Gil's Thrilling (And Filling) Blog
Follow the Culinary Ruminations of New Mexico's Sesquipedalian Sybarite. 1,325 Restaurant Reviews, More Than 13,400 Visitor Comments…And Counting!
In his 30s, curmudgeonly London food critic Jay Rayner who’s been called the “enfant terrible (literally “terrifying child) of the gastronomic scene,” came to the realization that he hated hangovers more than he hated being drunk. During a visit to a Vietnamese restaurant in London, he achieved an epiphany: “huge steaming bowls of a deeply aromatic beef broth called pho,…
London-based restaurant critic Jay Rayner makes barbecue sound a bit like a scientific process: “the long, virtuous interplay of fire, smoke and time on cow and pig muscle fibre; who sees only joyous caramelisation and the deep flavours gifted by the Maillard reaction, when heat says hello to amino acids and natural sugars and they all get along famously.” He’s…
Imagine a world without sandwiches! That daunting premise would make a pretty fatalistic post-apocalyptic movie in which Dystopian societies exist in a nightmare of deprivation, hopelessness, terror and processed food rations (Soylent Green anyone?). No sandwiches–it’s just too incomprehensible to imagine, especially considering everywhere you turn there’s another Subway. Frankly, my own post-apocalyptic nightmare would be a world in which…
Unlike New York City, Albuquerque might not ever truly be mistaken for “a cultural melting pot.” Though numerous ethnicities are scattered throughout the city’s 189.5 square miles, some of their culinary cultures are vastly underrepresented (if at all represented) among the city’s restaurants. Not even in the International District–where you might feel as if you’re jumping from continent to continent…
As children growing up in landlocked and agrarian Peñasco, my siblings and I led a very sheltered life. Our extremely provincial experience with “seafood” was limited to Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks which we dipped in Kraft’s sandwich spread (we didn’t know about tartar sauce) and (gasp, the horror) Mrs. Paul’s fried shrimp. Sure, we snared the legal limit (yeah, right)…
