Why are restaurant reviews so boring?
I was reading this while drying my hair this morning and thought – why do I want to take my own life when I’m reading a restaurant review? It is the pedantic use of metaphor or the romantic-era descriptions of the decor? Am I envious that someone gets paid to eat and write about eating? Or am I just hungry?
Here’s an example of what kills me about restaurant reviews:
One forkful of Roberto Donna’s meatballs, shaped from pork and soft as custard, and I’m hooked on his new bar menu.
Like most Americans, I don’t relate well to the word “forkful” because it’s never, ever used in normal conversation or writing. “How about another forkful of custard, Bobby?” Mouthful is better. That thought actually makes me hungry. Of course, if writing for people outside the Washington beltway the writer would be advised to use the word “Helpin’.”
Custard is not what I want my meatballs to be like. Meatballs should be made from beef, veal and pork and have no resemblance in look and feel to custard. Meatballs: it’s all in the name. Meat in a ball shape. And using the word “shaped” instead of “made” is just silly. I also don’t trust writers who use the phrase “I’m hooked” – it’s cheesy like a savory french souffle! (HA! I am just making fun of his style.)
Restaurant reviews would be more fun with phrases like this:
You’ll need to skip breakfast and lunch if you want better than 50/50 odds that you’ll enjoy your dinner at…
I read “Game Sampler” on the menu with the description “the Chef’s assortment of wild game served with vegetables and rice” and I thought: What’s the wild game available around DC? Pidgeon? Squirrel? Stray cat?
The restaurant was just dark enough that I didn’t notice the bernaise sauce on my tuxedo coat until after I after I arrived at the Washington Opera for the gala opening of “La Boheme.”
Ever have dreams about Pop tarts, corn dogs, fish sticks or Cheez-its? You will after an evening at x.
You have to work hard to mess up breakfast.