It’s been a week since we got back, and still no “EscapeCville” entry from me. Until tonight. Still trying to process it all I guess. The Hubby had a conference and I tagged along. Love the tag-alongs, they’re thebest part of his job, especially if it’s a city I’ve heard good things about. Especially food-wise.
I knew I’d have fun. I knew I’d like it. I just didn’t expect how MUCH I’d like it. Turned out to be similar to my first Vegas trip. We went once, figuring we’d have a good time, never to return. But I left Vegas completely floored. Overwhelmed. Astounded. Blissful. Like I’d just had the best sex of my life. Vegas was freaking awesome. Except I’d never want to live in Las Vegas. All that hooch and bling in your face every minute? Nu-uh. Now Vancouver? I’d totally live in Vancouver. You know I mean it when I say totally. I never say totally. Even when it was 1982. So yeah, I’d totally live in Vancouver.
At the risk of “double entry-ing” and possibly jeopardizing my status as a neophyte blogger, I feel I must direct you to a restaurant review I did on my travel stories blog, “escape cville…travel stories from all over.”
No, it’s not a Charlottesville restaurant. It is in London, about as far away from Charlottesville as you can get. However, it isn’t just any restaurant either, but Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley. Simply put, the best meal of my entire life…so far…
I’ve been toying with the idea for weeks, and after some agonizing deliberation :) I’ve decided I can double post. Yes, it was overseas, but it also talks about a restaurant’s food. Incredibly stupendous amazing delicious invigorating soul-stirring food that I won’t soon forget. If you ever eat there (and I recommend you do) I guarantee you’ll be talking about it for weeks. I just decided to WRITE about it for weeks. The fun starts with my entry “Petrus”. You go Marcus Wareing. Thanks for rocking my culinary world…
So I’m an admitted foody. I’ve read Tony Bourdain’s “Kitchen Confidential” and follow his TV show travels religiously. He’s a god to me. I worship Jacques Pepin and adore Lidia Bastianich. I eat at restaurants every chance I get. I cook, I’ve worked in restaurants. My favorite job was as a bartender. In short, I love, love, love food. I love eating it, I love being around it, I love creating it. So what makes me think I can offer better restaurant advice than the next guy? Not one goddamn thing.
But I do think the reviewers are sometimes just too damn nice. I read their opinions in their many reviews and when I go to these places I don’t have the same experience at all. Granted, I might be there on a “bad night” but I do think they gloss over key items that are essential to making to making a meal out a memorable experience.
I’m a laid-back person, even sloth-like, in every aspect of my life except two: food and travel. In these things I’m a total curmudgeon, a total bitch, a complete asshole. I have high expectations. That’s all.
Part of me is disheartened that I’ve become this way. I used to tease my father-in-law for being so picky, but not anymore. I’ve had some incredible food in some incredible places. Is it too much to expect this kind of experience all the time, every time? I don’t think so.
And so here are my reviews, without apology. Take them or leave them, but I’ll always be honest, and I’ll always be impartial. At times I’ll be totally heartless, but I also won’t hesitate to give credit where credit is due.