet? After training for years, accepting all kinds of abuse, and being paid pittance for most of your career, why would you subject your culinary creations to this type of audience. I am frankly surprised that chefs do not hack off one of their ears in frustration.

Flour + Water Missing Something

Flour + Water
2401 Harrison Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 826-7000
Chef Thomas McNaughton
Dinner nightly


As Anton Ego noted in Ratatouille, it takes someone or something else to provide perspective. After finally trying the much-lauded Vetri in January 2012, I now understand why people love Flour + Water so much. Comparatively speaking, it is better executed and better priced. Why is Italian so difficult?

Last tried: December 2011

This is a perfectly nice neighborhood joint, with hearty, homey dishes that are almost as appealing as SPQR or Cotogna and a well-priced wine list. But I still do not understand the reason for the national hype.

Tried: August 2009

Scoring high with the critics early in the game is both impressive and certainly good for business. During an economic climate when many restaurants would kill to get even a half-full dining room on a weekend evening, there was already a long line of people spilling onto the street corner in front of Flour + Water at 5:30 p.m. on a Monday night, all vying for one of the cramped tables in the deliberately shabby-chic interior.

I have to admit I was definitely curious after it had garnered three stars from Michael Bauer of the San Francisco Chronicle. While I am not a huge fan of his dismissive and somewhat antiseptic writing style, the man does have a palate. In this instance, however, he raised my expectations way too high, and perhaps any new restaurant, no matter how talented the kitchen, was bound to fail to meet them under the circumstances.

Flour + Water does quite a decent margherita pizza, with the appropriate blistery crust, aromatic basil, and sweet tomatoes, without any of the underlying blandness that can mar this type of pizza if the pizzaiolo does not calibrate the balance exactly right. Plus, the fior di latte mozzarella was so delectable that I did not even miss mozzarella di buffala.

The rest of the menu, unfortunately, reminded me of a pretty girl who does not know how to use makeup or dress to complement her looks. The meaty Monterey Bay sardines, although nicely charred, were dry and underseasoned, not helped by the overpowering mint puree smeared on the plate as though it were an afterthought. The yellow cherry tomatoes and clump of undressed watercress on the side, while both beautiful and fresh ingredients in and of themselves, were similarly out of place, leaving the entire dish to taste minty, fishy, and undersalted.

The oxtail "terrine" was actually not a terrine at all but deep-fried croquettes filled with oxtail confit. The meat was exactly as tender as it should be, and the crispy fried exterior was satisfying to the point that I did not mind that it was a little burnt, but the odd sweet sauce with its slightly Asian flavor drizzled around the plate clashed with the seasoning of the oxtail "terrine," as well as with the shards of parmeggiano artfully placed around the arugula on which the croquettes were presented. The most frustrating part of the dish was the generous scattering of chanterelle mushrooms, one of my favorite ingredients, which were gritty. I still ate them, suffering through the unpleasant crunch of the grit against my teeth echoing through my head, in the same way that I refuse to stop eating oysters when less-expert shuckers leave pieces of shell in them.

I had heard so much about the hand-made pasta that I had to try one notwithstanding the slight disappointments of the other dishes. Each component of the thick spaghetti with butter beans and pancetta in a tomato sauce was prepared exactly right. The pancetta was rendered down to the point where the pieces were crispy yet retained their bacony-meatiness, the butter beans were soft and creamy, and the thick spaghetti were cooked to exactly the al dente texture I like, with that chewy tug reminiscent of good soba. Nonetheless, as a whole the dish looked and tasted like a slightly better rendition of something I might have at home on leftover night.

Sadly, if Bauer had given Flour + Water his standard two and half stars, I might have loved it.

In Search Of ...

