Your Life as a Restaurant Critic

by Kerry McDonald

You've just received your latest assignment from your in-the-know editor.

First, you look at the list and get excited, thinking, "Oh yeah, I've always wanted to go to that restaurant!" You pull out the calendar and plan your attack. You'll want to hit the restaurant twice--once on a weeknight, and once on a Friday or Saturday to see how they handle a crowd (if there is one).

Next, you put out the word to your always-willing-to-help friends to see who's available for your latest eating adventures. You tell new recruits, "I pay for dinner, and you pay for drinks." You don't get too many people turning down that kind of deal. Also, you can't just invite one person--three are perfect, and two will do.

With only one person in tow, your stomachs are likely to explode. You and three of your new best friends arrive at "Zuni's," the hippest restaurant of the moment in the city.

You get all dolled up, meet up first for a drink at the bar across the street, then mosey into the restaurant, ready to size them up. You slide into your cushy booth, being sure to take the seat with the best view of the scene. As you begin to order, the waiter 's eyes enlarge as he asks, "Ok, so you'd like all four appetizers and three salads?" "Yes, please," you say. Thinking you're just doing drinks and appetizers, he tries to take your menus away. Stopping the menus mid-flight, you say, "Oh, we'd still like dinner, just not yet."

Seven plates with crafty concoctions arrive, and forks start flying. A taste of the dense Dungeness crab cake, then a nibble of the tender Ahi, and finally a bite of a juicy garlic prawn. Foreheads crinkle, heads shake and suddenly everyone's a critic. Christy is in love with the Ahi, Beth can't decide on the Crab Cake, "something's off". Kira's ready to snag the last prawn, but first asks you if you'd like one more bite. After a final finger dive into garlic sauce for one last taste, you tell her to enjoy, taking notice of her gratification.

The entrees arrive and the critical process begins again. Another rule when reviewing is that you, the reviewer, get as many bites as needed to form an opinion. The last bite must be saved, just in case you need "one more taste," which you know is a cruel thing to do to a friend, but it's your job. Still, by the end, satiety sets in as hands comfort full bellies and buttons beg to be released.

Highs and lows are discussed but you still find time to have "girl talk" and totally forget that you are doing a review. After all, you want to have as normal experience as anyone else would. That's who you're writing for, the average diner.

Buttons unleashed and dinner plates removed, the waiter arrives with the bill tucked into his front pocket. You request dessert menus. He tries to play it cool, but he really didn't expect this from you, you can tell. You push on and order three desserts instead of four--Tiramisu, a chocolate torte, and the cheesecake. Your cohorts are looking at you like they can't go on. You tell them you need just one bite and a last opinion. They oblige, and finally, you're done. The bill arrives. You do a quick alcohol deduction and pay for the rest. Usually your friends end up paying $5 or $10 for a $100+ meal, not a bad deal.

Now comes the tricky part, since you've got to get an itemized receipt and a copy of the menu. Many restaurants refuse to give out their itemized receipt and often get rather upset at your request to make a copy (which they sometimes have to do by hand). You don't get reimbursed without it, so it's a battle you face each time, and one that you worry may blow your cover, especially on the second, and sometimes third visit. Then comes the menu retrieval. Often times you'll ask to keep one on the table, and somehow it finds its way into your purse. Other times, it's just too large, or they take it away too quickly. So, sometimes, it comes down to flat-out theft. On the way out, you use a friend to distract the staff while you stuff a menu into your purse or stuff it under your blouse. Every job has its risks.

The following week, you're reviewing a Brazilian restaurant. It sounds so exotic, you can't wait! 7pm Wednesday night, and you meet up with three former roommates. The minute you step foot inside you just know - this isn't going to be good. Not one other person in the place, and it feels . . . well, dingy. But you try not to judge, maybe it's a new hole-in-the wall find. After four appetizers, a shared salad, four terrible entrees, four bud lights, and four pathetic desserts, you think you might want to try bingeing, just once. You're so unsatisfied that you actually crave a burger on the way home, because you want something satisfying. The worst part is, you have to go back. You end up begging your friends, and even though it's still free food, they actually say to you, "You really don't like me, do you?"

Finally, the eating is done and it's time to write. You collect all of your menus and immerse yourself in what it felt like to be there and how the food tasted. You reach into a deep, sometimes empty well for new, colorful adjectives describing taste and flavor. Using words like succulent, zest, aroma, tender, and buttery, you put the finishing touches on each review and send it off to your editor for final edits. After finishing each round of reviews, you're out close to $800 and have no doubt packed on a few thousand extra calories. So, it's off to the gym and bowls of chicken-and-stars until the next assignment and reimbursement check arrives and the cycle begins again.

Kerry McDonald has been eating her way through Seattle for four years; two years professionally and two years on her own terms as a restaurant junkie. Contact kerry@urbanbalance.net.