For Chefs (and Others) Who Hate Yelp
Yesterday I broached on the hostility towards food trucks by some restaurant owners. But recently it came to my attention just how much some chefs and restaurant owners hate Yelp.
My interest here is that I personally think Yelp is great. It was the place where I started writing about food and finding my voice. Plus, I find it to be an incredibly useful tool for finding good places wherever I happen to be. But I totally understand the frustrations faced by those in the restaurant business.
Really, there are two separate issues here. And to argue either of them effectively, they need to be separated.
Issue one involves reports of shady business practices by Yelp salespeople who make promises of better rankings with ad dollars, and tales of reprisals from Yelp when ad dollars aren’t delivered. It should be mentioned that this is expressly forbidden by Yelp. However, If there are any owners who are interested in sharing the details of such interactions, I would be happy to personally investigate them. But until then, let’s put this issue on the back burner.
The other is the widespread attitude of restaurant insiders towards Yelpers that goes something like, “Who the hell are you to write a nasty review of my labor of love?”
Troy’s Wings on Parade
[Editor’s note: In my absence from the Capital Region, I’m still trying to keep the quarterly tours going. Jessica R. stepped up and volunteered to lead this summer tour. What follows is her recap from the experience. Be forewarned, what you read may shock you. But I’ve been through the scoresheets and the excel chart. I stand by these official findings of an intrepid group of eaters who dedicated their time and their bodies to this noble cause. I am the profussor, and I endorse this guest post.]
By Jessica R.
The first thing most participants asked me as we started the Fussy Little Blog’s Tour de Troy Wing on Saturday was, “How did you get this job?” This was usually asked with a mix of curiosity and pity. Well, people have been requesting a Wing tour for some time now. And, having grown up near Buffalo, I know a thing or two about wings. Also, as a Troy resident, I’ll do just about anything to bring people to my city. Ultimately, it came down to wanting to finally settle the score – who has the best wings in Troy.
Although there are many places in the Capitol Region claiming to have good wings, the two that most everyone can agree on are based in Troy – The Ale House and The Ruck. Our group of 10 participants were also fans of these institutions, with 7 choosing the Ruck as the expected winner, 2 selecting the Ale House, and one not being able to choose between the two.
To round out our Tour I selected Bombers, the new comer to town, but known for having good wings in its other locations. FLB readers helped us choose our remaining spots – The Park Pub and The Notty Pine. Unfortunately, when we arrived at The Notty Pine, their doors were closed, even though their website and sticker on the door said it should be open. Someone suggested we fill in the spot with Ryan’s Wake – who just expanded their menu a few months ago. No one seemed to mind the idea of giving this new menu a chance and ending the tour at a bar with a deck overlooking the river, so it was settled.
Before we go further, let’s talk about Buffalo Wings.
AskTP – Wandering Jew
There’s apparently a plant called the Wandering Jew. Even though the word Jew isn’t offensive on its face, whenever I call myself the Wandering Jew, people laugh uncomfortably. Maybe it has something to do with the troubling story from 13th century Christian mythology. But that’s what I am. At least right now. I’m a wanderer roaming around the northeast.
Fortunately for all concerned, I have no intentions of changing the name of the blog. I’m not going to take a vote whether I should change it or not. Primarily because one day I hope to settle down, and I can see that the day isn’t too far in the distance. September is getting closer all the time, which is when I’ll make New Jersey my new home. But also, why would I want to call this blog something that would make even a handful of potential readers uncomfortable?
For now, I’ve carved out enough time to play a little bit of catch up. I’ve already removed the call to action for Capital Region chefs at the top of the blog. And now I’m going to answer all of the accumulated questions from the past few weeks.
Even if I’m not in Albany, I’m still me. And my commitments still hold. I will eventually answer any question posted in the comments section of the blog. It may not be a good answer, it may not be right, and it may not be timely. But dammit, it’s an answer.
Now without further ado, onto the questions.
Endless Vacation
This weekend in Providence has been amazing. Shabbat dinner with French brioche instead of challah was spread with Italian butter just to be super decadent. There was a flight of macarons at a local bakery, lobster roll, full belly clams, meatballs, pizza, Lomo Saltado, empanadas, tres leches and more.
I even got to cook scrambled eggs in my mother’s cast iron skillet and prove to her once again how easy it is to make delicious eggs that don’t stick to the pan.
