A Legend is Hatched! I am a Restaurant Critic!

A restaurant for people who only know the recipe for ice.

Note: This edition is a collaboration with my friend Miranda, who recently started a Substack, The Taste Bud, where she reviews restaurants. To read her *actual* review of the restaurant we went to, click here. To read my comedic musing, read on.

Like most times when I have been forced to write several formal apology letters—and offer to pay for people’s dry cleaning and broken glassware—it all started with a confluence of events.

First, Accountant asked me if I had a job, which led to him laughing “at his own joke.” Then I saw Doctor and when Doctor asked me to take her through an average day to “help her determine my mental state,” before I even got to 11am, she made me stop. Then I found out La Grenouille was closing, which was devastating to me since now where would I throw a lunch in my honor? And then I found out that part of the reason it was closing had to do with family feuds and the insistence to be allowed to serenade people whether they wanted it or not, which to reiterate my question of “now where do I throw a lunch in my honor,” seemed like exceptionally unfair irony.

So that was the confluence of events that led me to becoming a restaurant critic.  Some people might call it destiny, but those people tend not to call me.

After all, in general, I am great at giving my opinion on things whether sought out or not. Here are some examples: Cats are the chicest pets followed by turtles; baths are better than showers; everyone should own an evening cape; most works of art exist primarily in relation to other works of art more than they exist in relation to life.

Once I decided I would be a restaurant critic, I had to select which publication would publish my review. I selected Vanity Fair Magazine Supplement. I know it’s custom to be hired by a publication before embarking on becoming a critic, but given that I’ve never been hired for anything, I decided not to create obstacles where they aren’t needed. So, I wrote Vanity Fair Magazine Supplement to inform them of my decision and told them I’d save my receipts and legal fees for reimbursement. Just call me Tina Brown— because that will help me get a reservation.

Now I just needed to choose a restaurant for my first review! When choosing a restaurant, I based my decision on three factors: name, location, and place in history. So, armed with my evening cape and my copy of Tiffany’s Table Manners for Teenagers, off I went.

And that’s how I ended up at French restaurant in midtown Manhattan.

I once read that restaurant critics go to restaurants under fake names and keep their appearance a secret. Out of professionalism, I thought I should do the same.  Luckily, as I am very famous in my own mind, I already have an alias: Henrietta von Bitzy de la Taxi, who regularly lunches at La Côte Basque, even though it’s been closed for twenty-five years.

I was escorted to a table, and as I looked around, I could immediately tell that this was someplace I would fit in. There were women with Bergdorf’s bags and men with hats.  This was a restaurant for people who only know the recipe for ice.

I, of course, care a great deal about atmosphere as I am frequently told that I bring storm clouds into any room—I guess this is because I am Jewish and thus control the weather. The restaurant had already cleared my two most important hurdles: ambiance and appropriate for wearing an evening cape. I did find the restaurant to be a little noisy, but the waiter suggested that I might have less trouble hearing myself think if I stopped singing.

I decided not to take any notes on the experience, since I believe if a note is good, it will be remembered. This is the same philosophy I use when people give me notes on my acting and, as we all know, I am a prolific audience member.

First, I was offered a cocktail list and was sad to see that they didn’t have my signature drink: a Shirley Temple with extra cherries. Next, the menu arrived and was mostly in French. My French is about as good as my Italian, and I don’t speak any Italian. However, I have read many books about the Second World War, so I felt prepared for this. When it was time to order, I did what I always do in these situations: talk very loudly. Ordering: I am great at this!

My first course arrived on a plate, which is something Doctor would approve of since she is always telling me it’s important to eat food off plates. I ordered escargot, which are snails—I know this from the classic film The Jerk. There is also an I Love Lucy episode about this, so I knew exactly what to do upon the snails arrival, although I was expecting more applause for my performance.

I thought maybe, out of professionalism, I should change my alias every course. I own a lot of wigs and scarves, so this wouldn’t be a problem. For the entrée I was Fredricka von Bitzy de la Taxi, Henrietta’s sister.

My entrée arrived and, this being a French restaurant, it was covered in sauces. One of the questions on my food evaluation rubric, which I had come up with in the taxi on the way to the restaurant, was: Did it spill itself on me? It did. And on the people at the next table.

Before my dessert arrived, I changed alias and wigs once again—both out of continued professionalism and because of the large quantities of sauces that had made their way onto my clothing.  Now I was Constanza von Bitzy de la Taxi de la Bergdorf, Henrietta’s step-sister.  

For dessert I had meringue since it is temperamental just like I am.

With the meal over, I went to fetch my evening cape, assuming that restaurant critics did not pay for their meals. It turns out this is not the case, and I was expected to pay.

I wondered if this would lead to something like me having to wash dishes, which I thought wouldn’t be so bad since I was almost positive there was a Judy Garland number that involved washing dishes and looking wistfully into the camera. And, like when asked to do most menial tasks, I’d only pretend to do them.

I was informed that this was not how things worked and a bill was brought to my table.

Luckily, the restaurant gave out free matchboxes with the bill, so I found a solution.

With apologies,

Victoria

Footnotes

Le Veau d’Or is the restaurant that this is extremely loosely based on. I would describe the old Le Veau d’Or as a restaurant for people who only know the recipe for ice. The new one hasn’t quite gotten there yet, but I think it will.

“A restaurant for people who only know the recipe for ice” is a compliment.

La Grenouille has closed and it did have to do with a family feud and one sibling wanting to pursue a musical career. Also, now where am I supposed to throw a lunch in my honor?

Tiffany’s Table Manners for Teenagers is a real book that someone once gave me (when I was a teenager) and to this day I do not know if they knew the book was a parody.

Judy Garland sang “Look for the Silver Lining” while washing dishes in the 1946 film Till the Clouds Roll By.