Friends first, food after. That’s how registered dietitian, Shira Lenchewski, and I could classify our relationship. She is one of my girls — grounded and ambitious, playful and quirky, and she peppers in sentences with the word “AB-soh-luuute-ly” with such an adorable intonation (syllables drawn out, eyes bright, with a slow nod for unintentional dramatic effect) that you will giggle.
I had 48 hours in Boston, and having never been, scouting out an unmissable restaurant was exceptionally high on my culinary totem pole. I had read about Neptune Oyster in a couple places, and then read Alinea‘s Grant Achatz & Chef Ming Tsai describe the buttermilk johnny cake with smoked trout tartare, honey butter, and caviar as “one of the best things [they’ve] ever had.
Let’s discuss Chef Josef Centeno. He is one of the most lauded chefs in the US, with three restaurants (Bäco Mercat, Bar Amá, and Orsa & Winston) all blocks away from each other in downtown Los Angeles, offering gangbuster good food that extends from the zeitgeist of his Tex-Mex upbringing.
Have you ever become fixated with a restaurant to the point that you pull every string, call every hour, wait for cancellations, and sit with bated breath by your phone, wishing-hoping-thinking-praying that they call?
I have this ritual: after I have an audition in NY, I treat myself to a glass of wine at the restaurant down the street from my agency. The twist here is that this post-audition tipple is at the bar of Eleven Madison Park, ranked as the 4th best restaurant in the world, and consistently garnering 3 Michelin stars.
Let’s discuss for a moment, the word “foodie.” A word that for some is a badge of honor, while for others it’s enough to make them groan in annoyance. The naysayers categorize foodies as those who write late night Yelp reviews about pork belly, Instagram every spoonful of their tasting menu, and whose food gets cold because they’re too busy taking pictures of it instead of eating it.
It’s only in recent years that I jumped aboard the whole soft shell crab thing. It’s not that I couldn’t wrap my head around it, or had any aversion to it, because Lord knows I very rarely meet a food group I don’t like – it simply wasn’t for me.
With only one night in DC, I was determined to have a dinner for one that would leave me feeling equal parts satiated and inspired. That’s a tall order – especially on a Monday night where most restaurants are dark.
Some days you have a bite of food that makes you go “woah.” Your eyes widen, you look down at the plate, almost pushing things around with your fork to see what’s making it so special. You take another bite, smiling as you do so, almost laughing, because it’s just so damn good.
Staying ahead of the curve in the dining scene is one of those mildly competitive foodie things that I’m embarrassed to admit that I thrive on. But I do. Ridiculously, shamefully, truly.