I’ve started writing restaurant reviews for a local magazine. I don’t do it for the money, that’s for sure. But I love food. As I wrote in one of my initial reviews, “when you’re raised in Rio de Janeiro and Paris by parents who appreciate fine dining, you’re in for a world of trouble as an adult. For starters, there’s the quality issue—once you’re used to the best food, it’s hard to settle for less. The same holds true when it comes to service.”
Writing restaurant reviews means that I wind up eating at a top establishment at least once a month. Bonus. It also makes me feel like I’m back in the restaurant business, which I miss. Or maybe I just miss being 20-something.
Either way, the restaurant reviews have been fun. That’s in part because I’ve found a writing voice I didn’t really know I had, witness this lead. It’s my favorite to date:
I settled onto my barstool at Redmond’s Brickhouse, ordered a glass of wine from the seventeen available options, and glanced at the person to my right. He was eating the Filet Mignon wrapped in bacon, which is served with béarnaise sauce. “I’m trying to restrain myself from jumping you for your steak,” I said.
“You’d jump me for a steak?” he asked with unmistakable surprise.
That’s when I realized that I had misspoken. I wasn’t interested in jumping him in the least. I just wanted to jump his meal. To grab it and run. Instead, I watched as bite by bite, he finished what has to be the best steak in the Bend area.
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