MENU

Take note, indie eateries, chain restaurant survey says booze drives frequency

by Leave a Comment

A recent survey by Consumer Edge Insight says a good portion of chain restaurant customers frequent those establishments because of a good selection of properly priced alcoholic beverages.

If there were one bit of information independent restaurant operators could use in their struggle against chains, that’s it.

Not only do many independents have better bars, they have better selections and more skilled bartenders. They have neighborhood ambiance that attracts loyal patrons and they typically can get away with charging a tad more than a chain—something they need to do remain profitable and competitive against chains’ volume-purchasing power.

The survey results, reported by NBCNews.com, pointed to Buffalo Wild Wings as the best at working this angle. Its promotional efforts reflect this nicely and concisely: “Wings. Beer. Sports.” We’ll feed you, “water” you and show you games while we’re doing it. A largely affordable but simple experience, just what Americans want from most restaurants.

Indie ops fight similarly, but their moves often lack finesse. Vinyl signs screaming “2-1 Bud Light” say only “me, too,” not “we’re doing something different, come see.”

Is there a craft beer special you can offer?

A house-specialty cocktail—sorry, no Cosmos, tasty as they are, they’re out of style—you can offer for a deal on certain days?

As the survey’s results imply, patrons do like consistency, but they like it to be a bit different than what’s in the fridge or on the shelf at home. If it’s not different, then why would they leave the La-Z-Boy to pay triple the cost for the same thing at a restaurant?

This also stands out from the “Wings. Beer. Sports.” tagline from BW3: The experience marketed is exactly the experience you get. It’s billed as advertised.

This is not a white tablecloth restaurant promising a dissonant experience of party in the bar, serious eatin’ business in the dining room. Nothing reeks of desperation like an upscale restaurant offering 2-1 apps and half-price wine all week.

Those operators must do something alcohol-centered but contextually appropriate, such as wine flights, bourbon tastings, craft gin or craft tequila specials, something intriguing that implies, “You don’t have these on your shelf at home, so come let us introduce you to them. We promise, it’ll be fun!”

Survey says, “It’s all about the booze,” but reality says that booze has to be unique, different and interesting enough to go buy away from home.

A good independent operator can do that as easily as any chain operator.

Sorry, Mayor Fischer, but Louisville isn’t the Bourbon Capital of the World

by Leave a Comment

Louisville Mayor Greg Fisher proclaimed in mid-September that the numbers show Louisville, not Bardstown, Ky., is the Bourbon Capital of the World. (Click here to see news report.)

The humble town of 13,000 has laid claim to the title for many years now, trademarked it even. Yet in the middle of its biggest event, the Kentucky Bourbon Festival, which draws 60,000 visitors to that town to celebrate bourbon, Fisher takes to the airwaves to proclaim Louisville really holds that title, not its friendly neighbor just 40 minutes away.

Uncool, Mayor, and incorrect.

While numbers show that a large portion of the revenue from bourbon and a good chunk of warehousing happens in Louisville, the truth is only a fraction of the industry’s distilling happens here at Brown-Forman’s Shively plant. The way I look at it, the kingdom lies where the products of the kingdom are made.

Sure, some micro-distilleries will add to Louisville’s distilling totals in the coming years, but let’s stress the prefix “micro” to be mega-accurate. We’re talking no more than 30,000 barrels in a state which now has more than 4 million barrels of whiskey in aging warehouses.

Those warehouses are in Bardstown, Clermont, Frankfort, Lawrenceburg, Loretto and Versailles. All within an hour of Louisville but not in Louisville.

And given growing concerns over the growth and spread of whiskey fungus, it’s a good bet you’ll never see new rick houses built here, though more are under construction elsewhere. Residents near abandoned rick houses in Louisville say that fungus—recognized as black streaking on the lower exteriors of rick houses—has migrated from those buildings to their homes, and they’re concerned. As in “We’ll sue if we find it makes us sick” concerned.

You don’t have that problem out in the country where rick houses are surrounded by fields and other rick houses.