There was also stuff that didn’t involve food like taking in WaterFire on a gorgeous night, accompanying Young Master Fussy to his first planetarium experience, and standing alongside Little Miss Fussy on the carousel to ease her worried mind.
It’s a ton of fun, but it’s also a bit exhausting. So I’ve got a bit of a cheap trick in store for you today. Although there does seem to be some magic in the numbers 2, 3 & 4.
Epic Meal Time
One of the many reasons I was in East Hampton was to celebrate the 90th birthday of my Nana S. Again. A few months ago I made the trip to Great Neck to celebrate in person closer to the actual day. But this belated celebration gave my California cousins the chance to join in on the party.
So we made a little bit of food.
And we includes my aunt’s friend who happens to be a James Beard award winning chef, who actually was given her award by the man himself. Cooking with her is both an incredible pleasure and an extraordinary ordeal. Usually, I carry a little bit of stress as I hover over pots and pans in the kitchen, but yesterday that got kicked up to eleven. Luckily I think I hide it pretty well.
Sixteen people were coming for dinner. In the end there was easily enough food for 36. Really probably more. Here’s how the meal went down.
Other People’s Kitchens
One of the stories from the old days involved Raf house sitting for the parents of ADS. While he was cooking dinner in their kitchen, he happened to notice that several of the spices were past their prime.
So, to be helpful, he pulled them out of the cabinet and left them on the counter with a note.
There is a thin line between being helpful and obnoxious. And I try to be careful not to cross it. That said, if Mrs. Fussy is cooking in our kitchen, we’ve found that everyone is happier when I occupy myself in some other room of the house. Apparently my helpful tips aren’t always so warmly received.
Well, I think I’ve finally come to the point where Raf was so many years ago. Because for the past couple of days I’ve found myself in the kitchen at my Aunt’s house in East Hampton. But it’s not just the expired ingredients that are throwing me for a loop.
No Nutrition is Good Nutrition
Eat a varied diet. That’s the mantra in the Fussy household. If you eat peanut butter for breakfast, there is no peanut butter for lunch. There’s just one granola bar per day. Milk is liquid food and isn’t intended to wash down everything that goes into your pie hole.
The idea here is that by eating lots of different foods, over the course of the day you’ll get most of what you need to thrive.
Except Mrs. Fussy noticed something rather jarring recently. Despite these mantras of a varied diet the kids were still consuming precious few servings of fruits and vegetables.
I blamed two things. One, the stress and strain of the move; especially the desire to eat through some of our pantry staples. And two, the absence of a CSA subscription which supplied the family with a shocking amount of produce last year.
Luckily for them, Mrs. Fussy had a plan. Unfortunately, I left it in Pennsylvania.
Smothered Covered and Scattered
On the road, sometimes you just have to let it all go. Maybe one day I’ll turn into one of those ideologues who will pack their sectional stainless steel food storage containers full of seasonal and sustainable fruits and vegetables. Really, I don’t think that day is too far away at the rate I’m going. But still, I’m not there now dammit.
Now I still see adventure at the possibilities of pulling off the turnpike at a major junction, and hoping against hope that between the big fast food chains and the service station convenience stores is some independent restaurant making delicious food from scratch. Surely with the internet and plenty of planning, you could make these roadside dreams a reality. Me? I like to fly by the seat of my pants and rely on providence, serendipity, luck and Yelp.
Yesterday, all of those things failed me. So instead I took the kids to Waffle House. Maybe it’s just me, but I have to admit that there is something about this restaurant chain that I find almost impossible to resist.
Country Living
I was born in Boston, spent my early childhood in Brooklyn, and lived in Miami through high school. College was in Philadelphia and after a brief stint back in Miami, I moved out to San Francisco to find my fortune (well, Berkeley, but close enough).
It’s safe to say I’m a city boy.
But I have to tell you, this country thing is growing on me. And where I am right now, is definitely the country. I’m surrounded by cornfields. Windows have no curtains. Doors have no locks. Mostly because there is nobody around.
The first time I came to the farm, we arrived close to midnight after making the cross country flight from California and then taking the long three hour drive from the nearest airport. My girlfriend (who would later became Mrs. Fussy) was eager to introduce me to her pet goat. So she yelled, “Lizzy! LIZZY!”
“Aren’t you going to wake the neighbors?” I asked.
She said, “Oh no, out here nobody can hear you.”
Let me tell you, it’s not nearly so terrifying anymore.
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