my ex used to write for a local paper. She was a stringer, and did local meetings and events and so forth, she got a budget of gas mileage and a few dollars here and there for expenses, plus, if I remember correctly, about $8 a column inch. (This was a while back)

I went with her one night to drop off copy (in those days, you typed it out and carried it in, or you could call it in to a typer if it was late, but then you sacrificed part of your fee to the typer) and the night editor was in. He yelled at her about the copy (he yelled at everyone, and she never took it personally) and was about to leave the room. He took one look at me and said “You loook like a guy who can eat.” I mentioned that I had some experience in that direction, and he went in his office. He came back with a sheaf of paper, handed it to the ex, and said “Take this guy to these joints and feed him. THen give me reviews. Forty inches each. Take pictures. I’ll approve the expenses of the meals”

Forty inches times ten or twelve restaurants was a lot of dough, for those days, so we jumped on it, though I’d never done a restaurant review in my life, I had some (aforementioned) experience eating.

We learned pretty soon that these restaurants were all places that advertised heavily in the paper. They were promised reviews in the local paper for packages of advertisements, and the paper was getting some nastiness because they hadn’t come across; the previous reviewer had stomach trouble and couldn’t review much but Maalox, anymore.

Bottomline was, we had to give these places all glowing reviews. And doing that was sometimes plenty tough, let me tell you. Crap, sometimes getting a picture that didn’t make you want to hurl was nigh onto imposible.

But we did it. I wrote most of the reviews, the ex cleaned them up and they were printed under her byline, but I didn’t care. I was eating as I pleased, pretty much free- in fact, nearly all the places we went were not only happy to let us sample everything for free, but gave us receipts we could turn in for reimbursement. We made out pretty well, and used the cash to pay for a lot of home improvements.

So what kind of review do you write? Well, if the food is bland and boring but you get plenty of it, the place will appeal to the bluehair set who will bag the leftovers and take them home for a meal or two later. So you describe the portions as ample, the service as friendly, and the seating comfortable, and the broken hip brigade will break down the doors getting in, nevermind the food.

If the place is in a bad neighborhood, but the food is OK, point out that the parking lot is safe and it’s worth the extra effort to get there before dark so you can get the chicken livers freshest. Also mention that after dark the surprise of possibly getting back to a car no longer sporting tires will bring on a whole other clientele; the real hipster wannabes are almost always excited to talk about ‘The great place they found” that was exceptional “Even though we got mugged”. This sounds stupid but I’m confident one review I wrote saved a business like that.

The hole in the wall places that are good lunchtime eats were always my favorite. There were two local joints famous for “Loose meat” burgers, a private place and a chain called Maid Rite. (Iowagians are familiar). The local joint was small but the food was better, and they were $advertisers, so they got the full page review, with big pics of the sandwich and the grinning proprietor. Business boomed, and so far as I know, they still have that laminated proof sheet hanging on the wall.

I got to go to a LOT of restaurants, and that early experience told me how to pick good places. That knowledge held me in good stead on the road, and still does today, some thirty years hence.

I eschew chains. I never eat at fast food places except when I’m eating just to stay alive, I hate McDonalds (Except for their Frappe) I hate Buirger King (All of it) I hate Everything Wendys (Though just the plain meat of their burgers is good). I do admit to loving the taste and texture of sliders, but I can only do that once in a rare while. Fancier chains like applebees and chilis and etc. don’t cook their own food, as a general rule, they use microwaves and other equipment to “Finish cook” prepackaged preportioned foods- how do you think they get the shit to all taste the same in all their restaurants? it’s like high end airline food.

There are few burgers I will eat, and one of the best is Schoops. They started as a single restaurant in Hammond, and opened a second in Munster in 1959. As an aside, my friend John once told me that the only think keeping him sane in the muddy shithole of Nam was thinking about the Schoops burger he’d eat the moment he set foot in Indiana again. He did, too, he got off the bus, set his dufflebag outside the door, and ate a burger and fries and a green River before he even said hello to his mom. Schoops is now a chain in it’s own right, but each restaurant captures the flavor of the originals, so success hasn’t made them a sucksess.

I like the family owned places the best, and sometimes they’re hard to find. On the road I ask hotel clerks where they eat when they have to pay for the meal themselves. Usually you get the name of some out of the way place that serves good food, well cooked, cheap. That’s my favorite kind of place, and if you let the proprietor know how much you like it, they’ll treat you like a king, There are great places like this all over north America. Most small towns have at least one.

I don’t always remember their names, but I remember where to find them. The little supper club in Ord, nebraska. The tin-roofed BBQ place in Heber Springs Arkansas, that served civilized properly sweetened tea, and gator nuggets that melted in your mouth. The soulfood place in Corneila Georgia that made the best collard greens I have ever eaten, anywhere. The lunch buffet at the mexican place in Corpus Christi, that had so many wonderful foods I thought i would never leave without a hand truck. The little bar in Gridley, IL that served a burger half beef and half pork with a chunk of blue cheese between, on a bun crisped up in bacon grease and slathered with homemade mayonnaise.

Every sunday, unless incapacitated or out of town, the Oglet, the Wife, and I eat breakfast after mass. We are most often joined by Partner and his roommate. We go to a place called Jedi’s Garden that has a smoking section. The food is consistently good, and the waitresses know us and take good care of us, and we tip the way they deserve. We used to go to a local place called the Paragon, until all the damned kitchen help were deported by the INS. Food went to shit after that.

I’m in the middle of Michigan at the moment, and have eaten at local places for the last couple nights that were, to be generous, uninspiring. I hope to find a decent place to eat dinner tonight, but failing that, I could always just be grateful there isn’t a waffle house nearby.

Update: If you’re ever in Brighton, Michigan, and you have a taste for sushi, or Japanese steak, there’s a place called Sushi Zen.

It’s as much like genuine Japanese cooking as Taco Bell is like genuine mexican food. I got a bento box- Teryaki beef. It’s not horrible. That’s about as good as I can say about it. It smells better than it tastes.

The Miso soup is OK.