I’m all for promoting Kentucky’s bourbon industry. It’s a magnificent part of our culture, a great provider of jobs, significant generator of tax revenue for the state—because the state taxes the hell out of it—and something that will always be truly Kentucky. (Sorry distillers elsewhere, you can make bourbon, but you can’t make it taste like it’s from here.)

But I’m not for dissing Louisville’s neighboring towns to make some trumped-up claim that our city is the Bourbon Capitol of the World. Especially during Bardstown’s big celebration.

Raspberries to you on that one, Mayor.

Don’t dishonor tequila by shooting it, savor and sip it slowly

by Leave a Comment

“Tequila makes me crazy, so I kinda steer clear of it,” said the woman mixing a batch of paint for me at a shop last weekend. She said that with a roll of her eyes and a grin, implying some past misbehavior born of excess tequila consumption.

Tequila tasting at Casa Noble.

“That didn’t have anything to do with the amount you drank, did it?” I asked. Again, she grinned sheepishly.

“And it probably wasn’t any good to begin with. I don’t know a thing about tequila,” she said.

Most don’t. Or at least good tequila. Me included until a few years ago, and even then, I only understood it as the backbone of a really good margarita.

As has become the norm with me, I learn the most about any spirit by sipping it straight, sniffing it a lot and sipping it some more. I also like to read about it and consult knowledgable sources (and we have no shortage of them in this town, which is a blessing!) Slowly, over time, 1 ounce in 30 minutes, give or take 10 minutes, in a chair, Kindle in hand. That’s one way you get to know good tequila and its flavors, nuances, colors and aromas. Never by doing shots with salt, lime or lemon.

What moron came up with that combo anyway?

Easy: The marketing genius who convinced people to squeeze citrus into bad beer.

So my first tequila epiphany occurred 12 years ago when a server at Mama Rosa’s—remember that Peruvian restaurant on Breckenridge Lane?—talked me in to having a true top-shelf margarita made from Don Julio Silver. It was terrific, bore some bite with flavors of fruit and white pepper. I almost never had cheap margaritas afterward.

The second and most important lesson spurring my love affair with the spirit came two years ago when Casa Noble master distiller Jose “Pepe” Hermosillo hosted a tequila dinner at The Blind Pig. Nearly every taste was straight, just an ounce or so of “the juice,” as fans call the product of steamed and fermented agave pulp. It was fantastic, loaded with notes of cinnamon, vanilla and citrus, characteristics shared with bourbon, since both are barrel aged.

I was hooked.

Well, as hooked as one can get on $40 a bottle—and WAY MORE—booze.

What deepened my appreciation for it was being invited with a group of food, beverage and lifestyles writers to Casa Noble’s distillery in Tequila, Mexico last winter. When the owner breaks out the good stuff for private tastings, the experience is difficult to convey with written words.

The finest I've ever had: 5-year-old Casa Noble extra anejo from a 100 liter barrel. Look at the body of it in the glass.

The good thing about the high price of great tequila is it forces you to savor it over time. It’s not for every night sipping at Chez Coomes. Sure, it’ll work in cocktails, but pouring great reposado or anejo (1 to 3 year old tequilas) into a margarita is a bit like putting on a tuxedo to fetch the mail. It’s unnecessary overkill for a drink that’s as much about the flavors of its other components as it is tequila.

So, since it’s National Tequila Month, I thought I’d share a helpful hints I’ve picked up over the past two years of committed study to understanding what has unseated gin as my favorite spirit.

1. Only buy tequila made from 100 percent blue agave, the plant from which it’s made. There are bargain priced versions of this, so at the very least, start there. It’s also wise to buy tequila made only in Jalisco, the Mexican state that’s home to the town of Tequila.

2. There are three basic grades of tequila: silver, reposado and anejo.

Silver (also called blanco, plata, crystal, white and platinum) is generally un-aged, though some brands, such as Herradura, give it a month or so in the barrel for just a little more flavor. Its flavor is bright, fruity and peppery, which make it perfect for cutting through cocktail additives. If you like straight spirits that deliver a bite along with that flavor—and I do—silver does the trick. It’s also less expensive, in most cases, than its older styles.

