In a City of Food, I Starve
You'd think that in the eight months I've lived in New York, I would've found a favorite restaurant by now. I haven't. Not even armed with my Zagat guide. Much to my surprise, I've discovered that I enjoy the fruits of my own culinary creativity much better. And, after all these years, I'm still in mourning for my dear, departed Clay Oven, squeezed out of its prime location on Lorain Road to make Fairview Park safe for another office building, and then from two subsequent less-than-prime spots in the general vicinity of Parma, and then ultimately out of existence.
I've tried to think of other restaurants I've loved, and came up with a handful, but with the possible exceptions of Luchita's, the Flying Fig, and Aladdin's, it was always more about the company - who I went there with - than the food.
For example, I've eaten at Tommy's with everyone I've ever been friends with, with every boyfriend I've ever had, and at every table in the formerly nonsmoking section.
I ate there with my high school boyfriend. I ate there with the guy I was cheating on him with. I ate breakfast there before embarking on a road trip to Mammoth Cave (the one time I ever ate in the abhorrent smoking section), during which it was decided that I should move to Montana. I ate there on my last trip to Coventry before moving to New Jersey (in the booth across from the grill, one of my least favorites. They forgot my fries).
But the only thing I've ordered there in the last 10 years is the veggie burger, because after a few years of experimenting, it was the only thing I ever found that rated above humdrum. Food? Meh. Mystical connections to my own past? Five stars!
I guess there are some things even Zagat can't rate.
I've tried to think of other restaurants I've loved, and came up with a handful, but with the possible exceptions of Luchita's, the Flying Fig, and Aladdin's, it was always more about the company - who I went there with - than the food.
For example, I've eaten at Tommy's with everyone I've ever been friends with, with every boyfriend I've ever had, and at every table in the formerly nonsmoking section.
I ate there with my high school boyfriend. I ate there with the guy I was cheating on him with. I ate breakfast there before embarking on a road trip to Mammoth Cave (the one time I ever ate in the abhorrent smoking section), during which it was decided that I should move to Montana. I ate there on my last trip to Coventry before moving to New Jersey (in the booth across from the grill, one of my least favorites. They forgot my fries).
But the only thing I've ordered there in the last 10 years is the veggie burger, because after a few years of experimenting, it was the only thing I ever found that rated above humdrum. Food? Meh. Mystical connections to my own past? Five stars!
I guess there are some things even Zagat can't rate.
posted by Christine Borne at 7:40 PM
3 Comments:
You want a restaurant dissapointment? How about driving 900 miles to Cleveland over a 14-hour period, and the next morning heading with high expectations for breakfast to Gene's Place in Kamms Corner (to, of course, feast on the A.M. Bagel) only to find it's closed for Staff Appreciation Day?
I'm with you on Tommy's. My parents started taking my sisters and me there in the 70's, and we all pretty much agree other than a Rah or the milkshakes, it's all pretty humdrum fare served with angst-ridden attitude by kids who would get fired anywhere else. I'm going to be in Cleveland in two days, and I know my dad is going to stop at Mama Santa's in Little Italy and Hunan Coventry for pizza and potstickers on the way home from the airport (they're on the way...they still live in Cleveland Heights). At least Mama Santa's is consistent...it tastes exactly the same as it did in 1978. Almost as cheap, too.
i ordered the j.j. every time. i may have to go back next time i go home, just for old time's sake.
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