A taste (and I mean, just a taste) of sublime, tender, juicy pastrami prepared by Chef de Cuisine J.P. Carmona as an amuse at the Iron Chef dinner at Manresa Restaurant a couple of months ago fired up my pastrami craving. Otherwise, I have found to date no place on the West Coast, in either Northern or Southern California, that matches the platonic ideal of the pastrami from Katz's Deli in Manhattan (although The Refuge in San Carlos probably comes closest, notwithstanding the mildly spongy texture and slight cinnamony flavor).

I have generally been so impressed with the artisan sandwiches and salads created by the crew at Kitchenette, a little catering outpost on the edge of San Francisco in an area that looks like a cleaned-up version of Thunderdome, that I purposely manufactured a reason to be in the City on the day they posted pastrami on the menu. Yet even Kitchenette's pastrami disappointed. Too chewy, too peppery, with the necessary interspersed fat layers gristly instead of melty.

I gave up and ordered pastrami from Katz's on line (more feasible than begging a Michelin two-star restaurant to make me a sandwich). It suffered a bit in transit, and probably the first and only time I would pay over $20 for a sandwich, but it assuaged my craving for the time being short of actually flying to New York. I am not quite that crazy yet.

Other cravings that all seem to require travel, some farther than others: ramen, burger, pizza, fried chicken.

Conversations with the Chef

Whenever possible, my favorite way to eat in a restaurant is "omakase," i.e., chef's choice. Of course, this generally only works in restaurants I have frequented previously, although it also works sometimes in places with open kitchens where the chef notices that I am eating everything not nailed down, or at least not faster than my fork, chopsticks, or fingers.

The best part of omakase dining is the opportunity to try something new or unusual, which might include something that the chef is excited about having recently created or something he enjoys eating himself (I am referring to the chefs I know, who happen to be male, so I am not intending to be sexist with this pronoun usage). Sometimes the chef is testing something out on me, which is flattering as well as fun. Sometimes the chef is showing off to remind me that his kitchen prowess is even greater than hitherto expected. Sometimes the chef is treating me to a taste of something extraordinary because he knows I am celebrating a special occasion (which can frankly be just eating at his restaurant).

The stressful part is when the chef comes by to say hello or checks in to see how I like a particular dish. I have just experienced an incredible expression of the chef's artistry. What words can I use to convey on the spot, at that moment in time, not only mesmerized by the flavors I had just experienced but also with whatever minimal literary skills I possess further impaired by the accompanying wine or sake, exactly how mindblowing the poached geoduck with ponzu and grated daikon was, how the flavor of the freshly shucked baby peas melted in my mouth with the white chocolate and mint, or how the pink, tender duck breast slices with their outlines of savory, melty, charred fat blended perfectly with the chewy, earthy and creamy farro risotto.

As highly descriptive words like "wonderful" or "delicious" escape from my mouth, I want to yell, do you have any idea how amazing this food is?

Thankfully for most of these chefs the answer is of course I do, you silly drunk person.

Places I've Eaten in Tokyo

**Places I would go back to eat
*Closed

Birdland
Butagumi
Chisen
Daiwa Sushi (cash only)
Elevage
Esaki
Harukiya (cash only)
Ivan Ramen (cash only ordering machine)
Jangara Ramen
Kagurazaka Ishikawa
Kebab Box
Koju
Kyorakutei
Maison de Caviar Beluga
Motoyama Milk Bar
Nemuri-an (cash only)
Nenrinya
Nihombashi Isesada
Numazu Uogashi Zushi
La Rochelle
Rokukakutei
Rokusan-tei
Ryugin
Salvatore
San Marco Curry House
Snaffles
Sukiyabashi Jiro Ginza (cash only)
Sushi Dai (cash only)
Sushi Isano (near Ebisu Garden)
Sushi Mizutani (cash only)
Sushi Sukeroku
Tempura Motoyoshi (cash only)
Tetsugama (cash only ordering machine)
Tokyo Ramen Street Hirugao (cash only ordering machine)
Tokyo Ramen Street Rokurinsha (cash only ordering machine)
Tsurutanton
Tonki
UCC Cafe Plaza
Ukai-tei

** I had some difficulty making this decision for the places I tried in Tokyo-- for the opposite reason from the Lake Tahoe eateries. For some, where the hype and the actual experience were quite disparate, the election was quite easy. For others, I went back and forth because if it were not for the travel and expense involved, I would certainly have marked it among the italicized "Places I would go back to eat," except that in reality, I would likely not actually go back the next time I return to Tokyo because there are so many other places I would like to try (not sure when but still fun to daydream about) and frankly, there are less expensive places in the United States that I like better.

