Victorino Matus is deputy editor for the Washington Free Beacon and author of 'Vodka: How a Colorless, Odorless, Flavorless Spirit Conquered America.'
College football’s championship team, the Clemson Tigers, had dinner at the White House on Monday night, and we’re still recovering from it—mainly because the photos are so shocking. The grinning president of the United States presiding over a meal fit for … well … hungry college football players?
It’s the new year so of course I’m standing in line at Sweetgreen waiting to order my salad. This despite a story in the Weekend section of the Washington Post warning us that many of those salads are rather unhealthy.
South Koreans are really into mokbang. (I knew that line would get you to read on.) But it’s not what you might think—mokbang is a foodie video, in which people record themselves eating.
In 1961, Cecilia Chiang opened a tiny restaurant in San Francisco called the Mandarin. It offered authentic Chinese cuisine that attracted a devoted following. Victor Bergeron of Trader Vic’s fame was a fan. But more important was man-about-town Herb Caen of the San Francisco Chronicle. On the one hand he called it a “little hole in the wall.” On the other, he said it had “the best Chinese food east of the Pacific.” Seven years later the Mandarin moved to Ghirardelli Square—expanding from 65 seats to 300—becoming one of San Francisco’s premier dining destinations.
I embarked on a culinary mission: to sample 10 fried things at the Texas State Fair—as a service to our readers, of course.
Yesterday the French government reported that Joël Robuchon, the most Michelin-starred chef on the planet, had died from complications related to pancreatic cancer. He was 73. By most accounts, Robuchon was a tyrant in the kitchen, a madman obsessed with perfection, and a genius. Pete Wells of the New York Times breaks Robuchon’s career into two parts: the culinary wunderkind who, at age 36, received his first Michelin star after opening Jamin in 1981 (and the maximum three stars only three years later), and the seasoned veteran who opened L’Atelier de Joél Robuchon in 2003, not caring what those Michelin critics thought, and redefined high-end dining. (This whole gastronomic experience where customers can pay thousands of dollars to sit on stools around a bar while chefs cook what they want? You can thank—or blame—Robuchon.)
The subject of today’s A-hed in the Wall Street Journal is the Bloody Mary garnish boom—and I’m not talking about four olives instead of three.
“Benvenuto, giornalisti!” That’s how our group of journalists was welcomed into Vatican City last week. Previous participants on this pilgrimage were booked at the Paul VI hotel, but not us. For the first time we nonclerics would be staying at the Domus Sanctae Marthae—the home of Pope Francis.
Chef, television host, and bestselling author Anthony Bourdain was found dead this morning in a hotel room in France. The cause of death was suicide. He was 61.
It was an honor to be invited to a dinner hosted by the Taipei Economic and Cultural Representative Office (for all intents and purposes, the embassy of Taiwan).