* A sort of sub-category of silver that has developed is worth noting: Joven, which is still-strength, i.e. white lightning, only a tequila version. I tried some at Casa Noble and it was fantastic, but at 126 proof it’s hot and delivers a memorable kick.

Reposado is tequila aged two to 11 months in wood barrels that 99 percent of the time are spent bourbon barrels from Kentucky. (Casa Noble, it should be noted, is the only distiller using new French white oak barrels that are lightly toasted, and Don Julio uses some new American white oak barrels for its high-end “1942”.) The bite of silver is softened considerably with some age, and the flavors of the barrel—cinnamon, orange, caramel, etc.—move to the front. Due to age-induced evaporation, reposado also has more body than silver as well, so its mouthfeel is softer.

Anejo is tequila aged longer than 11 months, though the great ones are aged at least two years. Those stretching to three to five years are called extra anjeo, but such varieties are both hard to find and pricey and fetch $100 and more. All the flavors and textures of reposado are amplified markedly in anejo: highly complex barrel notes, weighty body and truly silky softness. Great anejo is savored, sipped and sniffed slowly.

Anjeo also must be aged in barrels smaller than 600 liters—which is a huge barrel; a bourbon barrel is about 300 liters—to increase those flavor concentrations.

While at Casa Noble, Hermosillo gave us tastes of his “experiments”: a 5-year-old extra anejo held in a 300-liter barrel, and a 5-year old extra anejo from a 100-liter barrel. I’ve never tasted any spirit so good in my life as the 100-liter version. It was worth the harried three-day up-and-back trip to taste just that. (If it ever makes it to market, surely its price would be at least a few hundred dollars.) See the picture above and notice the body of it in the glass.

Some recommendations on brands:

  • Anything Casa Noble. I haven’t tasted every tequila, but I’ve sampled many kinds. I have yet to find better anjeo. Its silver is bright, aromatic and fun, and worth the nickel.
  • Don Eduardo reposado is a great middle-ager. Floral, warm, inviting, loads o’ cinnamon.
  • Avion makes a terrific anejo that’s got a much lighter body than, say, Casa Noble, but that lack of structure seems to allow some nuances to emerge on the palate. A great spirit all around.
  • Anything Milagro. No better bargain on the market, especially the silver, which costs $23 for a 750ml. Its reposado has great edges that make for some spicy sipping.
  • Don Julio Blanco brings tons of citrus to the glass, which means it’s a great mixing tequila. (I was treated recently to a taste of the Don Julio 1942, which is aged in American white oak, and I wasn’t wowed by it, especially for the $125 per bottle price. Still, to each his own. Someone else may love it.)
  • Herradura tequilas are about as reliable as you get. Nothing fancy, but no flaws. You’ll never go wrong here.
  • Gran Centenario any age. Very pure, elegant and a great standard to go by. But super pricey. Hide it from your friends.

So what about Patron or Cabo Wabo (Sammy Hagar’s brand), two very popular tequilas? Both are fine, steady drinkers, but both are cocktail tequilas. Both lack depth and complexity; neither is a great sipping tequila. Patron, frankly, is way overpriced, not a value at all, so I don’t buy it, but will drink it if offered.

**  PS: You know how every alcoholic beverage advertisement says to “drink responsibly”? Great wisdom worth practicing.

When the customer isn’t right—not even close

by Leave a Comment

A restaurateur called me, exasperated and agitated that a customer had thrown a fit in his restaurant. She was a long-time patron, but not beloved by staff or ownership; a chronic complainer; a trifling, entitled sort who demanded things her way as if she were in her own home.Angry customer

Her most recent hissy fit, the flustered owner said, was her sense that another customer was getting better treatment, a better table—“He always gets the best one in the house!” she ranted.