I need to learn to read Japanese. The most intriguing places have no English menus and no pictures or plastic food displays ...

Another Reason To Look Forward to Summer

Top Chef Masters coming in June. I can't help it; I'm addicted.

Anyone Tried Schwa?

Talk about nerve-wracking...

Places I've Eaten in Atlanta

Places I would go back to eat 

*Closed

   

Colonnade 

Holeman & Finch 

MF Buckhead 

Onyx 

Restaurant Eugene

Ingredient Issues

I read an awful lot of complaints about people being sick of tuna tartare. What is rarely discussed in those complaints is the reason why so many tuna tartares are lackluster-- most places that offer the dish do not know how to treat the ingredient. From the hands of talented chefs, I would not mind eating tuna tartare everyday. For example, when Sarah Schafer was at Frisson, she offered a clean, beautiful tuna tartare with wasabi sorbet. Bruce Hill has always been a master of tuna tartare and his version offered at Picco, with shiso, soy, sesame, and Asian pear on crispy, chewy sushi-rice blini, is positively addictive. Even Sushi of Gari offers a tuna tartare sushi, with rice-flour deep fried wakame "chips" layered between the soy-sesame-sake marinated tuna on top and the rice "quenelle" underneath.

My main complaint these days though is not about tuna tartare. I know where to find the good ones, who I trust to prepare it, and to avoid the rest. My gripe today is about sweetbreads-- another ingredient whose popularity seems to be inversely proportional to the number of preparations executed well.

Don't get me wrong-- I am definitely happy not to see much of the gamey, not completely cleaned, brainey, undercooked variety anymore-- I have no interest in bidding for Andrew Zimmern's job. While I am happy to see sweetbreads offered on more restaurant menus, I am finding that the ubiquitousness of this one safe offal has resulted in most variations being bland and disappointing. Why is it that chefs who are so particular about everything else have no problems overcooking sweetbreads, turning them into essentially tasteless kernels of dessicated chicken nuggets, and then trying to hide the fact that it has been mistreated with lots of bacon (although I have to admit that one is not necessarily the worst strategy), layers of thick chicken-fried batter, or worst yet, some affected top shelf attempt at a sweet and sour sauce (do not even get me started on restaurants that still insist on trying to relive the Wolfgang Puck 80's).

Like with tuna tartare, I keep trying them, hoping someone would make them taste as good as they can be. Because when they are prepared well, they can be truly magnificent.

Frustrated With Top Chef

Does it seem that Top Chef should be more appropriately titled Top Caterer?
Do we really care how well the cheftestants prepare hors d'oeuvres on steam tables for 400 people? As if that Today Show bit was not bad enough-- are we really looking for the Next Food Network Star with Season 5?
Wondering if Food Network's shortened version, Chopped, will be any better. (Answer: No, but Chopped All-Stars was fun to watch)
I am still curious to see whether Fabio, Stefan, and Jamie can really cook. And not for a party of 800. Isn't that why Colicchio is doing Tuesdays with Tom, as opposed opening yet another Lettuce Entertain You type restaurant in Las Vegas or Houston or Atlantic City?
Lastly, how many contrived lines do you think Toby Young prepares in advance of each taping, hoping to come across as clever and/or funny, achieving neither?

"How Is Everything?"

