In response to both my Tuesday tease of this week's Smith review and the actual review itself, I got this pleasant little note from BooBerry--a reader obviously quite concerned about the terrible degradation of my palate.
"Rainier tallboy? Do you also order the bottom-rung wine and liquor when you dine out? Aren't you supposed to have an enlightened palate?
They have plenty of delicious beers on draft at Smith begging to accompany your food and it's a Rainier for you.
Thank god they have pbr on draft at Quinn's for when you show up."My dearest BooBerry,
As a matter of fact, I do sometimes go for the lowest-priced swill on a restaurant's wine list. And some of the time, I even like it. I will often order a cold Corona at a place where I know there is better stuff on tap, and will always go for a Genny Cream Ale when it's available (Genny Cream being the Rainier of Rochester, New York). I've been known to tip a pitcher of PBR on occasion (on many, many occasions...), and have sometimes gone out of my way (despite the fact that The Man picks up my tab when I'm working) to order the worst whiskey ever made by man: Wall Street--a spirit so vile that you actually have to drink two in the hopes that the brain damage caused by the second will wipe out all memory of the first.
And do you know why I do this, darling BooBerry? For the same reasons that I eat cheeseburgers on some nights and foie gras on others. For the same reasons that I write about pho shops and noodle bars with as much frequency as I do the white tablecloth bastions and temples of haute cuisine. For the same reasons that, when left to my own devices, I will happily subsist on meatloaf sandwiches, moules et frites, tekka maki, bottles of Jameson Redbreast and bags of barbecue potato chips without saying a damn word about it to anyone.
My reasons? Simple. One, because I like all these things. In some cases, love. And because I just don't see that much difference between a cheeseburger and a seared slip of foie--both are dinner, both take skill to do well.
And two, because I never want to come off sounding like a pretentious, entitled, foodier-than-thou douchebag by telling someone that they shouldn't eat and enjoy the fuck out of cheeseburgers or drink all the Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill they want just because I don't think it's good enough.
But hey... That's just me. And I'm glad that you're out there, looking out for me and my barbarian's palate, BooBerry.
Now if you'll excuse me, I believe you said something about there being PBR on draft at Quinn's. I'll race ya.