She didn’t leave it at the table, however, she disparaged the owner to his staff while he wasn’t in the building—which was another complaint since she believed the owner should always be there.

The restaurateur was outraged, of course, but he also was disappointed and disheartened, hurt even. He’d done all he could to please this guest, as well as the myriad others who’d been through his doors over the decades, but this time she’d gone too far.

“You get to the point that you don’t know what to do anymore because someone’s always got a gripe,” he lamented. “I’ve busted my ass for all this time to make everyone happy, but you get people like her who walk in the door unhappy and make it their mission to take it out on you and your staff.”

The owner’s reputation, I reminded him, is one who pleases far more guests than not, that the only complaint heard about his place is people can’t get in there because an overflow crowd beat them to it—and won’t leave.

I asked him what segment of his guests were like this troublemaker, and he said about 5 percent.

Perhaps blithely, I suggested the 95 percent who treated him well were more worthy of his focus than the harpy.

Which is easier said than done. I know this from my time waiting tables. More than two decades after hanging up my waiter’s apron … I can still tell you where they sat, what they looked like … those scoundrels who tipped me poorly for great service! “The nerve of those cads!” I yelled back then.

OK, that’s much cleaner than what I actually said, but I yelled to my boss, my peers, to God, to anyone who would listen willingly or otherwise. I’d been mistreated, disrespected and felt put down by getting a 45 cent tip from six men who appeared to have had a great time; a $1 tip on another occasion from a slightly difficult woman.

Oh, and the pain in the neck, ask a zillion questions about the specials, but still buy predictable food well-heeled doctor who never tipped more than 10 percent, I seethed over his mistreatment, too. Seems he thought his Steve Urkle smile was enough to compensate for his cheapness.

Of course, in my own immature anger, I was forgetting the thousands of others I’d served who’d tipped me fairly. Sometimes even unfairly, as in extraordinarily, for average service delivered on super-busy nights when I’m sure I missed a trick or two. Surely 98 percent of the people I served during my stint did me right or better.

But it’s the bad ones who stick out most with me.

As with the restaurateur.

But I can’t blame him. He’s got so much more skin in the game, so much more on the line when a customer complains. He’s given his life and significant dollars to his business, so he takes it personally if his staff or his brand is unduly offended.

The guy works himself like a rented mule, all day long and with few breaks, to do all he can to please his customers.

Yet some will never be pleased, and he believes their ranks are growing: those who demand perfection from a restaurant and its staff; those who attach their emotional well-being to a whether a mere meal satisfies them; people who believe the customer is always right, even when there’s no chance in hell they’re close to being right.

Or fair or friendly.

“Where is the line drawn on whether the customer is right?” the restaurateur asked.

My only thought was that it’s somewhere back in his mind, not theirs: a point at which he knows he’s done the best he can. If his own stratospherically high expectations aren’t met and the customer calls him on it, she’s right.

If she’s demanding some expectation never set forth by the restaurant, then she’s not.

One customer, the restaurateur said, voiced disappointment over his salad—sacre bleu, a salad!—and the restaurateur immediately offered to provide him a substitute and take the initial charge off the bill.

“But all that did was get him started,” the restaurateur said. “He started complaining about everything.”

The lights were too low. The room was too cold. The music wasn’t to his taste, etc.

A couple of days later, the customer even called the restaurateur and demanded the cost for not only his entire meal be refunded, but the cost of the meals eaten by his guests as well.

Because he was perturbed over a pile of greens!

“Can you believe that? That’s what he asked for!” the restaurateur said. “I’ll bend over backwards to make people happy, but that was too much.”

I agreed and said it’s not always been this bad.

Our patience as a society is disappearing amid the thickening fog of our own delusional self-centeredness. We’ve been doped by an insane message of consumer consciousness that says, it’s all about YOU!

“You can have it all.”

“You deserve your fair share of compensation.”

“The choice is yours.”

“We won’t rest until you’re satisfied.”

If you believe all that, then YOU might be crazy!

YOU might be THAT customer!

