How To Become a Food Critic...Sort of

Last night was my first real gig as a food critic. We went to a new French wine bistro. Pasadena Now had arranged for my reservation at 7:30 and had set it up so that the General Manager would take care of us during the meal and answer any questions we may have. The food was divine, the service sparkling, and by the time our final souffle appeared on he table Spike and I were giving each other high fives. Then the bill came.

The bill?

We exchanged a look of horror. When the manager told us at the beginning of the meal he'd be bringing us a selection of the chef's recommendations, we had sat back and relaxed. We were first presented with the $18 foie gras terrine, the $12 heirloom tomatoes and the $14 roasted fig and pistachio salad. Our main courses were the $24 pork crepinettes and $30 scallops over squid ink rice. As a sweet ending we requested tea and the $8 chocolate terrine and $8 lemon souffle. Of course, during the meal these numbers were meaningless as I jotted down notes about the service, atmosphere and tastes.

But suddenly the price was the only thing that mattered. Our bill came to $110. "You handle it, honey. This is your thing" said my husband, his face pallid. I just stared at him, knowing he was right. I'd have to handle this.

I went to the bar with the bill and called over the general manager. I put on my perkiest smile and dove in. "I was under the impression that this meal was going to be comped. What do you want me to do with this bill?"

The manager's expression clouded for the first time that evening. "I had no such understanding. I spoke with [the editor of Pasadena Now] twice on the phone and he didn't mention anything about it." He was obviously not happy to hear that I expected a free meal. "You can either leave the bill with me and I'll have [the editor] pay or you can just pay it right now and work it out with him later."

This was my first dining experience as a food critic. Maybe I had misunderstood the editor and I was supposed to have him reimburse me the cost of dinner. I didn't know what to do and didn't want to embarrass Pasadena Now by stiffing the restaurant so I went ahead and put the bill on my American Express card.

I called the editor this morning. "WHAT!" he yelled. "I've been doing this for twenty years and I've never had a restaurant do this. Why would they think we'd give their restaurant free publicity? The review is off! I don't care what you write about it on your blog but we are not going to do a review." He then gallantly offered to reimburse me the cost of the meal and assured me he'd call the restaurant and give them a piece of his mind.

So now I'm left with a few pages of scribbled notes with such nonsense as "foie gras - melts like butter - cool with zing of currants," and pistaccio dessert - too complicated - tried too hard."

The only notes I took that now seem relevant are a few snippets of conversation I overheard from the diners next to us. Two older couples out for the evening. As they finished dessert, the wives got up and one of them said, "I wanna leave before the bill comes. I'm Jewish, not foolish." The women took off. A few minutes later the bill was presented to the men. "Holy #@*!," gasped one of the men. Indeed.