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Article Excerpt
Over the past thirty years, as a restaurant reviewer and an editor for this magazine, I've had my share of flaccid flautas, gummy grits, and barely edible brisket--and some pretty extraordinary meals as well. Yes, it's nice getting paid to eat out. No, it's not always as much fun as it sounds. Yes, its a struggle to stay this thin. Any more questions?
The exchange goes something like this. I'm chitchatting with people I've met at a party, and the subject of jobs comes up. My new acquaintances turn out to be artists, computer geeks, hippo trainers, whatever. I confess that I'm a restaurant reviewer. There's a short pause while they look me up and down as if I were a two-headed poodle at the Westminster dog show. Then someone says, with more than a touch of resentment, "Soooo, if you eat out for a living, how come you're so thin?" And right off the bat, they're mad at me. It's not just strangers, either. Two of my dear friends have taken to calling me "that skinny bitch." To which I say, "Guilty as charged." ([paragraph]) Last December 1 I celebrated thirty years at this magazine. That's a lot of creme brulee under the bridge, folks. During that time, food fads have risen (fajitas and Southwestern cuisine) and fallen (blackened redfish), and once-fabled Texas restaurants have vanished like a snow cone on the Fourth of July (how many of you remember Mr. Peppe, in Dallas, or the original Naples on Broadway, in San Antonio, or Che, in Houston?). Texas has changed from a state that eats at home to one that eats out, and Dallas and Houston have taken their places on the national culinary stage. Since it was founded, in 1973, this magazine has published more than 28,000 restaurant reviews. If that indicates anything, it's that people are endlessly fascinated with food and dining. And judging by the queries I get, they're also curious about the arcane practice of restaurant reviewing. So I thought this might be as good a time as any to answer a question or two, including the inevitable ...
How do you stay so thin? The answer is really, really simple: I'm neurotic. I eat only half of what I'm served, and if I do gain a pound, I freak out and take it off immediately. (For the record, I am five feet seven inches tall and weigh 117 pounds.) My weight-loss system is a slightly twisted version of the South Beach Diet: I don't eat anything white. All right, that's an exaggeration, but I do eat very little sugar, bread, pasta, potatoes, or rice (including, alas, risotto). And I watch the butter and cheese. Occasionally, I have to admit, I overdo this regimen and end up famished at odd times, so I always carry stashes of almonds and Southwest Airlines peanuts...
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