Making Tequila: It begins with the jimador

by Leave a Comment

It’s feels awkward watching someone else work for your entertainment. But on this cool, dry morning at Casa Noble Tequila distillery in the hills outside Tequila, Mexico, that’s what we’re doing: admiring a veteran agave harvester, known as a jimador, demonstrating his centuries-old trade.

With hundreds agave plants stretching out in neat rows before us, their yard-long, knife sharp, prickly edged leaves threatening our approach, the jimador, Quirino, selects one for today’s death sentence/entertainment.

The tool of his trade is a coa, a semicircular steel blade attached to the end of a wooden handle. With a single swift thrust, he severs the agave from its shallow roots in the dry soil, and begins cleaving way its leaves with smooth and deliberate accuracy.

The jimador watches to ensure I don't hack off a foot with the coa.

“That’s just damned impressive,” a colleague admires out loud, and our sextet of reporters agrees.

His work reduces the plant to its core, called the piña, an egg-shaped mass weighing about 20 pounds. The process, clearly slowed down for demonstration purposes and pictures, takes about 2 minutes. On a normal work day, he’ll do this at least 200 times.

Pleased with his skillful savagery, Quirino extends a leathery hand toward the felled plant as if to say, “That’s how it’s done, desk jockeys.”

Somewhat disturbingly, the yellow-green sculpted piña, now lying in the dirt row, resembles a bloodless severed head.

Quirino extends the coa to me, offering me a chance to dismantle another agave. I’m surprised by its weight: surely 10 to 12 pounds. The wooden handle, perhaps 4 feet long, is thick and smooth and requires a firm grip. Doubtless a misplaced blow would damage my foot.

About a dozen cuts with the coa is all it takes to open a blister on the knuckle of my thumb, a blemish earned two days before while raking leaves at my home. Seeing my wimpy hand bleed cues Quirino to show us a small cow’s horn attached to his belt; it is packed with solid lard for moisturizing his hands regularly during the punishing work. As sweat beads on my forehead, it occurs to me that his slight build and long sleeve shirt hide all indications of the muscular power required to perform such work for perhaps 50 of his 76 years.

Others then get their turn at dismantling another hapless agave, which spent the last eight years growing in Tequila’s arid climate only for the purpose this humbling demise at the hands of amateurs.

Its destination is the horno, a large, stone-walled oven where it will be roasted 36 hours to remove most of its water to yield a soft, agave syrup-rich mass. That bulk then travels to a custom-made pulverizer using rotating blunt knives to reduce the pinas to pulp. That pulp is then allowed to ferment in open tanks, yeast is added to produce alcohol and the whole mess is then distilled three times.

The result is tequila, some of the world’s best, and we’re off to the tasting room for an extended sampling.

The Colonel’s logo left behind with creation of KFC eleven

by Leave a Comment

“You won’t find the colonel on the marquee or signage,” KFC president John Cywinski told the Associated Press yesterday, “but you’ll find more abstract references to our heritage.”

That’s in reference to the absence of Kentucky Fried Chicken founder Col. Harland Sanders’ image on anything tied to its new fast casual restaurant project, KFC eleven.

  • The cornpone character who figured out the correct combination of 11 herbs and spices that flavored the world’s most popular fast-food chicken …
  • The most recognizable face in the world save for Jesus’s …
  • The man whose chicken launched a million heart bypasses … is done as far as this new concept goes.

I get it. It’s the chain’s way of saying “the Colonel is the past, this is au courant,” that it needs a clean break from the proud but calorie-laden legacy of Kentucky Fried Chicken built by Sanders.

And perhaps it’s right, that a new look and public image will make a fresh start for what is supposed to be a fresher food chain, one with food targeted to more health-conscious types rather than tailgaters, couch potatoes and picnickers.

Yet contained in its logo are to undeniable links to the past: the mention of “eleven” and the silhouette of a chicken.

Not exactly what I’d call a clean break, but who asked me?