I never know quite how to respond when servers sweep by to inquire how the food is. Most of the time, I assume the question is perfunctory, like the "how are you" question that people throw at each other in passing in elevators or hallways at the office. No one really expects a genuine answer to that question, but sometimes when servers ask and wait as though they are looking for a real response, I fall into the trap of answering. Call me Charlie Brown.

In my profession, when I can give specific criticism, that means the work product I received is not bad, possibly even quite good in the overall scheme of things. When the work product is in a condition that I cannot identify specifics to fix but instead just need to take the whole thing back and redo it, that is when things are truly problematic. So when my answer to the server's question is "fine," and I'm pushing food around on my plate, it is not good, but what am I going to say? Your food sucks, and I can't even begin to explain everything that is wrong with it? So I don't bother and instead say "fine." Then they walk away, and so do I.

Every once in a while, I end up answering honestly, but then almost always regret it as soon as the words, "the ___ was underseasoned," or "this combination doesn't really work for me," tumble out of my mouth. I may think I'm providing feedback that is being requested, but then I see the look of panic cross the server's face that reads, oh crap, they hate it so we need to replace it, comp it, give them something else, or comp dessert, or some variation thereof-- none of which I want. For the most part, the only time I answer substantively to the question, "how is it," is when I think 90% is good, but it could be better.

From the server's perspective, I can certainly appreciate that their sole objective is to make a seemingly unhappy customer happy, but it is never my intent to make people jump through hoops. I tend to ask if I want something fixed and I believe there is someone capable of fixing it for me. But I also understand that servers have to deal with the quandry of people who secretly want something else but will insist otherwise while continuing to complain (something I have never understood).

So what happens in my case? I tell the server, "the pasta is a little overcooked," in response to his or her question. The server freaks out and offers to give me something else. The manager or front-of-the-house (or sometimes even the chef, eek) comes over to try to "fix the problem." I say no, that's fine, I don't want anything else, things were generally great, I was just answering a question honestly. They don't believe me and give me a free dessert, which I am too full to eat, but I now feel guilty so I try to eat as much as I can (and not say anything about the fact that the dessert is really not chocolate panna cotta as described, but more like a somewhat clunky chocolate pudding trifle). And then I proceed to grossly overtip because I still feel guilty (e.g., $35 on a $90 check). Because for the most part, I really did enjoy my meal; I just thought it could have been better because the kitchen is clearly talented.

You would think I would have learned to keep my mouth shut. "Does this make me look fat?" No, honey, absolutely not. You look fine.

The Magnificent Seven

Among the chefs who continually impress and inspire:

Jeremy Fox: Such a bad ass that he doesn't even need protein to impress diners with his culinary prowess.

David Kinch: Such a bad ass that he can open a restaurant where he wants to live so that people come to him to experience his two Michelin star fare (he deserves all three).

Johnny Monis: Such a bad ass that he does all tasting menus all the time in his matchbox kitchen and is named in Food & Wine's Hall of Fame Chefs (rightly so) only one year after he is named among the Best New Chefs, all at the ripe old age of 28.

Sang Yoon: Such a bad ass that he serves food the way he wants, no substitutions, no modifications, take it or leave it.

Dennis Leary: Such a bad ass that he himself is cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner in his two restaurants, with no investors to tell him what to do.

Sam Sugiyama: Such a bad ass that at age 60+, he works alongside his cooks every lunch and dinner, running effectively two restaurants in one, with modern ginza-style omakase sushi behind the scenes and a dragon roll/spicy tuna hellish extragavanza in the main dining room.

Sotohiro Kosugi: Such a bad ass that he can transplant his restaurant from Atlanta to Manhattan without missing a beat. If you want unforgettable Japanese cuisine but lack the net worth to splurge on Masa's, head down to the village and experience the most sublime and authentic fare of all time.

What these bad-ass chefs have in common:
They are all in their kitchens, touching, tasting, and/or seeing the plates that go out. Thank goodness for their obsessive-compulsive tendencies.