#49 Complete.  Having binged on more burritos and hot dogs than the average food critic, I certainly wouldn’t claim to have an overly sophisticated pallet.  But what I do have is the desire to experience the new on a nightly basis. In fact, Sonia and I have been practicing six out of seven nights for the past couple of years.  After seeing our year end American Express spending pie graph, it became apparent that we need some kind of culinary write off.  Perhaps my restaurant review blog will one day fit into some 1099 loophole.  Until then, I’m just going to continue my nightly journey to satisfy the taste buds.

The above picture is that of the esteemed restaurant critic and curmudgeon, Anton Ego, from the Pixar movie, Ratatouille.  An awesome movie, by the way. A sewer rat who dreams of becoming a great chef tries to help a hack cook save a dying French restaurant.  The only thing that stands in their way, besides the fact that the chef is a rat, is a good review from the cynical critic who hasn’t given a good review in over a decade.  The character development of this Darth Vaderesque critic was phenomenal, which made his final review that much better.  Here it is:

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations, the new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau’s, who is, in this critic’s opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more.