McDonald’s could get away with dumping Ronald McDonald. I scarcely remember the last time I saw his made-up mug on any of its products—mostly because I scarcely ever go to McDonald’s—so we’re comfortable with just seeing the Golden Arches on boxes, cups and wrappers.

And I suppose KFC could just use KFC branded packaging and signage sans le Colonel and still get the message across.

But to create a logo that says “you can get chicken here, and it’s seasoned liked the original recipe you get at our original chain—but we don’t want you to think of the Colonel” just seems odd.

I haven’t talked to him yet about this, but I have no doubt that Fmr. Kentucky Gov. John Y. Brown, Jr. one of two men who bought Kentucky Fried Chicken from Sanders in 1964, will not approve. Last we talked—in fact every time we have talked over the last few years—the Colonel and his remarkable popularity after a half century always comes up. To him, the chain and the man are inseparable.

But then again, this is not the same chain—if it lives long enough to become a chain. Currently one is under construction at the end of Bardstown Road in the Highlands. Rumor has it another is under construction in Louisville’s south end on Preston Hwy., though I’ve not verified it.

Those test units, I’m sure, will endure rigorous scrutiny before any future rollout occurs. And even if the corporation deems the concept worthy of duplication, will KFC franchisees be willing to build them—maybe even convert current KFCs to KFC eleven?

Brown’s growth formula was, “If one works, build a second, and if that works, do it again.” That was a hell of a lot easier in the 1960s and early 1970s, when KFC grew from 650 to 3,500 units—without closing a single store. But there’s no way that’s going to happen with KFC eleven. The domestic marketplace has no room for it—without killing off competitors, anyway. And my, my, the competition is really good.

While it’s not as though the chain is killing off the Colonel—which, if eleven scores a perfect 10, it’s not out of the realm of possibility it could happen in the KFC chain—it’s a bit of a sad day seeing the ol’ boy’s face shelved. It certainly served the company well in its expansion to more than 10,000 stores, yet now the corporation says it’s time to give it a rest.

What do you think: Is this good or not for KFC? Feel free to comment.

Dogs: Let ‘em eat Steak!

by Leave a Comment

“Can that dog read?” a man asked the woman sitting next to him. The question surprised her, though it shouldn’t have.Begging dog

“Excuse me?” she replied.

“Can that dog read? That dog food bag,” he replied, pointing to a glossy papered package of premium puppy grub. “Can she read what brand it is?”

“Well, of course it can’t. Why would you ask?”

“Because if she can’t read, how does she know the difference between that dog food and any other?”

“By ‘any other,’ he meant cheap food, the $10 for 25 pound sacks of corn balls soaked in beef flavoring. The woman had just told the man her dog “doesn’t like any kind of dog food except that one.” The man implied with his reply that the dog would eat anything when it got truly hungry, so why spend the extra dough, he asked.

“It doesn’t matter to me, really, because I know this is the healthiest food I can get for her,” said the woman, gesturing with a cigarette in one hand and clutching a cheap vodka cocktail in the other.

That scene, and others like it, are ripe with irony: pet owners determined to oversee the health of their dogs while ignoring their own. “Don’t feed the dogs,” they say to guests sneaking bits of actual food—tasty food at that—to household pets lurking beside their dining table chairs, eyes pleading. “We don’t want them to learn bad habits—like begging at the table.”

Surely before dogs were domesticated, they enjoyed a wide array of food choices. But now most owners insist their pets stick to a diet only of chewy pebbles from a bag and the occasional faux-meat treat between meals for peeing outside. That their dogs go positively bonkers when I sneak them a bit of my own tells me they like variety.

I mean, how many dogs have you seen turn their noses up at any stray bit of food escaping from a cutting board or utensil falling to the floor?

My country cousins always fed their dogs table scraps, which surely wasn’t good, either. But good gosh how those pets lapped them up zealously. They enjoyed the food as much as we did.

“We don’t want him to get fat,” some dog owners say, their mouths often full of the rich foods that have made themselves dangerously hefty. “The last vet bill we had for him was outrageous.”

