Speaking of breakfast, there’s something about a particular shade of orange that I’ve seen only in vinyl, and it’s so evocative of a certain kind of breakfast that the menu could have been sold with the stuff by the yard. Was there even a choice of colors at this price?…
It’s never a deal, but expense really isn’t the problem with caviar. It’s availability. Unless you’re all dolled up for a night on the town, you’re not going to find caviar on the menu. Why should caviar require a coat and tie to eat? Yet nobody serves it except fancy…
To remind you where I’m coming from: I married into a clan whose family reunions are highlighted by a belly dancer’s performance. Malouf family ties are strong; hundreds of them gather every two years from all over the world to compare their Siti’s–that’s grandma to you, gringo–tabouleh recipes. The food’s…
A January issue of New York magazine featured two long articles: “Why America Hates New York,” and “The Ultimate Mexican Restaurant Guide.” The former article was actually a Newt vs. New York piece, and quoted a lot of statistics about how liberal New York is as opposed to how reactionary…
Cafe Society has been Dallas’ favorite coffee-talk cafe since it opened. It beat the rest of the coffee hustlers here, but the real root of its charm is its attitude. It assumes Dallas reads, talks, converses, and debates. It bases its whole business on that. Its mission statement says that…
I am always surprised when I tell people I work for the Dallas Observer and they immediately mention those classified personal ads. I never look at them myself; I turn straight to Molly Ivins’ column to get the dope (or hear about the dopes) in D.C., or I read the…
It was a quiet night at the Champps Americana sports bar the Monday night after the NFC Championship game. After all, Dallas had just proved to the world that we weren’t champs. And that’s almost a quote from Troy Almighty’s mouth. Mudville had nothing on us. But the big screens…
News organs from New York magazine to Food & Wine have noted the resurgent popularity of strong, old-fashioned spirits (oddly coinciding with the new puritanism, MADD’s crusade, and the ascendancy of the 12-step program). There’s even a lush gift book glorifying the American cocktail. But the truth is that the…
Talk about timing: Pablo and Olga Esparza opened Amaya’s Grill in Lancaster just five weeks before the tornado hit. Undaunted by the disaster, the family rebuilt their south-of-the-Trinity location and then expanded north to a second restaurant across from Love Field. The night we ate there, our party included two…
Patrick Esquerre’s new cookbook, written in collaboration with his mother, Monique, is a collection of the recipes behind La Madeleine’s bakery and cafe. When Patrick Esquerre started serving food at La Madeleine, he used his mother’s expertise (she had written a successful French cookbook) as the basis for a lot…
This could be it, folks. Of course, low-fat sounds great, we all want to eat healthy, low-fat food, but not if it means no Mexican food, and until now, that’s pretty much what it meant. But last week, Martin’s Cocina premiered its new low-fat menu. Martin’s offers about a dozen…
I thought Newt Gingrich was out of his mind when I read in a December New Yorker article that he favored using space stations to employ disabled people. But hey, I’m–excuse the expression–liberal. I try to keep an open mind. And recently I started toying with an equally wacky solution…
We started the evening at a pitch-black bar in Deep Ellum–where we parked down an alley, where the bartender sighed “red or white” when we asked about wine, where the waitress answered our queries over her shoulder as she walked away from the table, where the chef shouted from the…
Sometimes, old lines are the best lines. So this week, I have to ask: What’s a chef like you doin’ in a joint like this? When I told friends I was going to review the food at what used to be known as the State Bar, they were skeptical. At…
I knew I’d be hearing from people as soon as I compiled a list of great soups. Sure enough, I forgot to mention the tomato soup at City Cafe–there is none better. But along with the soup reminder came a recommendation of the Blum’s cake next door at City Cafe…
The malling of America is a fact. Malls aren’t just off-centers for the suburbs; city downtowns are dead, small towns have been shattered by Wal-Marts, and malls are the new middle of modern American communities. They’re not mere shopping centers, they’re cultural (such as it is) centers, social centers, recreational…
Deadlines can have a disastrous effect. I speak from experience, of course. I’m sure all writers think deadlines are disastrous; certainly they feel like impending doom. (Why do you think they’re called deadlines?) Deadlines put an artificial end to the creative process and can force you to sacrifice quality for…
Soup of the evening: the wonderfully therapeutic effects of the tom kha gai in last week’s review of Royal Thai made me think of other great soups around town, because it’s the season for soup-slurping. So don’t forget the smoked chicken and grilled corn chowder at Beau Nash, the canh…
‘Tis the season when the food media go nuts trying to offer you diet plans and ways to remedy your supposed holiday excess. Just to do my bit toward alleviating anxiety, I’d like to point out Rodolfo’s, the Italian restaurant in Preston Royal that first brought you “Ital-Lite” cuisine and…
To pick up a recurring theme of these reviews, I’d like to remind you once again I’m a snob. This week’s example concerns snobbish preconceptions: I expected to hate The Italian Oven. I’m sure most of my high-falutin’ foodie friends would hate it, and I’m glad I didn’t invite any…
There are several criteria I use when judging a restaurant, but I don’t use all of them all the time. Food, setting, service, atmosphere, and wine selection are all important but not necessarily equally important. Sometimes one thing is more important than another. After all, there are different expectations and…
I am a city girl. I grew up in cities–Southern cities, but definite metropolises. I did not grow up eating greens, red beans, or okra regularly, and my Mama, a wonderful cook, refused to fry chicken–unless we were going on a trip, when she served it in the car accompanied…
