If you look around, you'll know I'm in no way ready for a visit from the big-time likes of him. I've got draperies to hang, boxes to unpack, and I can't decide what color to paint the rec room. Long ago I realized with my real house that if I waited until it was immaculately clean to have people over, I'd end up dying alone in an unmade bed. So be it with my blog. Come on in, Ira. It's my honor. The place is a mess, but go ahead and make yourself at home.
It seems Ira got word that I was niggling over some nuances of a review he wrote in the Reader (January 15 blog entry).
He dropped in to clarify:
I meant "neighborhood restaurant" as something connoting a sense of size and scale. Reasonable prices. Everyday eating. Versus, say, a tourist restaurant or a fancy businessman's restaurant.I get this. To the list of neighborhood restaurant features, I'd add dedicated personnel who seem integral to the enjoyment of the place. I'm thinking here of the ubiquitous, gracious owner of Aladdin Falafel House on Lincoln Avenue. Or, the warm owner of Think who daydreamed about putting a nursery downstairs so parents could enjoy dinner while she cared for their kids. Or, the host of Club Lago who kissed his two fingers and waved them at us as we left -- "See youse!"
At neighborhood restaurants, great food and great people blur. Choosing the best, I still think, is a bit like choosing a favorite relative. But, Ira deserves a break here. It was a 300-word restaurant review, not an urban studies thesis.
Coming Soon: Part 2 - Quibbling over the Importance of "New York"