Not a tenth as much as what they’ll pay the cardiologist someday if they’re not careful.

Chances are that part of Rover’s heft is due to the fact he lies around the house all day, never meandering about in the wild like he was born to do. Save for bathroom breaks, one friend’s dog never leaves the house.

“He prefers the air conditioning,” she says. “And if there’s snow outside, I have to drag him out. It’s amazing how long he’ll hold onto his pee to avoid going out in the cold.”

In that respect, we’ve made our dogs like us: appalled by activity, anchored to cushy furniture, awash in climate controlled comfort.

But unlike our dogs, we’re not controlling our diets nearly as seriously as we’re controlling theirs.

That’s no fault of a restaurant or a food producer, the blame is solely ours. Unlike that woman’s picky dog, we’ll eat about anything.

Clueless health inspector tells Havana Rumba Express not to use sous vide

by Leave a Comment

I hear this time and time again from chefs: Our local health board is not only not well-enough trained to do their jobs, their application of “the rules” can be capricious. To wit:

Eater Louisville reported this morning that Havana Rumba Express, a new Cuban-centered concept in the Douglass Loop, got a “C” on its recent health inspection.Havana rumba Express

HRE owner, Marcos Lorenzo, also owner of both Havana Rumba restaurants here, posted a letter on the door explaning what the violations were and why they are questionable. I couldn’t agree more with his questions, especially based on his reference to other concepts’ practices.

Here’s one that’s particularly aggravating, from the Eater post: “To give you an example, we cook several items on Sous Vide. The inspector doesn’t want us to use again until he can give us the guidelines of how to do it properly according to him. However, he didn’t know what the guidelines are.”

Seriously? A health inspector here doesn’t know the guidelines for sous vide? A 40-year-old technology? One widely used in Louisville’s higher-end restaurants?

Not only is sous vide–and other technologies such as CVap, created and manufactured here in Louisville–safe, it’s safer than normal food preparation.

But to a health inspector who hasn’t stayed up on food tech, it’s dangerous, the restaurant can’t use it, and now the restaurant has to change it’s practices.

Totally bogus.

Make sure to read the post for yourselves.

Heads up: Lexington, Ky., fast becoming a terrific restaurant town, Part 2

by Leave a Comment

(Editor’s note: If you haven’t read Part 1 of this two-part post, know that it’s about the explosion of great food and drink options in downtown Lexington. This second part touches on restaurants just a couple of blocks away, to some several miles away, that should be added to your “must visit” list.)Saul-Good-Salad

Doodles: This fast-casual breakfast and lunch operation is located about two blocks from downtown and less than a block from Transylvania University. If Lynn Winter hadn’t shuttered Lynn’s Paradise Café and considered doing a fast-casual version of that restaurant, this might be what it would have looked like.

Open just four days a week, the menu changes from Thursday toSunday. You can find everything from omelets to huevos rancheros to corned beef hash to a Kentucky hot Brown quesadilla, and that’s just for starters.

Prices are modest, you fetch your own food and coffee refills, seat yourself, and leave when you’re ready. It’s that casual.

Read more …

Heads up: Lexington, Ky., is fast becoming a terrific restaurant town, Part 1

by Leave a Comment

The last time I went to downtown Lexington for any other purpose than a rock concert at Rupp Arena was 1989. Velvet Elvis was the band and they played at the Bottom Line. (Great show, by the way.)Coba-low-diningroom

If we ate anywhere after that, it was likely Tolly Ho, a good greasy burger stop frequented by University of Kentucky students.

Even though I was a chef in those days, I didn’t imagine making a restaurant stop on purpose in the heart of the city. No one ever talked about dining or just hanging out there. Food in Lexington was for maintenance, not dining, something to get you filled up before you headed back to Louisville.

Now, however, people are talking. A lot.

And eating and drinking. A lot.

In about a five year span, Lexington’s city center has come alive with new bars, brewpubs and restaurants (and about a zillion great retail shops, too) that draw a broad demographic to a once largely dull business district.

Read more …